Myrtle Beach 2006, Day 5
OH MY GOD, JUST KILL ME NOW.
I amend my statement from Day 1. I will NEVER go on vacation with my parents again. Period.
What compelled me to agree to go shopping all day with my mother is unknown to me. Perhaps it was too much Sudafed. Perhaps it was the undying urge to bond with she who purged me from her mommy parts, even though past history has proven time and time again that we will just never be close friends. But I did agree to go shopping. It IS like pregnancy. No matter how bad it is, eventually you just forget and go through the torture again.
In other news, J.J. made it home safely last night from his Diamond Casino Cruise. He lost 30 bucks but had a good time nonetheless, and did not break his other hip during the 7-hour excursion in spite of the choppy water. He said he had to hold onto the slot machines in order to move around the boat due to the high waves, and at least three women on the cruise were “very sick.” Methinks I made the right decision to not go. I would have been feeding the fish regularly for the first few hours, then rolled up in the fetal position on the floor for the last half of the excursion. I don’t need that kind of humiliation right now.
Mom and I got out of the house around 11 and left J.J. behind to relax at the condo. We headed to Broadway at the Beach, a huge outdoor shopping center about 20 minutes south of our complex. There are a myriad of attractions at BATB, including Planet Hollywood, an aquarium, mini golf, and a guy who writes your name on a piece of rice. The beach just wouldn’t be the same without the guy who writes on rice. Every other store is a T-shirt shop and every other restaurant is seafood themed. You can get crabs here for about 50 cents a pound on a good day. But only if you don’t use protection. BAH DUMP-BUMP! Than you! I’ll be at Caesar’s Palace all this week!
Mom and I definitely have different shopping styles. Don’t get me wrong…I do enjoy shopping. But we are definitely different. I can tell within 30 seconds if a store is worth browsing. Even when it is, I don’t tend to spend a lot of time in one area. Mom, on the other hand, could spend an hour in each store. One of the first shops we went into was called The Magnolia Shoppe. It was a gift store with lots of beach-themed home décor items (which is, to say, what every gift shop in Myrtle Beach has). I knew we were in trouble when she spent nearly ½ hour in there. If this is what we had to look forward to, it was going to be a very long day.
She finally emerged with several bags of shells, not unlike the kind we gathered by the hundreds on the beach except the ones from the beach were free. Several hours later, on the other side of BATB, we came across a shop called The General Store. I swear to god, it was the SAME EXACT STORE!. The same beach-themed home décor, down to the premature Christmas ornaments hanging in front. I’m sure it was the same owner, just a different name. I thought I was going to bust a nut when once again, the minutes started ticking by. It was the SAME DAMN STORE, for Pete’s Sake!
For lunch we dined at a restaurant called The Crab House. The booths were really snug and the tables were so high that my boobs rested on the edge. The table was covered with brown paper, probably to soak up the butter when people order lobster or crab legs. Either that, or there was a UPS convention in town. We had a coupon from the BATB visitor’s center for a free appetizer, so we ordered some crab dip. Divine. Very scrumptious. I had the coconut shrimp and Mom had tilapia. Both were really good but about halfway through the shrimp, I was definitely hurting. The fries kind of tasted like apple pie, so I left those alone. Nutmeg is NOT a spice I would suggest using on fried potatoes.
Later in the evening, we went to a show called “Legends,” which is basically impersonators for every over-the-top celebrity living or dead. Headlining this week were Alan Jackson, Donna Summer, Tom Jones, Whitney Houston, and Elvis. Yes, it was cheesy, but it was pretty good. All of the impersonators did their own singing, and with the exception of “Whitney,” they all sounded just like the real celebrity. When we first walked in, we even got to get our picture taken with Elvis. The photos were available for purchase during intermission at the low, low price of $20 but I passed on the deal because 20 bones is a lot of dough to pay for a picture of the King hugging a swine. But hey, wasn’t I the lucky one, because my mom struck a deal with the salesman and scored the beautiful shot of me and E.P. so I could have it as a memento. I’m burning it as soon as I get home.
The show was a lot of fun. The Tom Jones impersonator was so spot on, I almost whipped off my panties and threw them on stage. I begged my mom to throw hers but she just looked at me kind of funny, like she didn’t get it. I swear, though…you could put that guy on for the real Tom Jones and no one would know the difference. He even had a sock stuffed in his crotch…either that, or he really was hung like a donkey.
Whitney had a great voice, but the impersonator was not nearly Crack-Piped up enough to be the real Houston. She looked like she could actually pass a urine test, and therefore lost credibility with me. Elvis was amazing. The guy had the moves down to a “T.” He did both the old Elvis and the fat, bloated Elvis, although he wasn’t nearly fat or bloated enough to be accurately representative of Elvis in the prescription drug period.
The highlight of the evening came when I heard J.J. “singing” along with Whitney. Not Alan, not Tom, not Elvis. But Whitney Houston. It was adorable and frightening at the same time. And then there was my mom, breaking the social contract by taking both video AND a flash picture during the Elvis presentation even though the announcer said at the beginning of the show and during intermission that all photography, video, and audio were strictly forbidden. I shrank in my seat when the flash went off and prayed that the usher wouldn’t kick us out. This is why I stick up my middle finger every time my mom takes a picture.
Here is another revelation I have had this week: I will never invest in a Timeshare. You need a degree in math and several flow charts to figure out when you can use your points. God forbid you have excess points, or buy bonus points. You have to give up your first-born child in order to be able to use them, and even then, only if you book within 10 months, but not less than 60 days in advance, unless you are using the VIP service, in which you cannot even use the points, and…well, you get the picture.
Further justification is the Timeshare fighting my parents did on the way home. As I was struggling to see through the rain and darkness, J.J. and Sandy argued about how to use the bonus points that clearly warranted a Timeshare 101 class in order to figure them out.
And so Day 5 ends. The TV has finally been shut off, so the roar of 30 channels being evaluated for 2.3 seconds each has finally been silenced. J.J. went to bed at 11:30 PM, a good three hours past his normal time. My mother is reading her book in bed, eating a bag of caramel corn. The fact that she is diabetic should not surprise you. She only actually embraces her sugar problems when it gets her some attention, like when she is at a restaurant and tells the waiter, “I can’t have any dessert I’m diabetic.” Or when the guy at Shipshewana offers her a teaspoon of potato soup, and she says, “I can’t eat carbs, I’m diabetic.” But she could have the Dairy Queen vanilla soft-serve cone a few hours earlier because that…apparently…does not raise your blood sugar. Nor do cookies, caramel corn, pie, cake, or other desserts.
Tomorrow…rain. I think I'll go to bed now...er...oh great. Mom just went into the bathroom. Guess I'll just write a few pages more...
I amend my statement from Day 1. I will NEVER go on vacation with my parents again. Period.
What compelled me to agree to go shopping all day with my mother is unknown to me. Perhaps it was too much Sudafed. Perhaps it was the undying urge to bond with she who purged me from her mommy parts, even though past history has proven time and time again that we will just never be close friends. But I did agree to go shopping. It IS like pregnancy. No matter how bad it is, eventually you just forget and go through the torture again.
In other news, J.J. made it home safely last night from his Diamond Casino Cruise. He lost 30 bucks but had a good time nonetheless, and did not break his other hip during the 7-hour excursion in spite of the choppy water. He said he had to hold onto the slot machines in order to move around the boat due to the high waves, and at least three women on the cruise were “very sick.” Methinks I made the right decision to not go. I would have been feeding the fish regularly for the first few hours, then rolled up in the fetal position on the floor for the last half of the excursion. I don’t need that kind of humiliation right now.
Mom and I got out of the house around 11 and left J.J. behind to relax at the condo. We headed to Broadway at the Beach, a huge outdoor shopping center about 20 minutes south of our complex. There are a myriad of attractions at BATB, including Planet Hollywood, an aquarium, mini golf, and a guy who writes your name on a piece of rice. The beach just wouldn’t be the same without the guy who writes on rice. Every other store is a T-shirt shop and every other restaurant is seafood themed. You can get crabs here for about 50 cents a pound on a good day. But only if you don’t use protection. BAH DUMP-BUMP! Than you! I’ll be at Caesar’s Palace all this week!
Mom and I definitely have different shopping styles. Don’t get me wrong…I do enjoy shopping. But we are definitely different. I can tell within 30 seconds if a store is worth browsing. Even when it is, I don’t tend to spend a lot of time in one area. Mom, on the other hand, could spend an hour in each store. One of the first shops we went into was called The Magnolia Shoppe. It was a gift store with lots of beach-themed home décor items (which is, to say, what every gift shop in Myrtle Beach has). I knew we were in trouble when she spent nearly ½ hour in there. If this is what we had to look forward to, it was going to be a very long day.
She finally emerged with several bags of shells, not unlike the kind we gathered by the hundreds on the beach except the ones from the beach were free. Several hours later, on the other side of BATB, we came across a shop called The General Store. I swear to god, it was the SAME EXACT STORE!. The same beach-themed home décor, down to the premature Christmas ornaments hanging in front. I’m sure it was the same owner, just a different name. I thought I was going to bust a nut when once again, the minutes started ticking by. It was the SAME DAMN STORE, for Pete’s Sake!
For lunch we dined at a restaurant called The Crab House. The booths were really snug and the tables were so high that my boobs rested on the edge. The table was covered with brown paper, probably to soak up the butter when people order lobster or crab legs. Either that, or there was a UPS convention in town. We had a coupon from the BATB visitor’s center for a free appetizer, so we ordered some crab dip. Divine. Very scrumptious. I had the coconut shrimp and Mom had tilapia. Both were really good but about halfway through the shrimp, I was definitely hurting. The fries kind of tasted like apple pie, so I left those alone. Nutmeg is NOT a spice I would suggest using on fried potatoes.
Later in the evening, we went to a show called “Legends,” which is basically impersonators for every over-the-top celebrity living or dead. Headlining this week were Alan Jackson, Donna Summer, Tom Jones, Whitney Houston, and Elvis. Yes, it was cheesy, but it was pretty good. All of the impersonators did their own singing, and with the exception of “Whitney,” they all sounded just like the real celebrity. When we first walked in, we even got to get our picture taken with Elvis. The photos were available for purchase during intermission at the low, low price of $20 but I passed on the deal because 20 bones is a lot of dough to pay for a picture of the King hugging a swine. But hey, wasn’t I the lucky one, because my mom struck a deal with the salesman and scored the beautiful shot of me and E.P. so I could have it as a memento. I’m burning it as soon as I get home.
The show was a lot of fun. The Tom Jones impersonator was so spot on, I almost whipped off my panties and threw them on stage. I begged my mom to throw hers but she just looked at me kind of funny, like she didn’t get it. I swear, though…you could put that guy on for the real Tom Jones and no one would know the difference. He even had a sock stuffed in his crotch…either that, or he really was hung like a donkey.
Whitney had a great voice, but the impersonator was not nearly Crack-Piped up enough to be the real Houston. She looked like she could actually pass a urine test, and therefore lost credibility with me. Elvis was amazing. The guy had the moves down to a “T.” He did both the old Elvis and the fat, bloated Elvis, although he wasn’t nearly fat or bloated enough to be accurately representative of Elvis in the prescription drug period.
The highlight of the evening came when I heard J.J. “singing” along with Whitney. Not Alan, not Tom, not Elvis. But Whitney Houston. It was adorable and frightening at the same time. And then there was my mom, breaking the social contract by taking both video AND a flash picture during the Elvis presentation even though the announcer said at the beginning of the show and during intermission that all photography, video, and audio were strictly forbidden. I shrank in my seat when the flash went off and prayed that the usher wouldn’t kick us out. This is why I stick up my middle finger every time my mom takes a picture.
Here is another revelation I have had this week: I will never invest in a Timeshare. You need a degree in math and several flow charts to figure out when you can use your points. God forbid you have excess points, or buy bonus points. You have to give up your first-born child in order to be able to use them, and even then, only if you book within 10 months, but not less than 60 days in advance, unless you are using the VIP service, in which you cannot even use the points, and…well, you get the picture.
Further justification is the Timeshare fighting my parents did on the way home. As I was struggling to see through the rain and darkness, J.J. and Sandy argued about how to use the bonus points that clearly warranted a Timeshare 101 class in order to figure them out.
And so Day 5 ends. The TV has finally been shut off, so the roar of 30 channels being evaluated for 2.3 seconds each has finally been silenced. J.J. went to bed at 11:30 PM, a good three hours past his normal time. My mother is reading her book in bed, eating a bag of caramel corn. The fact that she is diabetic should not surprise you. She only actually embraces her sugar problems when it gets her some attention, like when she is at a restaurant and tells the waiter, “I can’t have any dessert I’m diabetic.” Or when the guy at Shipshewana offers her a teaspoon of potato soup, and she says, “I can’t eat carbs, I’m diabetic.” But she could have the Dairy Queen vanilla soft-serve cone a few hours earlier because that…apparently…does not raise your blood sugar. Nor do cookies, caramel corn, pie, cake, or other desserts.
Tomorrow…rain. I think I'll go to bed now...er...oh great. Mom just went into the bathroom. Guess I'll just write a few pages more...
posted by thebeann at
8:47 PM
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