Holy Crispex in a container it is good to be home. Be warned that this probably won’t make much sense since I’m still a wee bit travel weary. Also I believe that a family of small, gelatin-like aliens have taken up residency in my nasal cavities and are trying to build a new colony based on religious and dietary freedoms. Also, I may be on cold meds. Maybe both of those things. I can’t remember.
I just thought I should warn you since my posts are always concise, coherent, and make complete sense. Ahem.
Of course our trip back to Snowboken just had to coincide with what the listeners of WNYC aptly nicknamed Snowtorious B.I.G. (or Biggie Squalls for those more intimately acquainted with the wall of ick). I know this because I listened to the Brian Lehrer show in it’s entirety while we “traveled” the ten miles between Union and Newark. Just in case you aren’t aware, his show is three hours long. Three hours. Ten miles. If I had the brain power to do math today, I could tell you just how few miles per hour that is. but for now let’s just say it’s less than Pi. We traveled at a speed of less than Pi per hour. Can you guess how many times you have to bang your head against the dashboard in a three hour time span to convince your bladder it’s empty? *sigh*
That was day two of trying to get home. We tried so hard the night before, but a mere 100 miles away from the city we had to give up. We pulled off the highway seeking shelter in the small town of Bethlehem. Fortunately there WAS room at this inn. That’s probably because I was neither with child nor livestock. Unless you count Rocco. Who probably could count as either. But the innkeeper probably couldn’t tell that after talking to him for a less than two minutes.
Does the Holiday Inn Express count as an Inn? It has Inn in the name, right? Let’s say it counts. Also, I’m not sure that the blonde at the front desk really qualified as an innkeeper. She was really more of a cashier. But she gave me a cookie so I’d like to give her a more important role in my story.
Not that this is really a story. I didn’t see any wise men. Though we did see a group of rowdy frat boys try and build a manger from grape jelly packets while we dined at the Waffle House.
When the producers tweak the screen play for the major motion picture, those frat boys will doubtlessly die a fiery death when the terrorist hijacked flaming truck full of puppies jumps the off ramp and crashes into their booth. Maybe just go ahead and imagine that so this is a little less boring. Also can you bring me some tea and honey?
For the record, we didn’t witness any virgin births while we were there, either. Apparently we were a few days late for that kind of thing. Also we were too late for some sort of holiday beer festival. I was more upset about the latter.
Really it wasn’t an exciting night at all. Our double room was remarkably boring. After ripping all the bedding from the mattresses and searching for signs of bedbugs, Rocco and I climbed into one bed while Herbert and Isabella took the other. (More on that duo tomorrow…)
I managed to make the hotel wifi work for a full twenty minutes during which I whipped out a quick Craftastrophe. It’s exactly the kind of thing I’d expect to find under a Christmas tree…if I was trapped inside a Neil Gaiman novel.
You know what? The end. I can’t remember my name right now. I have to do some tongue exercises since I’m going to Brief Encounter again tonight and I want to be prepared just in case the opportunity arises to lick the entire cast.
Also I can’t stop singing this song. If someone could explain to me what the hell this is about and why it’s permanently etched in my brain, I’d be most appreciative.
Oh and hi! Good to see you again, Interwebz!