Day One Of ass hairs and waterfalls

By referencing and cross-referencing three massive RV guides, Toney found a highly-rated campground almost exactly halfway between here and our ultimate destination of Nancy Town, North Carolina, in Staunton (pronounced "Stanton" for some reason), Virginia. And that was our first-day goal. We'd briefly considered trying to make the entire trip in one day, but scrapped that idea early on. Why kill ourselves for the privilege of spending an extra day submerged in chaos? As long as we were working our way towards Sunshine and Nancy, they'd be pacified. Screw it.

Both had been hammering Toney about the fact that we never travel to see them, failing to take into account the small detail about them always being here. It doesn't take long to travel to our living room, y'know? I think Nancy actually knows the dates we were last at her house, and it was, like, four years ago. She's still pretty young, but has already mastered the art of guilt like a well-seasoned granny. She's constantly making mental notes and storing shit away for later. And I don't like that.

The drive was fairly uneventful. Toney had to complain at The Cracker Barrel because her eggs were barely cooked, and there was a hair in her hash browns that may or may not have come off a human ass. I looked at it closely and it seemed kind of assy to me, but I'm not really an expert on such matters; I wish we'd had access to the Law & Order labs to get the full story. That midget in the white coat could tell us the shape of the ass of origin, and the vectors of the convexity of each cheek (or whatever). He's good, I tell ya.

The manager knocked off the price of Toney's breakfast, which was the least he could do under the circumstances, I thought. Cracker Barrel seems to let us down a lot these days. I'm starting to lose confidence. It's sad, really. I feel like a long-term love affair is starting to unravel.

When we were crossing the eastern panhandle of West Virginia we stopped at one of their interstate piss centers, to piss. I had our dog Andy on a leash and was allowing him to sniff everything vertical, and to add his "scent" to the pre-existing aromas. Poles and trees are like guest books for dogs, apparently, and Andy signed as many as he could manage. He never seems to run out of ink.

About five minutes into it a fat woman in a uniform came busting out of one of the buildings, hollering and waving her arms. "Dogs aren't allowed up here!" she screamed at me, as if I'd inadvertently activated a nuclear missile and it was now on its way to China. She directed me to a tiny leper colony on the other side of the parking lot, beside the highway, and all chewed up with deep tractor trailer tire ruts. Nice.

I took Andy over there, beside high-speed traffic, and began the process of profiling the bitch. Probably still lives with her parents at the age of fifty, a virgin, collects spoons or bells or something... And she exists for this shit. This is her life's work, to keep dogs in their proper locations at a southbound rest area in West Virginia. Bravo, fatty! Fucking bra-vo.

The campground in "Stanton" was really nice. We got a pull-through site, which meant I didn't have to do any trailer backing. After we set everything up we walked around and tried to get a cell phone signal. We were way out in the boonies and both of our phones said NO SERVICE. We were finally able to make calls to our parents, to let them know we hadn't plunged off a bridge or anything, by standing in a particular square-foot section of grass beside the lake, on one foot.

The place was really pretty and there was a waterfall a few feet from our campsite. We waded out into the creek and skipped stones, and sipped Rolling Rocks from cans and watched a family of ducks paddle upstream -- just twenty-four hours after leaving my desk at work, and all that crapola. I could feel the stress disappearing, and we both wished we could just stay there for a week. It was a paradise, quiet and beautiful, in the middle of nowhere. We decided we'd return there on our way back.

We had a dinner of hotdogs cooked over charcoal, watched lightning bugs, and listened to the Southern accents of the fellow campers around us. It seemed like the best place on earth, and it sure beat the hell out of a Red Roof Inn and a humming Sprite machine down the hall, the way we used to do it. When it all comes together like that, camping can't be beat. It pisses me off that I was such a snob about it for so many years.

Day Two What in the hell is Nutella?!

After we left "Stanton" we drove up. The rest of the way, it seemed, we climbed. Up. And since we were dragging our bedroom behind us, I couldn't build up much speed and was forced to hang out in the right lane with the struggling 18-wheelers. I had it dropped down into one of those shadowy gears beyond the D, the ones that are just a number. And up we climbed.

At some point shit started looking a little rural, if you know what I mean. Gone were the Wendy's and Arby's at every exit. They were replaced by other restaurants called Meal Barn, and EAT. We stopped to get gas in one of the tiny banjo towns along the highway, and I had to go inside to pay with a credit card. Pay at the pump technology hasn't yet reached Dog Balls, NC, I guess. The frightening woman behind the counter actually pulled out one of those big black 1982 slider things, and laid my card beneath a stack of "carbons." Chu-chunk! Incredible. It was the land that time forgot.

After signing all the appropriate paperwork, I asked ol' Perry Farrell where I could find the men's room. When I walked in a thousand flies were disturbed and began buzzing around, and the funk was large. The urinal was out of order, so I had to go into the stall. And it looked like someone had taken a crock pot of goulash in there, and had just flung the contents in the general direction of the toilet. Most of it made it in, but some was on the tank, the wall, and the floor. Nasty. And I don't think it was really goulash, it only looked like it.

We made it all the way to Nancy Town without the transmission in my Blazer shitting the bed, and I was relieved about that. I asked the woman at the campground if we could have a pull-thru site, with cable TV hookups. And she answered, "No." That was her full response. I asked if she had anymore information beyond the no, and she said there are no pull-thrus available, and the sites along the lake don't come with cable. She said we could have a less-desirable spot, off the lake, if we absolutely had to have cable television while we camped. The way she put it made me feel pathetic, so I mumbled that we'd forego the television hookups (I guess). I buckled under society's pressures, but at what price? A full week with no Scrote?! I'd allowed myself to be bullied by a woman in a yellow polo shirt, with a political axe to grind.

Toney's mother wanted us to call the moment we arrived, but I asked Toney to please give me a fifteen minute head start. I didn't need Sunshine there spewing "advice" as I set up the camper. It took me about ten solid minutes to back it into place, with a full gallery of snickering spectators, so I was in no mood for further bullshit. It didn't take us long to get everything in place, though, and by the time Sunshine and Nancy arrived we were pretty much finished. We were camping on the banks of a lake, just a few feet from the water. I tried to force myself to focus on the beauty, and not the mosquito breeding-ground aspect of the situation.

Nancy and the translucents were at Sunshine's apartment awaiting our call, and they were all there within minutes. And chaos descended upon the camp. The noise was simply incredible, and I'm sure our neighbors were all very pleased that we'd been assigned a spot near theirs.

Translucent One, who is five, asked if we'd driven to North Carolina in our "white SUV." Here we go, I thought. What toddler uses a term like SUV? He'd obviously overheard adult conversations. When I told him we had indeed traveled in our white SUV, he gave me a disapproving look and ran off to shriek and wail with his brothers. Excellent. It's just like being around a gang of Jesus freaks.

Over the cacophony Nancy announced, with obvious pride, that she'd prepared a chocolate cake with Nutella frosting, for after-dinner. Sunshine shot me a secret look of alarm, which was an emotion I was also experiencing. Nutella? The hell is that??

It didn't take long for Sunshine to order us all to her apartment, because of the heat. She was using a lid from a Domino's Pizza box, which she'd dug out of the trash, to fan herself. And the bitching had officially gotten underway. "Oh God, oh God..." she gasped, as if she were approaching The Light. Unless she's absolutely comfortable, and everybody in the entire world is doing exactly what she wants, she's miserable. And we were informed that the party was moving to a place with air conditioning, between gasps and vigorous fanning. She was miserable.

Sunshine rode with us to her place in our white SUV, and Nancy and the translucents took their shuddering, smoke-belching (but acceptable) hippie van. As soon as we were in the car she started: "What in the hell is Nutella?! Why can't those people just buy a goddamn Betty Crocker like everyone else? Now we're going to have to eat that shit, and you can bet it's bitter and awful. I was laughing my ass off, because these were the same questions and concerns I had. Sunshine and I were in sync on the Nutella.

We sat around the air-conditioned apartment for hours, amongst the unceasing noise, sipping bottles from a Samuel Adams variety pack. Eventually Mumbles came home from work and dinner was prepared. Hot dogs, hamburgers, various salads and chips. Good stuff.

At some point Sunshine and Nancy got into an argument and Sunshine stormed out of the apartment, and slammed the front door. She sat on the front porch in a lawn chair with her arms crossed, in the internationally recognized posture of a person who is fucking pissed. But there was so much going on, I have no idea what any of it was about. I felt like I was at a Chuck E. Cheese, on Ritalin Day. The noise was simply amazing.

After dinner Sunshine dragged Translucent One off by himself, and began grilling him about Nutella. He said it was a chocolate spread that you put on crepes. Crepes? Seriously, what kid talks this way??

And then the cake was served and, surprisingly, it wasn't too bad. It was flat, like brownies, probably because it was made with all natural ingredients and there wasn't anything in there that could rise. But I was able to choke it down OK, and the infamous Nutella frosting wasn't too bad. It was a bit gritty, but nothing like I'd feared. A bullet dodged.

Nostrils called Nancy after dessert and said that he'd be late in arriving because he'd encountered a frightening rainstorm, and had been forced to pull his car to the side of the road. What a rugged individual, I smirked to myself. Then I heard Nancy talking to him about how he also needed to go home and change his clothes, which would delay him further. The hell? Had he shit himself?? Did the rain scare him that much? After she hung up she told us that Nostrils wouldn't be able to stay long, because he had a splitting headache. Apparently he'd mistakenly caffeinated himself earlier in the afternoon, and was thus rendered useless. I'm not making any of this up.

Sunshine wanted to show us the river that runs past their apartment, so we all trudged down the bank amongst the poison ivy and tick colonies. Translucent One's feet slipped out from under him and he got mud on his hands and pants, which touched off something like I've never witnessed before. He began making noises like when you dial-up to the internet, and speaking in different voices. No joke, he sounded like that guy on the Police Academy movies, and waving his arms and shit. I was preparing myself for the chanting of "Redrum! Redrum!!" to begin. And this frenzy lasted for at least ninety minutes. He got frickin' mud on his pants! 

But then I reminded myself that his dad was across town huddled beneath an exit ramp, shivering in his own waste, because of brisk winds, or whatever.

As we were preparing to leave that madhouse I found Nancy in the kitchen with her arms plunged elbow-deep in the garbage can, digging out the beer bottles I'd so callously tossed in there. She was collecting them in a big and filthy canvas bag. We told everybody goodbye, and hightailed it out of there, just as a haggard-looking Nostrils arrived.

It may have been rude, but we said hi and goodbye, and just kept on trucking. My nerves were shredded and I felt like I could go for a good long cry. We went back to our camp beside Lake No Cable, and downed a few more adult beverages to calm ourselves down. Then a few more, just to make sure.

It was going to be exactly like I'd had it pictured. Exactly. 

Pass the beer nuts.

Day Three Roughing it in living rooms and pubs

-- I still don't know what caused it, but when I popped my contact lenses into my eyes in the morning, they felt like tiny discs o' fire. The pain was immediate and sustained, and tears began streaming down my face. I tried to ride it out since it's not unusual for them to burn a little for the first few minutes, but this was over the top. After about ten minutes of anguish I removed the damn things, and was incapacitated for several more hours. Light hurt, my eyeballs were stinging, and I was really out of it. It sucked. All I could do was sit in a chair wearing sunglasses or with a towel over my face. I felt like some freakish creation of Dean Koontz: a man who doesn't exactly have eyesight but who "sees" things nonetheless.

I have no proof, but I think it had something to do with all the goddamn foliage. It looked like Vietnam where we were camping, and I believe my contacts were coated in some sort of evil pollen that my eyes didn't take too kindly to. It happened once before, in Sporegon, and I blamed the strange trees there too. In any case, that's how I spent the morning. No fun.

In the afternoon we all climbed into Sunshine and Mumbles' so-called Monster Van, and went to Nancy's house. She's lived in her "new" house for about three years now, and we'd never seen it. This was something she reminded Toney of on a regular basis. Nancy, I know, will eventually become one of the world's most accomplished guilt-wielding mothers. The Translucents will be powerless against her. Already she's a black-belt.

The house is nice, but really small. Eight hundred square feet, for five people. Yikes. You could fart in there and blow out every window. Supposedly it's a political statement of some sort, but I wonder. It seems that the high-horse explanations come after the fact. I just think they lack common sense and normal reasoning powers, because of too many years spent on college campuses. But that's just my theory.

I was still in Dean Koontz mode during all this, I could only make out colors and shapes and just wanted to go home. But we stayed for hours, everybody in different rooms hollering at each other. Why so much noise, all the time?! I kept making hand gestures to Toney, trying to get her to take the proverbial bull by the horns. Or, as Nancy might put it, take the bull by a hug (or whatever). I just wanted to get the hell out of there. And I was relieved when Toney finally announced that we'd better get going.

And the next thing I know, a pot of diarrhea coffee is being brewed, and we're bound to drink at least one cup each. What the hell, man? We're being held prisoner, in a mid-century chalet!

While we sat in different rooms sipping our steaming bowel-rippers, the phone rang. It was Nostrils, and I could only hear one side of the conversation. Nancy listened for a few seconds, then said that maybe he should just come home if things were that bad. Then, a few minutes later, she promised to bring fresh underwear when she picked him up. What in the honeybaked hell? Not again! Is pants-shitting a daily ritual for this man? What happened this time, did he become frightened by a large bird?

We finally got away, and headed to Wal-Mart to buy a new cooler. Ours was leaking like a bastard, probably because it was overloaded. I had about a hundred beers in that thing, and it weighed roughly the same as a Ford Festiva. We got a Coleman Extreme, which supposedly keeps ice from melting for five full days. Ha!

Nancy was supposed to meet us at Sunshine's apartment later in the day, and Toney and I were going out for a few beers with Nancy and Nostrils that night. But by the time we arrived she was already there, and ready to go. Jesus J. McChrist. Is there no downtime?? We told her we needed to swing by the campground first, to transfer the contents of our hemorrhaging cooler, and this pissed her off. She wanted to go, right this minute. Toney began crumbling under Nancy's pressure but I blurted, "No!" We're gonna tend to our goddamn cooler, like we'd planned. Just go inside and read Mother Jones, lady, and we'll be right back. Shit. Control freaks, as far as the eye can see.

At the campground we saw that we had new neighbors, on both sides. In front of us was an ancient pop-up that had been turned around, so that our doors faced each other. The heck? And behind us was a mixture of dome-like tents, and a shitload of clean-cut teenagers. Whatever. We switched out the coolers and hustled back. Nancy was probably almost finished with her article about how George W. Bush caused the dinosaurs to become extinct, and was undoubtedly tapping her Birkenstock impatiently.

We picked up Nostrils in their sputtering and shaking hippie van, and the first thing out of his mouth was, "Did you bring the ointment?" I just tried to put it out of my mind.

There was some complaining about the fact that Sunshine had only agreed to watch the Translucents for two hours, so our time was limited. We were going to an Irish pub, and two hours just didn't afford us much drinking and bonding time. Bonding?? Then, after we parked, they dragged us all over town, playing tour guides, and eating up precious barroom time. Didn't we just have a conversation about this? Screw architecture, let's drink!

The pub was really cool, and the homebrew excellent. I chose the IPA and it was hoppy and addictive. We ordered three appetizers to share, and that was our dinner. Nostrils snorkled down an entire basket of hot wings, marrow and all, then licked his fingers and the wax paper that lined the basket. He put on a frickin' clinic. The rest of us had vegetarian nachos, and some kind of spinach dip and bread. It was all good.

I didn't have much to say, mostly because I'm not exactly passionate about the plight of the tomato-pickers, or whatever it was they were talking about. They grilled me about my job, as usual, but I kept my answers brief. For some reason they're obsessed with my work, which is very confusing. What's their angle?? I didn't give them much to contemplate, because I don't trust their motives.

After "dinner" Nostrils suggested we go to a great little bakery they know, where we could all enjoy an Eastern European pastry. Eastern European pastry? I laughed and said, "What's that, a slice of white bread?" And that little attempt at humor garnered nothing but the sound of crickets. Everybody looked at me like I had a row of penises growing out of my forehead.

The pastries were good, but expensive. Nine bucks for me and Toney, with nothing to drink. Goddamn communists. Nostrils couldn't sit still and was up and down a thousand times. Adding a little more sugar to his coffee, then a little more cream... I wanted to smack him. My eclair was already being broken down by acids by the time he finally started lingering over his silk cake, or whatever he bought. It seemed like we were there for hours. He made some sarcastic remark about how I'd gobbled down my dessert, and I just stared into his nose holes and said nothing.

As we were finally leaving Nostrils spotted someone he knew, and struck up a conversation with her. I wondered if they had a gas oven in the back, big enough to fit a human head inside? Holy shit, those people can sure drag things out. And what about Sunshine? We were well past the two hour limit she'd laid down for us. Agreements are only vague guidelines for Eninen, I guess.

And out on the sidewalk, as we waited, I noticed that Nancy's armpit hair was backlit by the setting sun, and was gently rustling in the wind. It was strangely moving, sort of majestic in a way. It made me proud to be an American, and I had to fight the urge to salute.

Day Four  A space perfect for entertaining

-- As I entered the bathhouse for the day's first bladder evacuation, I was met at the door by an obese hillbilly child. "You're on your own in there," he said. "Both toilets are loaded up and I'm afraid to flush." Pardon? I was still half asleep, and this is how the day began. Although I admired his choice of the term "loaded up," it was quite jarring. I have no doubt he was the culprit in at least one case. Possibly both.

Toney cooked breakfast on the outside stove, and Sunshine arrived early. The day had been mapped out for us, as usual, and was designed to appease both Sunshine and Nancy. We would go to the mall with Sunshine in the morning, and have lunch at her beloved food court(?!). Then the see-through brood would descend upon the campground for an afternoon of swimming. Afterwards, everybody would have dinner at our place. Sweet Jesus.

I had to call my Dad to help walk me through the lighting of the hot water tank on our camper. We needed to wash dishes for the first time, and I had no idea how to go about it. I'm forty-one years old and don't know shit, which is quite embarrassing. He talked me through the process though, and didn't make fun of me too much, and all was right with the world. My contacts weren't even scorching my eyeballs today. I felt like I'd awakened from a bad dream.

I had Panda Express at the mall, and had to remind myself that we were on a camping trip. Sunshine loves malls, and shopping in general. She could pack a lunch and spend an afternoon at Lane Bryant -- I'm surprised she hasn't asked them to erect a picnic table over by the girdles yet. When I see another Marshall's store, she sees heaven. When a TJ Maxx sign appears on the horizon, she becomes as excited as a kid on the Disneyland monorail. Crazy.

After the mall we walked around an RV dealership and daydreamed. We found our dream rig, which carried a price tag of $20,500. Ha! May as well be twenty million. It was hotter than owl piss out there, and I was already running out of juice. Holy shit, the humidity. I lived in the South for over thirty years, and never got used to it. It saps you, and I don't like it.

The swimming portion of the day was OK, I guess. There was no way in hell I was taking my shirt off in front of those people, so I just hung out with my legs in the water or chilling in the shade. Of course, Nostrils was showboating his Auschwitz physique, and doing handstands and shit. Wotta douche. The Translucents were all trussed up in life jackets, probably manufactured during one of the World Wars. I didn't see it, but I was told by two independent witnesses that Nancy's bathing suit couldn't quite contain the jungle down below, if you get my drift. One said it "looked like peat moss."

Just another day at the pool.

Between swimming and the dinner extravaganza, I went out exploring. Things had been so crazy I hadn't seen anything except what was right around our camper. I found a huge pond covered in lily pads, which was really cool. I don't think I'd ever seen such a thing, I thought lily pads were only on cartoons. And I ventured into Section J, which was apparently an overflow part of the campground. Since it was a weekday, the place was completely empty. Not a soul around. And up on top of the hill, in this abandoned area? A big sparkling new shithouse! I parked my truck, went inside, and had a seat. I'm here to tell ya, there's nothing quite like a mid-day dump in good ol' Section J.

During dinner Nancy told a charming little story about how her sons like to dress up like girls and breastfeed dolls. Ahhh, how cute. Probably learned it from their Daddy.

And Translucent One told Sunshine that she's not very smart, because she gives them HoHo's which are full of sugar and preservatives. This pissed Sunshine off and there was a lot of shouting and cursing. Mama's Family, once again. He learned that from one of you, she screamed, while pointing at Nancy and Nostrils. Great fun.

Our neighbor, who I'd noticed hadn't had much to say to us since they first arrived, asked Nostrils to move his van. He was going to have company, he said, and the vehicle was parked on his site. Sunshine, a uniter not a divider, said something like, "Why don't you tell him to park it up his ass?"

As Mumbles and I cooked dinner Nancy and Nostrils tossed a Frisbee back and forth with oversized mixed drinks sloshing around in their left hands. And the neighbors behind us bowed their heads in prayer, while Sunshine spewed obscenities about the goddamn heat.

It's only a matter of time before we're kicked out of here, I whispered to Toney.

Nancy had made some kind of horrifying salad that contained (as best as I could tell) long-grain rice, dirt clods, wasp nests, and garlic. And she began lobbying me to try it upon arrival. No way. It's well-documented that I don't like garlic, but that doesn't stop people from pressuring me to eat large amounts of it. It's the same with mayonnaise. People act like it's a personal insult if you order a sandwich dry, or pass on the garlic. I mean, what the hell? This became an issue eventually, and Nancy pouted for a while about it. It's maddening.

Translucent One said that he wanted to try a regular hotdog, instead of a Tofu Pup, and he was shut down like something in Castro's Cuba. And I'm sure he was set straight later that night. It was a question he would regret asking, and it wouldn't happen again. It was a worse transgression than calling a girl a girl.

And speaking of Tofu Pups, for spite Sunshine kept feeding them to Andy, just so they'd run short. She was still pissed about the HoHo's comment and was sabotaging their dinner as revenge. Nancy asked what had happened to all their pseudo-wieners, and Sunshine said the squirrels must've got 'em. Later I saw Andy behind the trailer in the throes of a full-body pump, puking into the tall grass.

When the sun started going down I began stacking up some wood in the fire ring, and this drove away Nancy and the gang. Their kids are deathly afraid of fire, they said. Shoulda known. Plus, if it would happen to pop or spark or something, Nostrils would undoubtedly power-shit into his twelve-dollar natural-cotton briefs. So, we'll see y'all tomorrow! Thanks for coming.

And Sunshine & Mumbles stayed until almost eleven, hollering about that HoHo's deal, and downing something called Mudslides. We'll be hearing about those HoHo's for years to come. The expiration date isn't anywhere near on that particular rant; it's loaded with more preservatives than the snack cakes themselves.

Yes, it was one of our most successful camping days yet. It was just like something right out of Boy's Life. With a little peat moss and profanity.

Day Five  Facing fear

-- I was starting to get a bad vibe from the neighbors, the ones who set up their camper to face ours. They hadn't said a word to us since they came over to pet Andy on the first day. They seemed friendly enough, but now neither of them would make eye contact with us. What gives? Did they overhear something that offended them? God knows it was possible. Did I do something to piss the guy off? What's the story? I don't like people being mad at me, especially when there's no intentional reason for it. It was starting to nag at me, this averting of the eyes and cold shoulder. I kept trying to retrace my tracks, to see what went wrong.

I remember laughing about the guy's cell phone, which plays "Dixie" when it rings, but I'm pretty sure I was discrete. Beyond that, nothing. It was bugging the crap out of me. What did we do??

We were scheduled to have brunch at Nancy's house, which is something I'd been dreading since I learned about it days earlier. You can laugh all you want, but I'm afraid to eat at her place. I literally have no idea what I'm putting in my mouth, and my imagination runs wild. Brunch should be fairly straightforward: eggs, waffles, fruit, etc. In the hands of Nancy and Nostrils though, anything is possible.

But, surprisingly, it wasn't too bad. The eggs had some kind of powerful French armpit cheese mixed in, but it was kinda interesting once you got past the initial shock. That was the only challenge, really. My lower jaw didn't retract in disgust even once.

Everything was in slices, like pie. We had a big wedge of armpit eggs, a large hunk of some sort of bizarre German pancake that had little to no taste... I got confused in the beginning and put syrup on my eggs, because I couldn't tell which was the pancake. Sunshine smuggled in her own syrup, in her purse, because she says the kind Nancy & Nostrils use is "straight out of a tree in their backyard." After trying a little, I suspect that she wasn't joking.

It was an odd meal, as we'd expected, but not too gut-wrenching. Nothing like the spaghetti they served us years ago topped with a carrot-based marinara sauce. It was nothing that horrifying. Another bullet dodged.

After breakfast everybody sat around and argued and sniped at each other for a while. There was a power-struggle going on between Nancy, Sunshine, and Toney. They wanted to make our plans for us, and Toney was about fed up with it. We had no say in what happened each day. So, there was tension, and I was starting to feel fatigued. I was ready to go home, the novelty had officially worn off. I was sinking in a quicksand of bitterness.

It was decided that Nancy's brood would come to our campground again, and the kids would swim in the pool. I think she wanted us to go to a concert in the park, or something, and wallow in the mud and paint each other's naked bodies while doing a serpentine body hair dance. Something like that, anyway. And Sunshine wanted to go to the mall again, to purchase yet another forty dollar bra. Toney told them both no, which was a start in the right direction. But it did nothing to cut down on the tension.

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful. Our dog Andy nearly turned the trailer over when he spotted a stray cat curled up in one of our Coleman chairs. He broke the chain attached to his collar and almost brought down our awning. Both animals took off like a rocket, and we didn't see Andy for a while. I started to get worried but he eventually came trotting back, smiling and soaked. Apparently he'd leaped into the creek in pursuit of the offending feline. It was like a Warner Bros. cartoon come to life.

Oh, and we noticed that Nostrils was correcting Nancy a lot about the words she used. "Um, honey? We use 'bum' not 'butt,' remember?" And she would apologize and promise to get it right the next time. The hell? We found out later that they're trying to be "less American." Make of that what you will.

It was on this day that I began saying to Toney: "PAID IN FULL!" It became the theme of the entire endeavor. Our obligation was nearly met. The trip was almost over, we'd survived, and were now free. They couldn't hold this crap over our heads any longer. Because, goddammit, we were PAID IN FULL! We'd traveled hundreds of miles to visit them both, and gave up a large chunk of vacation time. PAID, baby!! I eventually began pumping my fists in the air as I repeated it. Free at last!

But later that night I wasn't feeling quite so euphoric, while watching Sunshine's home movies. There was a shot of me sitting on the side of the pool earlier in the week, when I'd refused to remove my shirt in front of the concentration camp people. I was dangling my feet in the water and looked quite pathetic, like the sad fat boy who's too large and unhealthy to play with the other children. It's an image that haunts me still. I looked like one of the Campbell's Soup kids sitting there; suspenders were the only thing missing. 

Why can't I just be left alone to thrill in my own mean-spirited thoughts? Everything had been looking so good to me. Yeah, I might be free, but I also resemble a rosy-cheeked Swiss dumpling child. And that's a difficult thing to reconcile. 

Why does everything have to be so complicated?

Day Six  War and peace

Another day of appeasement. We had two lunches, to help keep the peace. (It's almost over, just go with the flow...) We had Chick-fil-A at the mall with Sunshine, and huge football-sized hipster burritos with Nancy. Both were good, but I felt like I needed to make a repeat visit to Section J.

Nancy played tour guide for us in the afternoon, and we finally got to see a little of the area that wasn't bathed in the shadow of a Ross Dress For Less. We walked around downtown and checked out a few things, at a high rate of speed. Nancy sprints everywhere, and it's hard to keep up with her. But it was fun, and I felt kinda guilty for being so mean to her over the years. Sometimes a glimmer of normalcy shines through, from some ancient pre-graduate school past, and it makes ya feel kind of bad.

But then she dragged us to the food co-op and kept us waiting while she "picked up a few things." We'd ran through town like we were engaged in a contest of some sort, past a several places I would've liked to check out, then spent an hour or so standing around inside a hippie grocery store. Strike all that stuff I said about feeling bad... I walked around and perused the shelves, as we waited. Boy, you must have to be mighty rich to lead the simple life. That shit is expensive. Toney called me over and asked if I wanted a spelt and hummus sandwich for a snack. I told her I was still a little full from our half-dozen lunches, thanks, and went back to my issue of Midwifery Today.

As we rode back to the campground in Nancy's shuddering Euro-van, Translucent One suddenly erupted in rumbling soy flatulence. And the vehicle immediately filled with something that smelled like drain cleaner and cinnamon. Sweet sainted mother of Bonnie Franklin! I pressed my face against the screen window and made an attempt to take in more fresh air than vegan bowel vapors. But it didn't work out very well. I'm not joking, I nearly puked. Under the circumstances I would've welcomed a big whiff of good ol' shit classic.

When we got back to our trailer the neighbors were breaking down camp, preparing to leave. I couldn't take it anymore and walked over and attempted to strike up a conversation. "You guys have been doing this for a while, huh? I wish we were this organized..." I said, cheerfully. And the guy didn't reply. He just turned his back on me and walked away! What the fuck?! I couldn't believe it. Jeff Kay: making friends and influencing the owners of Dixie phones. I considered confronting the man, and forcing him to put his cards on the table, but Toney advised against it. It's still making me crazy. What did I do??

That night Sunshine wanted to buy us a going-away dinner, and she chose a place that Nancy and Nostrils would hate -- just for spite. It was a big truck driver buffet, with strong Christian overtones and lots of American flags on the walls. It was everything Eninen hate, all rolled into one. Nobody there says "bum," that's fairly certain. But the food was good and I activated my buffet rule of continue eating until the hallucinations begin. I ingested large amounts of beef, and at one point considered getting up on the bar and wallowing around in the heavy brown gravy. It was a disgusting display of gluttony, and I felt like my pants might explode off my ass. Nancy had a baked potato, seated beneath a garish Ten Commandments plaque, while wearing an expression of pure disgust. Sunshine can be pretty mean, but you have to admire her spunk and creativity.

When we returned to the campground our neighbors were gone and their empty site was a monument to my many inadequacies as a man, and a human being. I just sighed and opened another can of beer.

Days Seven and Eight Going home

Mumbles helped us break down camp, and get everything ready for the road. Then we all went to Waffle House for one last meal together, before hitting the highway.

The good-natured old man bussing tables there told me he'd fought under General Patton in Europe during WWII. He said he was born just a few miles down the road, and had only been away while he was in the service. He loved that little section of the world, and wanted to go out close to where he came in. I wish I could've talked to him more; he was the most interesting person I'd met all week. The man is undoubtedly a dozen epic novels, cleaning up other people's slop in a greasy spoon.

We considered driving straight through, and not stopping for the night. We figured we'd get home around 9PM, and were both eager to get back to a real bed, computers, and ScroteTV. But after about four hours of sitting inside that Blazer, all cramped and hot, we changed our minds. We stopped at Staunton, VA again, and I'm glad we did.

We set up our camper, cranked up the air conditioner, hooked up the cable TV and watched an episode of Andy Griffith (the one with Bobby Fleet and His Band With a Beat), while we decompressed. Then we spent an hour lazing in the big pool, that we had to ourselves, and which was surrounded by green rolling hills. It was one of the more pleasant evenings in recent memory, and I'm thankful we didn't bypass it and keep on driving. I sure wish that Staunton campground was near our house; we'd be there every weekend.

When we finally got home the next day, it felt like our house was huge again. It was the same after our Myrtle Beach trip. When you live inside a canvas pod for a while, you eventually get used to it. And as I carried in our luggage and stuff, it felt like we were trespassing in MC Hammer's mansion or something. It's not a bad feeling, really.

We showered and washed clothes and made a huge salad.  We were craving something fresh, and wanted everything to be clean again.  In the evening Sunshine called and I happened to answer.  Immediately she started ranting about something Nancy had done, shouting obscenities and hollering.  And after I handed the phone off to Toney, I dropped to my knees and kissed the carpet.

PAID IN FULL!

P.S.  "If it's yellow let it mellow, if it's brown flush it down." Guess where I heard that phrase during, say, the past two weeks or so? It's apparently a bathroom rule of thumb amongst certain types who believe we're running out of water(??), and who die a little every time a toilet is flushed. Whisking away only bodily fluids, to them, is as typically Ugly American as <gasp> mozzarella cheese from the green can. In more enlightened cultures (anywhere but here) it's apparently common for the toilet to be used mostly as a place to store your piss. Cardboard boxes on the kitchen shelf don't work as well, so they warehouse it in the bathroom. And it gets added to all day by every member of the family, eventually turning the color of orange juice (with pulp), until somebody drops a pitiful brown soy ribbon in there. Then, and only then, can it be flushed down.

I wish this were a joke, I really do. I've been losing sleep because of it...

Here are a few photos I snapped on the trip.

                                     
                 The West Virginia Surf Report!