When it comes to opening a satellite dish store, remember: LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION
Adventures in Away. We are off to create black and white memories of our idyllic lives, doing it for the children, in fact THINKING of the children and ONLY the children for more hours than there are in a day, seeing how long we can spend with them trapped in a hotel room before slipping with a string of pent up FUCKY POO BITCHES followed by a tearful ‘I’M SO SORRY, WEE ONES’ and a glance over at the spouse with a scornful ‘HOW COULD YOU,’ all the while thinking, ‘SAY IT AGAIN! ONE FOR ME!’
Everyone knows there are two sublime moments that mark any vacation: that instance two weeks ahead of the actual journey when everyone is imagining how possibly wonderful an 8-hour drive, 2-hour ferry ride and 4-days worth of asking annoyed Canadians if anyone speaky english, and then, years later, looking at a photo of yourself in front of a sign that reads WELCOME TO CANADA: YOU CAN GO HOME NOW, holding two children’s heads in the parental equivalent of a half-nelson and you laugh and laugh and are suddenly silent, wondering if injecting the johnnie walker with a syringe is any faster, unaware that the closest thing you have is a turkey baster. That’s because you realize you are looking at the pictures alone, naked, in a furniture-less studio. The year is 2027. You don’t remember where it all went wrong.
But there’s hope for this vacation, because Canada isn’t Disneyland or Disneyworld or even the Fun Acre Mini-Golf Sinclair Dinosaur, it’s CANADA, MOTHERFUCKER, and having been to all the provinces (BUT NOT THE TERRITORIES! DON’T ASK ME ABOUT THE GODDAMNED TERRITORIES!) I can tell you that the hope is justified, because the only one who can screw up this vacation is me.
And I would never do that.
Me: Can I bring my computer?
MEMBERS OF THE FAMILY: NO!
Me: But what about Mapquest? We’ll need Mapquest!
MEMBERS OF THE FAMILY: THE HOTEL HAS A MAP!
Me: But what about the Canadian-English Dictionary? How will we communicate? What if I have to ask for a water closet?
MEMBERS OF THE FAMILY: STOP IT JUST STOP IT!
This is my away message, therefore, and while my PDA will fit into my undergarments, there’s no guarantee that I will find a free wi-fi zone in Canada with enough privacy so that I can type entire blog posts while poking at my groin area with a stylus. Not good posts, anyway. Nothing of this quality, that’s for certain.
The Canadians have a saying, “The devil places a pillow for a drunken man to fall upon.” Loosely translated, it means this: LAY OFF THE BOOZE. And I can understand this way of country-speak, because lately I’ve been haunted with dreams of another woman, wherein we have relations, and not the good kind of relations, not like international relations, but BAD relations, like contextual relations, and at one point, her roommate enters into the dream and is just watching us, and not in a good way. But in a way that is anything but good.
And the young lady with whom I’m relating says, ‘GAH. THIS IS SO HUMILIATING.’ But then I explain that I, too am embarrassed, only I’m not embarrassed for US, I’m embarrassed for her roommate, because, I mean, WHO JUST STANDS THERE AND WATCHES? And it totally works, because the next morning we start relating again. And yes, her roommate comes in and watches.
Finding a hotel room with a couch and a separate entrance was surprisingly difficult.
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