Thursday Is Still Too Far From Friday

Y'all, the 'chick has guilt. Guilt for the lack of posting. Guilt because although she could not be bothered to sit down and write y'all an entry, she DID have time to tweak the template and fiddle around with HTML and apparently start an entire new industry designed to aid the technologically-impaired bloggers among us. The new venture? Roadchick Technologies, Inc. as named by Michael from Cardiac Fantasies. She is not quitting her day job, not to worry. While Roadchick understands the innernets, the innernets won't pay the cat food bill at Chez Roadtrip.

So, now that she is here and is actually typing words instead of funny code, what to tell???

The weekend in Gatlinburg was so nice. So nice to get away. Such a nice birthday present. Visits were made to the aquarium and Ripley's Believe It Or Not and Ober Gatlinburg. There was much walking involved. Redneck even paid a visit to a yarn store with the 'chick and didn't complain for one minute. Even though they walked there and it was uphill both ways. And about a mile from the strip.

The motel...well. Hmmm. It was memorable. The 'chick cannot recall the name of the establishment - Smoky Mountain something-or-other, just like everything else in Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg TN. But, y'all.

IT WAS THE BATES MOTEL.

Complete with Ma and Pa Bates. (Ma Bates had a BEEHIVE hairdo.)(The 'chick does not understand the physics involved in a beehive hairdo.)

And a key on a plastic tag.

And paper registration cards that REQUIRE your license plate number even if it means going out into the pouring rain and howling wind to find out what your number is.

Now, y'all are going to be thinking that the 'chick deliberately searches out these relics of the hospitality industry. This is not true. They find her. Actually, Redneck chose the accomodations for the weekend. Although, the fact that the 'chick was whining almost constantly at that point might have had something to do with it. Redneck had tolerated an endless playback of:

"Where are we going to stay?"
"Do you know where we are going to stay?"
"Don't you think we should find somewhere to stay?"

until he gave up and pulled into the first driveway he saw.

The room. Y'all, the room.

It had panelling on the walls. All of them. Wooden panelling. From 1960. It felt like the 'chick was in a basement rec room of her mis-spent youth. All that was missing was the air hockey game and an Atari. The TV was on a lil metal stand in the corner. Amazingly, it did have a remote. This is good because while the 'chick is patient about a great many things, lack of a remote is not one of them. On the upside, the room was very, very, very clean. So was the bathroom. All that was missing was one of those "Sanitized for your safety" beauty pageant banners that used to grace all toilet seats in America's motels. Roadchick misses the ceremonial breaking of the banner. Sigh.

To all of you that sent birthday wishes Roadchick's way - thanks so much! That was so nice of y'all!

On the night of her birthday, October 27th, her first night in Gatlinburg with Redneck, the now-former-Mr.-Roadchick drunkdialed the 'chick to wish her happy birthday. Y'all, it is not a birthday in the South if your ex doesn't drunkdial you. Roadchick accepted his birthday wishes and was trying to get off the phone with him since she was currently at her birthday dinner with Redneck. The ex did not want to get off the phone - he wanted to chat. He was bored. And drunk. And not understanding that Roadchick was on a romantic birthday weekend getaway in the Beautiful Smoky Mountains Of Tennessee. The 'chick finally cut him off and hung up on him. It's ok though - Redneck's ex called him the NEXT night and kept him on the phone for about 10 minutes talking about van repairs and replacing engines and other such nonsense that annoyed the 'chick to no end. Not that there is a jealousy thing about the ex because there isn't - the problem was that the University of Tennessee football game was on, live from South Carolina, where the Game Cocks were getting their butts whipped and all the chatter was distracting the 'chick from the Deadly Serious Sport of Football.

The next morning, the 'chick awoke to voices. As she swam up out of deep, deep sleep she heard a man going on about 22 pounds of undigested fecal material and crusty linings and mental impairment and . . . she sat up in bed, wondering what the hell was going on. Redneck was also sitting up, apparently entranced by this infomercial. The 'chick groggily asked what was going on. His reply? They're talking about stem cell research.

Now, even as sleepy and out of it as the 'chick was - this did NOT compute. Stem cell research? What?

She listened a little bit more.

They were NOT talking about stem cell research although she can understand Redneck's confusion over the difference between feCal matter and feTal matter. However, it was just enough to send her into full-blown hysterics at 6:00 a.m. Complete with howling and tears rolling down her face. Once she collected herself, she explained what they were actually talking about was some sort of colonic program to detoxify your body and clear the mind. To relieve bloating. To remove the . . . crust from the intestines.

It was so funny that Roadchick watched it on Sunday morning too. And laughed just as hard. The guy on there was such a fanatic about it that you just know that he irrigates his colon regularly. Get up early and watch it for yourself. It's probably on the Discovery Channel or something.

In related news - the 'chick has offered her services as a reviewer to BlogLaughs. How is that related? The 'chick can think of several ways... anyway, it's a pretty cool blog and it should be interesting. Keep your eyes peeled.

Other bloggers around the innernets are participating in the blog a day thing that has some cute little initials that the 'chick cannot remember. She applauds their efforts and is glad that she will have new things to read each day. Y'all go! Good job! The 'chick is a slacker, though, and y'all know that about her so she won't even entertain the thought of making a promise like that.

Those of you that believe in the power of prayer - say a prayer for the 'chick tonight. She has to go to her mother's house and give her a perm. Someone may die. It's not certain who at this point. The 'chick hates giving perms. She would rather scrub the toilet in the men's room at a truck stop. So she is giving a perm. She is relatively certain that there will be a conversation along the lines of "NO WIRE HANGERS - EVER!!!" at some point during the evening. There usually is.

And that reminds the 'chick - Lawd, y'all - the holidays are FAST approaching. At warp speed. And there is shopping to be done. The 'chick saw her first official Christmas commercial on TV last night. It made her feel vaguely nauseous.

Her sister-in-law called on Halloween night. To discuss plans for the holidays. And to talk about drawing names for the Christmas gift giving. The 'chick is in favor of this because otherwise she has to buy double the presents and does not receive an equal amount in return. Not that she's counting or anything. But being the single sister in a family of married brothers, it winds up being rather expensive. But the bomb that dropped in the conversation was whether or not Redneck was to be included in the Drawing Of The Names. The 'chick said NO, absolutely NOT. That is the relationship kiss o' death. She suspects that was what happened with her last serious boyfriend a year ago. And, since he bailed on the whole holiday thing in general, other than to appear and collect giftages, she wound up buying TWO expensive gifts instead of just one because he refused to do it after drawing a name. Asshole.

Goodness, that was a little bitter, wasn't it?

Yep, sure was.

So, no, Redneck will not be playing Reindeer Games with Roadchick's family. Not this year.