Wednesday, June 22, 2011



Ok, let's recap.

Our story began in lovely North Carolina, The Old North State. State Motto - Esse Quam Videri.  State bird – cardinal. State flower – dogwood. State serial killer – gray squirrel .

North Carolina has a wide range of elevations, from sea level on the coast to 6,684 feet (2,037 m) at Mt. Mitchell, the highest point in the Eastern US.  Unfortunately, most of this beautiful scenery was lost on us due to fact we were experiencing A SCREAMING DEATH DIVE.  We careened up and down a road that was about five feet wide and paved with canola oil as we attempted to reach our little love cabin in the mountains. 

We clung to the side of our cabin for three whole days before we were found.  Ok, so we actually drove away.  However, it would be our wedding anniversary soon and I was determined to find a peaceful, romantic hideaway for two, a place for amore.  I had the mandatory Victoria Secret Nightgown.  Actually it was the Lucretia Borgia Line Nightgown but it had been on sale at Walmart and Dick wouldn't really care which it was anyway.  But I digress...

VACATION HEAVE PART DEUX - Asheville, Georgia.  I meant to say Heaven but...

Merry Maids

So the whole Asheville thing didn't work out either, never did see the Biltmore.  The Nazi Merry Maids were kicking in the door and Poncho, or Pinhead as he is more famously know, was shape shifting into a Linda Blair character from "Are You Smarter Than a Creature from Hell?"  Richie was so worried that Poncho would find a way to expose himself to the lobby below, and cost us a penalty point of $100 dollars, that he stayed awake all night, a sentry guarding the large window overlooking the lobby. 

Yes, this is an actual picture of my husband.  Sentry Man

(If you are confused you really must go and read the first and second chapters of this.  I'm not Linda Lael Miller and this is not a series book.  Go grasshopper and learn.)


We left the hotel in a huff the following day - they would not redeem our second night's prepayment amount.  We actually left in a minute and a huff.  Marxs Brothers.  They are rat bastards, (Holiday Inn not the Marx Brothers), Richie and I were now barely speaking to each other and Hell Cat was pooping all over the back of the van.  I wanted romance pretty soon and I was getting less and less fussy about the details. 

Now, first of all, Savannah is beautiful.  The whole city is a mess of parks, or squares, the hotels are lovely and we had hope of finally of salvaging the few days left.  The clock was ticking. No, not my biological clock, that little number croaked a loooong time ago. 

This was our Anniversary Day.  If only we could restrain from mutilating each other before it was over we both mused.  Do you know how to muse?  You put your lips together and raise an eyebrow.  It's a fetching look.  Do you know how to fetch?  I must get back on topic...

We decided to take a bus tour.  Savannah Day Tours or something like that offered a whole day bus ticket for $15 a person.  With this ticket they would let you off and pick you up at dozens of sites in the city and all the while a professionally trained tour guide was telling you all you needed to know about the universe, like Carl Sagan.

It cost us $25 each.  No, I don't understand that either.

Well, we pulled into the parking lot and lo and behold I was halfway to the office when Richie called me back.  The van had suddenly blown a thermastat and was overheating and the air was turned a magnificent shade of blue from our curses and grunts.  Well, the lady who worked inside the bus tour office was wonderful, found us a garage nearby, calmed us down, only slapped me once.  We handed the van to a complete stranger for the next six hours (read $250) as we jumped onto our bus tour of Savannah.

Our first bus driver was a young black woman named Red Sonja and she insisted she was not related to the blonde Red Sonja of movie greatness.  She was more of a Whoopy Goldberg Red Sonja and was really really funny.  I liked her.  We got on and off and on and off buses, toured the city, read about a hundred boring placques, took each others picture, erased said pictures, took more pictures, and had, all in all, a pretty wonderful time.  For an hour.  What to do now.  We decided to eat and there it was, looming before us like Brigadoon.  The Valhalla of Vittles. 

Lady and Sons (I think that's the name) Restaurant.

Paula Deen's restaurant.  Y'all.  

Well, I decided then and there I simply had to have me some of that Paul Deen.  (read that with a really thick southern accent, please.  Have you ever received stage direction in a blog before.  I didn't think so.)  As we approached we realized a long line stretched down the block.  The lunch crowd I surmised; it was about 11:00 in the morning.  I said to a lady, "Hey lady, how long is the wait to get into the restaurant?"  She said, "Get off my foot."  I said, "Sorry, how long is the wait to get into the restauant?"  She said, "This is the line to sign up for dinner tonight."  

I looked down the block and the line that was snaking around the corner. 

Now, my husband is not one to wait in line so we left, deciding we would come back later.  By 7:00 that night the line was gone, by 8:00 there were just a few people staggering out of the door, belts undone, zippers down, (makes you wonder about good old Paula's statement up there).  But, I guess they were just all really satisfied with the food.  We, on the other hand were BLOODY STARVING. 

We approached the two nine year old girls that worked there, standing vigil at the door, clasping the Sacred Reservations Book to their scrawny little chests.  Just as we got there, a tiny little elderly couple darted in front of us.  We are from Florida and we know little old people have really sharp shoulder blades and elbows and they're quick, much quicker than most people realize, like little rodents.  "Get out of our way," they shrieked at us, well at our kneecaps.  "We were here first.  You kids can just wait."  He threatened Richie with a catheter.  "Back off punk!  I know how to use this!"

I snapped.  Again.  Richie had to pull my hands from the wife's spindley neck.  I could have broken it in half, easy as pie.  Her walker was slowing her down her fencing lunges.  Well, they took sooo long asking questions of the nine year olds that we got bored.  I said, "You know we can always say we've been to Paula Deen's and we won't be lying."  Richie said, "You have a devious and conniving mind.  I always admired that about you."

We had our anniversary dinner at Five Guys down the block.  It was delicious.  I had a hot dog and he had everything else on the menu and later Richie and I celebrated with some drinks, one too many evidently.  One of us ended up visiting the bathroom of a fine Savannah hotel.

Finally, we returned to our romantic Savannah hotel room and celebrated our anniversary they way we truly wanted to, the way that meant something to us, something sacred and mysterious.  We dimmed the lights and lit candles, poured ourselves champagne, curled up together on the bed, turned on Cinemax and, pretty soon...



LucyParker said...

Why aren't you writing travelogues? I know that I and the multitude of others that read this blog would plan all our vacations around your advice and adventures. And then do the opposite.

Confectioner's sugar. For the longest time I thought Paula was drawling 'affectionate sugar.' Listen to her, you'll agree with me.

Isn't Orangina a drink, like Kool-Aid? I think that guy and Bobcat (Pinhead?) are selling something else. Did they stay at your hotel?

Sentry Man, aka my heartthrob Richie, looks exactly as I imagined him. You're a lucky girl! Wishing you both many more happy years of bliss.

3laine said...

Hilarious. I've been to some of these places too.... similar experiences....

Wishing you many happy years and perhaps a different type of vacation next time.

Karen Wasylowski said...

thank you both. Richie and the bobcat is the next blog.

kavita said...

Hilarious .Well i have never been to these places .Happy Anniversary .Came here through blog hop.

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