Like A Bad Penny 5/24/10

Sorry, hiatus lovers, but the blog is back- not new, not improved, and at least as pointless as ever. With a million-zillion times the hyperbole, yachtloads of made-up words, and all the movie line references (none before 1990) that you've come to expect/loathe.

The primary reason for the suspension of paragraphical hostilities was our long-delayed honeymoon. The "Honeymoon Period," the time after a marriage when mutual smittenness makes all shortcomings invisible, had been stretched out for almost two years, and behaviors that had once seemed endearing were becoming all-too visible. Amy had noticed that not only did I piss in the shower, I pissed ON the shower. (A habit developed during my freshman year of college that I never shed.) She was driving me crazy, too. Every time I pissed on the shower, she would throw a hammer at me. With frustration, and concussions, mounting, we plotted our trip.

We had to get out of town, and we had to go somewhere beautiful. Thus were Lenexa, Uvalde, Texas, and Riverside all quickly eliminated. We didn't have skiffloads of dinero, so, Jamaica, Hawaii, and Leawood were crossed off the list. And our destination couldn't be jammed by tour buses filled with nonagenarian food sample grubbers, which eliminated Branson. Only one region remained: The Pacific Northwest, where talking on your cell phone while driving is illegal, but, thanks to right to die laws, you have the right to off yourself at anytime and not face prosecution. Where the air is fresh, except for the medicinal marijuana haze, and everyone rides a bike- probably because they're unemployed and have had their cars repossessed.

It was to be an eight-day trip, with five of those spent in Oregon, one in California, and one in Washington. (The last day was spent at the Denver airport, funk you very much, Frontier Airlines, but our lawyer says I can't comment, until our plea agreement for verbal harassment of a Sky Marshall charges is accepted.)

The goal was to see the wonders of nature, like, mountains, wide beaches, waterfalls, mountain lakes, ocean sunsets, huge trees, and tidal pools, and, through those wonders, develop a sense of our insignificance in the universe, and through that sense of insignificance, realize just how alone and vulnerable we were, and through that realization of aloneness and vulnerability, cling to each other for dear life, literally, and so that inappropriate pissing would seem like triflingly smelly inconvenience. And to take a lot of cool pictures. And to come back with a ketchload of shotglasses etched with the silhouette of Mt. Hood.

How did it go? How did we do? What did we see? All will be revealed, except the details of the condition of the bathrooms in the more remote State Parks. (Hey, at least they were open. Funk you, very much, Arizona.) If it helps ease the suspense any, I'll just let you know that Amy and I are still married, and the Redwood Super Butt Fungus is responding to antibiotics.

Thanks for humoring me.