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What I Did on My Summer Vacation, by S. Weasel

I’m back. And I don’t have anything in particular to say for myself, so let’s get right to it.

The journey happened more or less as predicted, with the interesting bits under the heading “or less.” Like the prop plane that flew the last leg across Tennessee. We were directed out on the tarmac, where half a dozen small twin engine planes were buzzing lazily in the sun. Ours was gray and grubby, without livery. I’m sure it carried ordinance in Dubya Dubya Eye Eye.

We had to walk up to it and climb steps, just like the old days. Huh. I just thought. The last time I flew into Tri Cities airport it was in a plane exactly like this one. I had an explosive nosebleed, which I usually did at altitude. It produced gratifying response in stewardesses, as they were called in another era. I was going to see my grandmother. I was seven.

Anyhow, after that — hey, did anybody spot the flaw in my master plan? We showed up boozeless and planned to buy liquor on the way up. On a Sunday. In rural Tennessee. The horrible realization that this was EXTREMELY unlikely didn’t dissuade us from driving to several liquor stores in panic and leaving greasy noseprints on the front door. The rest of the party weren’t expected up until the next morning, so there was nothing for it but…beer. You can buy beer in the grocery stores any time.

Now, I like the occasional beer, but as an inebriation vehicle, it sucks. The ratio of booze molecules to pee molecules is severely whack. I bought two six packs and only managed to down four beers. I was horribly sober after, but Jesus — that’s more liquid than it generally takes to bathe my person. I fell asleep at last and all night long I dreamed of urination. Everywhere I went in the dreamscape, I had a delightful, satisfying whizz. I didn’t pee the bed, but I gave the idea serious consideration.

So anyway, there wasn’t really time to go stand on my own grave. My cousin was like, “do you want to drive over and…you know. The usual?” And I’m like, “nah. We can just wave as we go by.”

The rest was fine. I guess. The liquor stores opened next morning and I don’t remember much after that.


Comment from amuirin/whitishrabbit
Time: July 12, 2007, 7:09 pm

This made me laugh so hard that I, too, almost peed.

Comment from Gnus
Time: July 12, 2007, 7:10 pm

Geez, Sweasel, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re implying that Tennesssee is a bit backward when it comes to the trappings of a civilized life.

Who’d have thunk it?

Comment from S. Weasel
Time: July 12, 2007, 7:35 pm

Ha! Don’t underestimate the Puritan spirit. The blue laws are — or, at least, were — exceptionally strong in New England, where I be at now. When I first moved here in the late ’70s, I was shocked at how few businesses were allowed to open on Sunday (as opposed to Tennessee). And beer and wine could only be sold in liquor stores, whereas grocery stores could sell them in the South (and in Louisiana, I think you can sell heroin in 7-11s).

On the other hand, liquor stores could sell NOTHING but liquor in Tennessee. No soda, no cigarettes, no can openers…for fear of luring someone in for a pack of Marlboros and letting him out an alky. And there are still dry counties.

But they didn’t change the law to allow Sunday liquor sales in RI/MA until quite recently.

Comment from jwpaine
Time: July 12, 2007, 7:44 pm

It’s “ordnance”, you arty-farty draft-dodging Weasel (if that is your real name).

Comment from Enas Yorl
Time: July 12, 2007, 8:05 pm

So did you get your “Green Lable” JD? What’s that all about anyway?

Comment from S. Weasel
Time: July 13, 2007, 5:22 am

Ordnance! You know, I wondered. I won’t correct it, though. I’ll leave my big gay flub out there for all to see, because that’s the kind of honest weasel I am.

Yes, I got the bottle. The Jack Daniel’s you see in the store is black label and it’s been aged for…I forget. Eight years, maybe? Green label is the same stuff, but it’s been aged for a shorter period of time. I don’t know how long, it doesn’t say. Anyhow, it’s cheaper and r-r-r-r-r-rough. I like it. It barks.

Comment from BONGO MIRROR
Time: July 15, 2007, 10:50 am

Having now read a grand total of two of your posts (OK…I kinda looked at some that seem to be just pictures but I’m the sort of entity that likes reading things rather than looking at pictures — this is a bit paradoxical because the reason that I like reading it that it produces interesting pictures in my mind and I like interesting pictures — one would think that interesting pictures would do this and I suppose they might but I’m so anti-authoritarian that I just don’t want someone putting pictures in my head — I want to make them myself), I’ve concluded that I was right in granting you a BONGO point. You deserve one.

But, that isn’t why I started typing into this little box. I started typing because what you wrote inspired a couple of questions in my mind. I’m going to keep them there thank you. I have some questions that don’t come from my mind. They come from my fingers and they’re about to get splatted onto this page via my keyboard (that I own and paid for with money though I’m not quite sure what I paid — one can’t be sure with these whole package computer deals can one?).

You say that you had a nosebleed. If you were me, I’d have thought that was such a common event as to be non-newsworthy. A more newsworthy event (not so much due to uncommonness but do to the fun one could have with a graphic description) would have been puking or better yet puking while having a nosebleed. So, I wonder, did you puke too?

Even if you didn’t, do you mind me imagining that you did?

Also, there is some reasoning that you could have spelled out. Of course, this is your blog and you don’t need to spell it out if you don’t want to. Still, I’m curious. You say you considered peeing your bed by chose not to do so. Why not?

Comment from S. Weasel
Time: July 15, 2007, 1:51 pm

Apparently, a seven year old traveling alone with a nosebleed several miles up is a figure of some novelty. At least, it made the stewardesses skip around waving hankies at me. Hankies. Remember hankies?

And I didn’t pee the bed because it is the property of my stepmother, Scarlett O’Psycho, of whom all right-thinking human beings are justly terrified. Except my father, who married her, which confers some immunity to the venom.

Comment from BONGO MIRROR
Time: July 16, 2007, 8:50 am

Wow! You’re seven?

I think I might be twelve.

It’s hard to be sure though. People claim that I was born at some time and connected to this, they claim that there was a time before I existed at all. I find this to be a bit implausible. I can’t remember not existing. You’d think I’d remember something like that. I even have a bit of difficulty imagining not existing. I don’t think it ever happened.

Comment from mesablue
Time: July 17, 2007, 10:18 am

Moebius amoeba.

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