Q Can't get no Lovin'

Should I tell him it will be much like this the rest of his life?

Road Trip Reality

I'd gone from listening to NPR and nodding at the next move of the Obama administration, to tearing up over a country song about a lady who works at IHOP. She only got two tips on the overnight shift.

I wanted water so badly. Into every road trip I find myself wanting nothing but lettuce and water. And floss.

But I got to the point where I couldn't drink anymore. I'd had so much coffee and water I couldn't pee it all. I was like a sponge that no matter how hard you squeeze is still saturated. Peeting wasn't even fun anymore. So I started looking for something else. That's why the five-pound bag of saltwater taffy made sense.

I went into a truckstop with a Subway, but even Subway--and this might have had something to do with the people standing in line--looked kind of unhealthy. So I wandered around and found these big, plain bags of saltwater taffy. It's a long way from lettuce, but they seemed a nice diversion from the greasy oasis of McDonalds or Del Taco. I told the lady at the register that my pregnant wife sure would love to have some.

Aside from my alimentary canal needing a taffy pull, the road trip was pretty good. I had to go to Rock Springs, Wyoming to help some people having some computer problems. Like any road trip, you discover too much time by yourself is not good.

Pictured Above: Wyoming

Pictured Below: Wyoming

I tried to add some levity, crank some classic rock and slam some caffeine, but there's no way to make a work trip seem like a road trip. I even shouted "yeehaw" a couple of times, but by yourself with a suitcase full of paperwork you're just not road-tripping material.

I did go through the cycle of emotions. As with death's stages of grief; denial, bargaining, anger, depression and acceptance, there seem to be stages of the Wyoming trip. First, you can't believe you're driving five hours through Wyoming. You try and convince yourself it can be avoided. "No, I don't think I'll really have to drive five hours through Wyoming," you tell your wife who asks if you're really going to have to drive fiver hours through Wyoming.

Then, you're getting gas in Laramie and thinking that maybe you could find a quiet place in a park and get things done with some phone calls. But soon enough you're back in the car and madder than hell that your life has amounted to a five hour trip through Wyoming. You listen to the sad country song just to hear how dumb it is.

Soon your in a gift shop attached to a Conoco near Medicine Bow and really sad that an elk lost its leg for a lamp. What have we become? you ask yourself. Later, a dead cat on the interstate nearly has you in the fetal position.

Wanna wee? Better buy an elk leg lamp.

And then you find an upbeat country song and as you close in on Rock Springs, you beleive you've done the right thing. This is it, you shout with glee. I'm so important someone has paid me to drive five hours through Wyoming!

Prologue

Rawlins will never know they were the benchmark for my emotional ascent. I picked up my voice recorder and said, "I have a chain attached to a raft of rotting regret. I want to bang that thing away, chisel it off, and catch a wave leaving behind all the corpses of missed opportunity."

And then I was embarrassed and mumbled, "dumbass."

Once I got to Rock Springs I stayed in a hotel that was probably the coolest place ever in 1983. Now it just needs some new linens. I was excited about the Continental breakfast, but as per usual, "We've got bread!" shouted the morning buffet. It might have something to do with using a plastic knife to cut your waffle on a Styrofoam plate, but it's so far away from good 'ol country cooking.

I did get the computers fixed. Although one client visit was an awkward appointment in a house full of animal pelts. I'm OK with animal pelts. I don't like them hanging above my food in restaurants, but here wasn't so bad. The woman who was my Rock Springs guide refused to sit down on the bison. That made things more uncomfortable than dried bovine fur, so I sat down on the animal's epidermis. And then the guide lady left, and it was just me and the woman of the house complaining about her married life. Her daughter really likes her new husband, she said, but she's not so sure she likes him. I just kept glancing around at all the severed heads hanging on the wall and working as fast as possible on a dialup Internet connection. If you haven't heard that screeching in a while, it can be a little unsettling.

As I desperately tried to contact the outside world, I glanced out her kitchen window. There was elk's head lopped off and left to rot in the back yard.

To add to the atmosphere, the lady kept calling and telling her husband to hurry home because I wanted to hear some of his hunting stories. I kept saying that's OK, really, I needed to go. And as soon as she'd hang up she'd go into some story about how he used to cook/go on hikes/cuddle but doesn't anymore and she just might move back to Winnemucca. I wanted out before I was the hunting story.

I got things working and avoided being turned into a Davey Crocket hat. And I have to say that it's easy to make fun of Wyoming. But we're all pretty much the same everywhere, and then there's me too tired to drive fast enough for the left lane. You could be some educated wonk from Boulder, or some dude who makes home lighting accessories out of animal parts, and you'd both have some fun passing the guy in the Corolla holding an empty bottle of Diet Pepsi and crying.

Roadside Inn

I don't think there's anything more like a fart in the wind than a roadside inn.

Everything is fleeting. The Interstate doesn't even want to be here. No one stops because they want to. Sleep being one of those annoying necessities. Do people even make love at Roadside Inns? It's a guardrail for drifting tumbleweeds--whisking scrambleweeds.

I sat in the Mexican themed restaurant of this roadside Inn and loathed the plastic decor. Under a fake palm tree, and smack dab in the middle of the room, there's a trickling water fountain. Duct tape sticks its power cord to the floor. Somewhere someone could probably use that electricity. Somewhere some monkey and a family of iguana lost their home so we could drill the resources to make a crappy, plastic fountain. Now no matter how deep I dig, I can't seem to make it matter.

At roadside Inns you'll never read about the old couple who ate breakfast every Sunday. No one comes back. If there is a regular he's an aberration. He makes families want to get back in there minivans and keep driving.

But I'm good. About to drift to ESPN. One person in one room of the roadside inn.

And now...Ladies and Gentlemen...

Introducing...

Allie cat!

We have a cat

So I didn't think it would happen this quickly. I told my last web host that I was going to cancel and I thought they'd say, "Oh please don't Mr. Ewy. You've spent so much time and money with us that we couldn't bear to see you go." But POOF! I was gone. And now I have this bare-ass naked site with a few words and even less soul. I never thought you could get attached to a user-interface, a concept as bloodless as concrete, but I did and now I feel like Cheers has closed and I'm forced to share my stories at a Chiles. I'm going to give it a go though. I'll keep telling myself the other host wants me back, but I'm like Gloria Gaynor and will survive with this canned Blogger thing.

We did get a cat. The first few hours went okay. Those were the hours that Paco didn't know we had a cat. And then on a sunny Sunday he looked inside our/his house to see a kitty peering back at him. It must have been confusing for him, like maybe he was in the wrong backyard. But he did his doggy best to scare the large squirrel expanded to a starburst of fur and fear. Allie, the cat, put on a hissy show before leaping off the sill and trotting away from Paco. She looked content, like she figured she wouldn't have to deal with the dog looking in from outside. We did have to let him in at some point, being that we are but stewards of his king-sized bed, and that's when me, with camera in hand, was left with a blurry shot of the first introduction. Allie found shelter downstairs, but couldn't have been too comfortable with Paco barking and screaming like the Exorcist girl.

Now Paco paces the house day and night, often imploring us with a "Dude, Cat!" look on his face. He doesn't get why we're not doing anything. And when we find Allie she stares at us with an 'it's gone, right?" look of despair.

Allie is a lovely creature, a wandering soul who'd made herself at home with friends who already have two cats. They also have two doting little girls. We brought Allie home to sixty pounds of mutt muscle and boy toddler who's full-body hugs include lying on her in the Missionary position. So to say we've "rescued" her is a long shot. But we're hoping for a happier household soon. There's nothing wrong with hope.

Good Night

Last night was perfect. Earlier in the day a co-worker mentioned how kids change everything. I guess that could be the case in defining the success of a night's activities. What did we do last night? We ate Kraft mac n' cheese and went to the park.