I have been absent from blogging what with The Move–a process that reminds us all why we aren’t gypsies.
We drove across the US experiencing some beautiful moments. Those are in picture form, so instead of SHOWING you a thousand words, I’ll just type some of the highlights.
At some point prior to the trip, Til decided that a Would You Rather? book was in our future. I didn’t think at the time we’d put a lot of miles on it, but we did. At times, it was more fun than it should be…also, when I asked a certain book store, they said it would be in the children’s section. Til bought a version that would only be in a children’s section entitled Childish Adults, so suck it independent book store with snobby people. You COULD be cool, but instead you were snobby. YOUR LOSS.
I’m not sure which version we had, but one of the questions was whether we’d rather have our last name be Scroteboat or something else. I don’t remember the something else, because we all said “Scroteboat.” Til decided that for the remainder of the trip, we would be the Scroteboats out for a lovely family vacation. With an escapist cat and a burrowing mutt.
There were plenty of great questions, and Parker and I came up with answers that were both the same and different. We also did “marry, f***, kill” with every fictional tv/movie character and celebrity we could remember. I even added some weirdness to the mix with horrible Disney (Parker started it) and morning cartoon characters. Til did NOT appreciate being asked him, “Gazoo, Scrappy Doo, and Boo Boo Bear.” Then I had to explain who the first one was, because apparently Til was not exposed to enough Flinstones. I later had to explain it to Parker. Guys, he’s the little green martian who would pop up at random intervals and get Fred Flinstone into trouble. I actually don’t remember anything else, except I feel like they were always saying Kazoo. You can even hear it in the video.
We also picked an option of two where Lavar Burton would show up at the end of our sexual fantasies and tell us the meaning (hey, the book MADE us pick). It sounded way cooler than the alternative. He’d probably get sick of it. “Oh great, YOU again. I was having a lovely time SLEEPING. It’s the middle of the NIGHT, and I’d like to be home with my family unconscious. But no, apparently you need me to guide you through this crazy world.” I feel he would be pretty good-natured about, overall. Poor Lavar Burton. Maybe he’d even read a story afterwards?
From then on every time we had a confusing or deep conversation, Til would pipe up with, “I wonder what Lavar Burton would have to say about that.”
I asked Parker if he were going to be in a region of the country where Native Americans originally lived and be one himself, where would he want to live? He said Southwest, and I said, “Oh, like the Navajo.” Within a day, we were in Arizona in Navajo territory. Totally didn’t think about that, but I couldn’t have planned it better.
When we were driving into Arizona, I flipped to a radio station, where a young girl was speaking on behalf of the Behavioral Center. “It can be hard with the start of school to make friends, but make sure that you aren’t peer pressured. Please report it if you can’t resolve it. Whether it be gossip, sex, or smoking crack.”
Okay, I’d been driving awhile, but even if she listed a few more items, one was DEFINITELY smoking crack. I told everyone when we arrived outside the Petrified Forest. I am obviously out of the local loop, because I didn’t know smoking crack was that much of a problem in the good ol’ AZ. I was naive to this, but no more!
After the Grand Canyon, we were STARVING, so we found a deli in the midst of rock and red soil where we could get some grub. Either it was an unusual hour, everyone called in sick, or they were closing, because they only had some deli pre-packaged food that looked vaguely vegetarian, much to the chagrin of us omnivores. We saw a room labeled “market” so we went over there, but it was a craft market. No food in sight.
“What the hell kind of market is this?” Til asked. “Where’s the food?” We shushed him.
At a table, an older, kind looking Navajo woman sat at a table beading. “Hello,” she said.
“Hi,” Parker said. “We were hoping to find some food…we saw the deli, but we’re a little more hungry than that. Maybe a restaurant?”
“If you go just down the road, there is a gift shop with a restaurant,” she said, beading the whole time she looked at us (she’s THAT good) and meeting us with a warm smile.
We thanked her profusely, then headed out. Til pointed out that in the Would You Rather? book, there is a road bingo section where one of the spots is “ask advice from a Native American guide.” We got really excited about that, then ate hungrily at the new Navajo restaurant.
Til decided to name his extensive picture album after the Scroteboat family. At one point, Parker and I got a bit snappy at each other, and Til yelled, “HEY! Scroteboats stick together!” The bickering stopped. I decided our motto was Scroteboat 4 Life. There may be matching tattoos. They could be stick ons. The details aren’t mapped out. I’ll keep you posted.
The cat and dog did well, relatively compared to the nightmare I anticipated. One night, Hera walked all over Parker’s face until he finally ceded to securing her in the bath room. Temperance occasionally barked, but nothing too extreme. The cat did choose to pee on Til’s bed right before we left our last hotel, but that was kind of our fault, since we didn’t provide her with a proper litterbox the last night due to exhaustion. At least she didn’t pee ON anyone.