Doggie Doo-Right

Man-U-R Happens

I'll warn you in advance, I'm going to have a little bit of a bitch fest today.  My candle has been burning at both ends all week, and I do believe I have reached a tipping point today.

I live in a Condominium Complex that is comprised of 8 separate buildings in suburban Northern New Jersey.  Each building is 4 stories tall  with an approximate current total residency of 1000 people. The complex sits on grounds that is circular"-ish" from a driving perspective and is exactly one mile around when walking around the entire perimeter of the property.  My point is, this isn't a tiny community and isn't squished together building to building.  Yet, people still aggravate the living hell out of me.  Take note, fellow readers:  There is absolutely no correlation between the proximity of an individual and the amount of sheer aggravation they can cause you.

 

 

 

 

Northern New Jersey is not known for it's reasonable home prices, nor it's low tax rates.  Based on a June 2013 report issued by CNBC, Northern New Jersey is the 5th most expensive area to live in all of the US.   You pay a large of amount of money to live in the area partly due to it's relative proximity to New York City.  You would think, then, that people who live in such communities - people who have agreed to shell out the dough- would respect where they live.  You would think wrong.

I have always lived in Northern New Jersey.  First with my parents, then for several years with a fiancée who - well let's face it, was an ass - then on my own for well over a decade.  This is my 5th residence within a 30 or so mile radius.  My current complex contains the most annoying, snobbish, self-important group of people you will ever meet.  By far.

• I'll add a small caveat.  I have met some great people here.  So this does not pertain to all residents.  There are some humanely humans who inhabit this place. People who are funny and normal and understand the foolishness that goes on.   I am eternally grateful to these few.

This December will mark my third year living here.  It will also mark my 3rd year as a first time home owner.  It will also mark my potential arrest and subsequent hearing, trial and imprisonment.  It's quite possible you will be reading this post when I'm either shackled off to the big house, or carted off to the  funny farm.

On the outside, everything looks lovely and peaceful.  A modern community, close to restaurants, shopping,  parks, etc.  A community set off from the main highway and overflowing with flora and fauna.  It's the fauna that is causing the current issue.  The fauna, in this scenario, being the indigenous species common to the area:  The Self-Entitled, Elitist, Narcissistic, Dog-Owner.  You know the one.

It appears that the latest, in a long string of issues this community has faced, is now the consistent and ever present doggie "presents" in the carpeted hallways of the buildings.  Yep, ladies and gents, you read that correctly.  Dogs have performed their solid acts, and the owners have left it there on the carpets.  Like a welcome committee for the dung beetle.  Like the main appetizer at the Ugly Bug Ball. 

I am an animal lover through and through.  I prefer pets to people, for the most part.  It's not the dog's fault.  If you gotta go, you gotta go.  It's the owner's problem.  If your pet makes a whoopsie on the carpet inside your home, don't you clean it up?  What, pray tell, would be the difference if you dog crapped in the hallway outside of your neighbors  door? 

What's so crazy about this to me is that this is not a one-off incident.  This seems to occur on a weekly basis.  In different buildings at different times.  With pictures to prove it.  With that said, you can't even blame it on one dirty-birdy pet owner.  These instances keep popping up.  And like pine needles from a long removed Christmas tree, they just keep appearing.

What has been the remedy to resolve this situation? Doggie DNA Testing.  It has resorted to this.  Because a handful of irresponsible pet owners show no regard to their fellow neighbors or to their community as a whole, ALL dogs must submit a sample of their DNA in order to start pinpointing who the "poop"ertrators are.  Now, I'm all for it.  I just think it's absolutely asinine that adults have to be babysat and coached on the proper way to care for and maintain their pets bowel movements.

A doggie DNA is a simple test that requires the pooch to have the inside of their mouth swabbed.  The sample is then sent to a lab and registered into the database.  The next time a "mishap" occurs, the staff of the complex has the lucky job of collecting a sample and submitting it for a match.  Once a match is made, the owner is fined.  Easy peasy.

Enter the Self-Entitled, Elitist, Narcissistic, Dog-Owner with the ever-present righteous opinion.

 

 

 

Our community has a social media site set up to provide quick updates on the goings-on in the complex and to issue memos and meeting dates in a real-time manner.  This site is used and abused beyond belief.  The Administrator of the site is made of rainbows and lollipops, because she absolutely never, ever loses her cool.

Doggie DNA has long been in the works and is being implemented at the end of next month.  Comments ranged from "Finally!  It's about time" to "I refuse to subject my dog to that test".  Because, you know, swabbing of a dogs cheek is known to be both physically and mentally harmful.  One fellow poster actually had the audacity to say, and I paraphrase, "What if someone is vindictive and decides to take poo that has been correctly disposed off out of the garbage and THEN place it on top of some other dogs poo."  Seriously?  Are these the people I'm living with?!  The issue here, buddy, is that people are NOT CLEANING UP THE SHIT.  If you really think someone is going to go to a pet waste receptacle, pull out a sample and then place it on top of some other dogs evacuation, then you have bigger problems than dog poo.  May I suggest Googling "Paranoia".

These are the same people who scream that snow plows arrive way too early in the morning: "people have to sleep, you know!" Then scream that: "the plows aren't here, what are we paying them for?"  The SAME people, mind you.  This past winter wasn't a hugely accumulating snow year, but it was an active snowy winter.  Landscapers are shoveling and blowing the snow off of walkways in order to make us safe and our commute as painless as possible.  We pay for this service, so it's certainly not altruistic, but THESE PEOPLE STILL BITCH.  People actually complain that people are shoveling, snow blowing, and plowing the snow for them.  I'm left speechless.

So I'm left where I began.  Frustrated and annoyed by the absolute selfishness of people.  The utter disregard for their fellow neighbor, much less for their fellow man.

Such is life.  Sometimes Man-U-R happens.

 

With Love
Lady Butterfly
xoxo

How I Can Be Aggravating Volume One

The Healing Power of Self-Reflection

A while back, I wrote a blog detailing how people are aggravating. Shockingly, there's only been one volume so far.  With that said, however, I figured that turnabout is fair play.  If I'm going to point out other peoples annoying habits, tics, traits and overall obnoxious behavior, I really should be willing to point out my own.

One of a writer's best tools can be research and interview.  Considering the blog topic and the fact that I would like to continue speaking to my friends and family, I opted out of this route. I really don't need to be calling up my Mom or Brother and asking them what they consider to be my worst traits.  Not only would this probably lead to some sort of "discussion", Thanksgiving is only a few months away, and I'd really like to enjoy the Holiday as a family.

 

So, let's begin on a journey that will point out some of the flaws of this here writer.  I warn you in advance, I was hard pressed to come up with this list, as my "slight quirks" are really assets hidden under flaws.

• The ever-so-slightest tendency to be just the teeniest bit overly sensitive - OK, it's true.  If there was a horizontal line, with one end saying "Stone Cold" and the other extreme end being "Weeping Pile of Goo", I would certainly be much, much closer to the weeping pile of goo marker.  Not that I'm a hyper-bawler or a Sad Sally, mind you, but I definitely tend to take things a little bit too much to heart.  For example, my stomach starts to bubble with rumblings of potential trouble if someone doesn't answer my email or text.  I automatically think I did something wrong, and that they're not answering on purpose.  Because of ME.  This, I have surmised, is actually a form of egotism, since I'm assuming someone is basing their communication (or lack thereof) around me.  That I'm SO important in their life, they are making a point by being silent - when in reality they're just busy.  See also:  Overthinking Situations

• It's been said that I have no control over my facial expressions, when annoyed or disgruntled -  Another truism.  I try, I really do, but if someone says something that is so utterly annoying.  So impossibly stupid to ignore.  So without thought - then I will admit my visage goes into such contortions that would make Jim Carey green with  envy.  I'm not conscious of it while I'm doing it,  since I can't actually see my face, but I'll take people's word for it.  I have a very hard time hiding my displeasure.  My face is art, really.  A one-woman show of live performance art.

• There's a possibility that I MIGHT overthink situations, just a tad - Is this a flaw?  I'm not sure.  On one hand, over-doing ANYTHING is never a good thing.  It shows lack of balance in one's life and in one's mind.  On the other hand, everyone over-does SOMETHING, and since I quit smoking a few years back, I have a lot more time to kill.  Then again, over thinking situations doesn't allow for a spontaneous, natural, or organic response to life.  On the flip side, a lot of people don't think enough about situations, so is it really that horrible to be someone who does too much of it?   See what I mean?  This is my internal monologue about pretty much everything.  It makes for very poor decision making skills.  Or at least very poor QUICK decision making skills. See also:  No Taste in Men

• Research shows that I have, on occasion, been an aggressive driver -  Again.   Is this a flaw?  If people don't know how to drive, is that really my fault?  If my middle finger happens to be scratching my head at the exact moment I'm forced to pass them on the right, isn't that just coincidence.  Assertive/Aggressive - tomayto, tomahto.  Why quibble over such trivial words?

 

• I have no taste in men - I won't even sugar coat this one with maybes or perhapses.  I have horrible taste in men.  Period.  I never listen to my friends advice.  I never listen to my Mom's advice.  If you're a loser and have no intention of telling the truth 9 out of 10 times, then please forward your phone number.  You are the man of my dreams.

 

 

There you have it.  My flaws or "flaws", as I like to call them.  Whew.  Recognizing your slight imperfections is hard work.  I think I'm going to go for a drive, send some texts, call some exes and think about what I've just written.

 

I only hope all of you can be as open and honest with your faults, as I have been able to be with mine.  I hope you are able to enlighten yourself, recognize the reality of things, and appreciate the healing power of self-reflection.

 

 

 

With Love
Lady Butterfly
xoxo

Social Media? Huh?

# Demented and Sad...but Social

Social. Media. Social + Media. Social Media. The term is so ingrained in our brains, that we don't even think about the reality of those two words put together. Is there really anything "social" about social media?

 

 

I guess it depends on how you define "social" to begin with. If your definition is somewhat lax and tends to sway more towards any interaction with any other person as social, then I guess the term "Social Media" makes sense to you. Well, mostly anyway. You can't really explain away watching all of those cat videos, can you?

 

 

If your definition of social is a little more strict and tends towards a physical interaction between two or more people, then the term probably doesn't make sense to you. Well, mostly anyway. You can't really explain when you go out to a gathering and offer nothing to the conversation or stand in a corner, and speak to no one.

 

Obviously I don't need to disclose that I am a social media user. I'm a Facebook regular, an Instagram follower, a LinkedIn subscriber, and a Google + beginner. I never got in to Twitter, though. The only reason you're even reading this is because it was posted on some social media outlet. Or you're my Mom, and I gave you the direct link.

 

 

 

We all sit behind our computers or phones commenting on random status', uploading pictures, checking in to different establishments, or (if we're the highbrow social media user), updating our resumes and work profiles. Mostly, though, we spy. We spy and judge. We spy, judge and compare lives.

 

Now, I personally don't considering it spying if I "happen" to find something that someone put up on a social media site. If you didn't want it to be found, read and reviewed, you would never have put it out on Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr + or the multitude of other sites that are out there. Can you really say someone is encroaching on your privacy when you have given up your right to that specific incident you posted, without making your profile private? It's the equivalent of putting a box of open donuts in your Company lunch room and then being shocked that someone dared to eat them. Think of all of the information that you've put out on social media as the donut, and everyone else are your hungry co-workers.

 

 

There was a time, not that long ago, when being social meant actually getting off of your ass and doing something. With other, you know, live people. It wasn't considered social to play video games all day. It wasn't considered social to watch TV all day. It wasn't considered social to read all day. These are all forms of media. Why are those not considered social media, but online sites are? Is it because you are "talking (typing)" to someone that actually exists? Someone you know or used to know? Hmm. If that's the case, then the simple act of writing an email to someone is social media. Or "live chatting" with an online help desk. I think you'd be hard pressed for someone to take you seriously, though, if you told your friend that you consider the 1-800 FLOWERS live chat feature to be social media.
 

So, I'm back to the misnomer that is the term "social media". It's just not all that social. As a matter of fact, it quickly makes people anti-social, in more ways than one. A few being:

• Many people have their noses stuck in their phones checking social media when they're actually, you know, being social

 

• People make shit up. Period. While this can happen in actual social situations, your audience is magnified hugely when you say that you're jetting off to Tahiti for the weekend, stopping off in Greenland on the way back. Please, show some self-control. Some humility. With that said...

 

• I've seen people get very upset about how so many of their friends seem to have such an amazing life -based on everything that they post on Facebook. People actually are trying to live up to the falseness of "friends". Friends they haven't seen in years and years. Friends that are posting about their fictional lives. The time taken having this conversation causes me, myself and I to be anti-social.

As I mentioned, I am an avid social media user. I'm certainly not trying to knock it. Social media has allowed people to reconnect with long lost friends and classmates. It's reunited families. It's made us laugh and brought social awareness to some issues that might otherwise not have been brought to light. A lot of the time, you get breaking news quicker via social media than you do through typical news outlets. I think social media serves a purpose. I just think we have to be aware that social media doesn't replace unique human interaction. I think we all need to come to terms with it a bit more, before we're all Skyping Thanksgiving dinner to our families instead of driving to see them.

 

 

So, is social media actually social? Times have changed very quickly, so maybe our definition of social needs to adapt as well. When Mom used to say "Why don't you go out and make some friends", now I guess her child can answer "Ma, I have 688 friends on Facebook." God, I feel old as dirt.
 

I'm drawn to the classic line from John Hughes' unforgettable movie "The Breakfast Club". When questioning Brian about his choice of academic clubs, John Bender responds as follows, "So it's sorta social, demented and sad, but social. Right?"
 

 

 

I guess that pretty much sums it up, right? BTW, please be sure to post, share, and/or like this. LOL
 

 

With Love

Lady Butterfly

xoxo

Tales of a Mother/Daughter Vacation

Girls Not Gone Wild in the Least

In previous posts, I've discussed some of the less than finer trips my Family took when I was a child.  Today, I'd like to discuss my first "real" vacation adventure, where chaos still ensued.  As the saying goes, you can take the family out of the trailer park, but you can't take the trailer park out of the family.

 

The first time I ever was on an airplane was when I was 16 years old.  My Mom and I decided we were going to take a mother/daughter trip to Cancun, Mexico, leaving my Father and brother in the dust.  A 6 day/7 night all-inclusive resort vacation.  Cancun was a sensible choice in a few ways, it was a huge tourist town, it wasn't a long flight ride, and didn't require a passport.  It was an insensible choice in two ways:  We decided to go in August and we had no idea what the hell we were doing.
 

As all Family vacations began, we woke at the crack of dawn and my Dad drove my mother and I to Newark International Airport.  We were wrecks.  My mother had never flown before either, and we both really didn't know what to expect.  It's an important fact to note, that the ladies in the family don't exactly handle stress as well as we should.  For example, Mom panics and talks incessantly and I feel nauseous, vomit and require silence.  Ahhh!  Let the adventure begin!

 

We boarded the plane for what we were certain was impending doom, and found our seats.  My mother chatted the entire length of the plane, while we loaded our carry-ons in the overhead bins, and as we took our seats.  She chatted while I clung to the air-sick bag.  She chatted while I held my head in my hands.  She chatted while I reasoned with myself not to make a run for the Exit door.  I remember looking at my Mom, in my nauseated state, and asking her to please put a cork in it.  I'm sure it wasn't said that nicely, and I'm sure there was a significant amount of eye rolling going on.  It didn't matter.  I dealt with my stress one way, she another.  Never the twain shall meet.

 

Fully boarded, the "escape" exits sealed off, we started our taxiing to the runway. It was at this time that the prescribed medication my Mom had taken at the gate began to take effect.  Now, my Mom is a very thin woman.  Tall and lanky, she's kind of like Olive Oil on a diet.  We took off and she was still chatting, but her ability to articulate was...well...slipping.  I had asked her earlier if I could take 1/2 of her medication because I was freaking out and she emphatically replied "Absolutely NOT!".  As she began to suck her thumb and cuddle up to the stranger's shoulder though, I surmised I might have found my "in".  Mom was gorked, she and I will freely admit.  I took advantage of this when I asked a second time if I could take 1/2.  She looked at me with watery eyes and a slightly droopy smile on her face and said "Suuuure!".  Wasting no time, I took a 1/2 and we both woke up when we landed.  I believe my Mom also found a phone number scrawled on a piece of paper in her lap - belonging to the man whom she had cuddled up to - but she'll never admit it.

 

 

Exiting the airplane we were greeted with arrows directing us to baggage claim.  We then waited on the strangest line I've ever stood in.  Back in the day, Cancun "customs" was a traffic light.  Each passenger would go up and press the button on the traffic signal, if the light flashed "Green", you went past the officials, luggage in tow and found a taxi.  If the light flashed "Red", you stopped and had the officials go through each of your bags.  The finest form of counter-terrorism I've ever seen before of since.  My Mom pushed me forward, saying I had better luck.  We got a green light, and searched for the Hotel Shuttle.

 

As complete travel novices, we had no idea that Cancun was the center of all things alcoholic.  We boarded the shuttle and were handed beers, which my Mother promptly took out of our hands and gave back.  We took our seats and were just in awe.  I remember thinking, "I'm coming back here for Spring Break", and then "This might not be the place to go with your Mom."

 

The shuttle dropped us off at the Hotel, we checked in and took stock of our situation.  OK.  We're here.  What do we do now?  We had booked an all-inclusive resort, so meals and drinks weren't going to be a problem.  But outside of eating and drinking, what to do, what to do?  Being New Jersey women, we obviously headed to the mall.  El Flamingo Plaza.

 

The El Flamingo was a  short walk away for the hotel and was on the opposite side of the street.  While the hotel was on the ocean, the El Flamingo was on the lagoon.  Little did we know that we would be spending countless hours at the El Flamingo.  We were novice travellers and kept our circle very small.

 

During the days we stayed by one of the many pools, visited the mall and went to (what turned out to be) our greatest saving grace, the "Chac Mool Deli". The Chac Mool was the only place we could find that was reasonably air conditioned, had the coolest drinks (as nothing was actually cold) and carried grape juice for when the ever present "Mexican Nausea" resurfaced.
 

Some of the highlights/lowlights of the trip included:

• Booking a trip to the Mayan Ruins - We decided we were going to take a bus tour to the Mayan ruins to get some culture.  Unfortunately, about 10 minutes en route, I thought I was going to toss my cookies, and my Mom went up to the tour guide and said we needed to get off the bus.  He said we couldn't stop.  She said he could.  He said we wouldn't get our money back.  She said she didn't care.  The bus pulled over and we stepped off, without the least bit of embarrassment.  We were walking back to the hotel when my mother said, "Do not turn around."  So I, of course, turned around.  Stretching the entire length of the lagoon walkway, the biggest lizard-ish looking thing was sunning itself in the place we had just passed.  I'm still convinced it was a dragon.

• Chicken Fingers, Please - On one of our many jaunts to the El Flamingo, my Mom and I went to a fast food chicken joint.  Mom, trying to "blend in" to Cancun culture, scoured her brain to find the Spanish word for "Chicken Fingers".  As she hemmed and hawed and wiggled her digits in front of the exasperated cashier, he finally said "You'd like Chicken Fingers?"  Dejected, she said yes, and a medium mashed potatoes with gravy.  Back at our hotel room, we realized that we had no utensils, so we ate the mashed potatoes with the Pepto-Bismol measuring cap that we had bought at....Yes.  The Chac Mool Deli.

• Burning Legs and Emotional Meltdowns - Laying out by the pool one day, we looked down at my Mom's stick figure legs and saw that she was burning.  Quick thinking ladies that we were, we raced out of the sun, as if she was going to burst in to flames at any second.  We returned to our room, where the bag of ice we had placed in the second sink had already melted, and the sad remains of the Grape Juice label swam dejectedly.  It was at this point that we turned on the movie "Point Break", ate more mashed potatoes with the Pepto Bismol cup, and cried that we wanted to go home, while Patrick Swayze found his perfect storm.

By day 5, we were ready to go.  Resorting to eating fast food out of medicinal caps didn't help matters, either.  Our return flight back was delayed for hours, and we received more information from Dad in New Jersey, than we did from the actual airport.

We were so happy to be going home, that no prescription medications were even necessary for the airplane ride back.  We had learned a lot on this trip, and we were happy we took it, but we were like fish out of water.  We did agree, however, that this beat the bus tour to Cape Cod/Martha's Vineyard, where our backseat neighbors were an older married couple.  A trip where the wife pointed out every sign and bridge from NJ to MA.  Do you know how many signs and bridges there are on that route?  8 million.  That's how many. 

My Mom and I have taken a few other trips since that fateful Cancun escapade.  We've learned how to travel together, and we've learned how to travel better.  Nothing will ever beat the first trip to Cancun, though. A true tale of girls not gone wild in the least.

With Love
Lady Butterfly
xoxo

How I Survived My Childhood Vacations

Sit Down America!  And Other Stories From the Open Road.

As summer is beginning to wind down in New Jersey - or if you hold the same belief as my Mom, summer is already over - I'll share another tale of childhood summer vacations.  Or, as I like to call them, "The Cheapskates Guide to Putting Your Family in Eternal Danger".

Growing up, we did not have a plethora of extra income to take "fancy" vacations.  I'll put fancy in quotes because my Mom, Brother and I define "fancy" in a whole different way than my Dad.  Easily put, my father considers garlic mashed potatoes as "fancy".  Enough said.

Since (regardless of where we were headed), we knew we would be driving somewhere along the east coast of the US, our choices were somewhat limited.  We have travelled by car from Maine to the southernmost point in the continental US - Key West - several times over. We've seen a lot of different things and learned a lot of things about ourselves as a family unit.  It's amazing that decades later, we still communicate with each other of our own free will.  If you've ever read, watched or listened to anything Jean Shepherd (a la "A Christmas Story"), you'll know exactly how our vacations should have been narrated.

I'll set the stage for the 4 travelling companions:  Shoved together by fate, love and that dicey word:  FAMILY

My Mom -  Travelling co-lead, Mom was the map reader and the provider of boxed lunches.  I remember with glee my mom placing  sandwiches consisting of turkey and cranberry sauce into the cooler for a particular trip.  Hating cranberry sauce, I turned my pre-teen nose up at the concoction.  She explained that the cranberry sauce would help to keep the sandwich moist.  She was certainly ahead of her time, as this is now a sandwich you can buy in cafes.  Most importantly, Mom was the provider of relief.  When my brother and my bladders were about to burst, she would insist my father stop for a bathroom break - eliciting sighs, moans and gripes from the Old Man.  Mom held steadfast to the belief that if she left with 2 children, she would return from the vacation with 2 children.  In body at least, their sanity would be up for grabs.  Mom was a non-sleeper.

My Dad -  The travelling lead.  The man who would wake his family at 4:00am to "get a jump on the traffic" and barrel down major interstates (either with or without a trailer in tow and with or without one-two dogs), having pre-identified markers in his mind that he MUST hit before stopping.  Insensitive to the pleas from his family for food, water or bathroom breaks, he was a man on a mission.  Stopping only for gas and when his eyelids could stay open no longer, he parked the brood in a Welcome Station or reststop  along a highway and slept in the car - gear shift firmly wedged in back or armpit.  My Mom and I would usually take this opportunity to scavenge for food at the vending machines, use the restroom as if we could  get credit for future needs, and wander aimlessly about.  In the dark.  Alone.  With strangers.  Sounds safe, in retrospect.  Dad was a sleeper.

My Brother - Lead Minion.  First born spawn and almost 3 years older than me.  My brother had little to no role in the family travelling circus.  He would be woken up at 4am like the rest of us, help pack the car, and then take his residence in the backseat behind my Dad.  He would then fall asleep and wake up when we arrived at our destination.  Regardless of where this destination was.  To say the least, my brother was a sleeper.

Me - Co-lead Minion.   Server of food from pre-packed cooler and questioner of "things".  Things, such as:  Why can't we go to Disney World?  Why can't we stop at South-of-the-Border?  Why are you giving me that look, Dad?  Having an overwhelming fear of running out of gas and/or being lost, I was lucky I wasn't strapped to the roof at certain points.  If my parents (particularly my Dad) wanted to bust my chops, he would declare that we had less than a quarter of a tank of gas left, and the map was incorrect.  I was a non-sleeper. 

*It's important to note that the sleepers vs. non-sleepers roles remain accurate to this day.  Vacations just highlighted this quirk in each of us.

With the players set, we can move on to a slideshow of the memories/scars that have remained from years of family vacations.

Sit Down America - This is my dear brother's term.  And I must say, a hugely accurate one.  Along with my fear of being lost and running out of gasoline, I also had a fear of having to use the bathroom and not being able to.  This doesn't take Freud to figure out.  My Dad would never freaking stop on the open road, so when a bathroom was in proximity, I used it.  Several times.  If I didn't use it, I felt it necessary to know where it was.   I would ask the "restaurant" employees where the ladies room was. (Restaurant being defined as: McDonald's.  Wendy's being high class.).   On return from using the facility during one random trip, my brother snarkily asked if I was writing a book, ranking all bathroom facilities on the east coast of the US, since I found it necessary to inspect every one.  He suggested I title it "Sit Down, America!".  Rat bastard.  It's still a damn good title.

Waiting for the Folks to Return - Once we were at our motel of choice (see also:  cheapest), my parents would go out to pick up some food, leaving my brother and I to inspect the drained pool, or to wander the estate grounds.  Mostly we argued and tried not to touch the walls.  On one particular night during one paticular trip, my parents were gone for what seemed hours.  My brother and I started to get concerned and to question what would become of us.  What if something horrible happened to our parents?  No one knew to find us at the Notel Motel!   Once it was figured out, we would obviously be adopted by my Aunt, but what about our dogs?  What about our house?  What about our friends?  How would we even get out of wherever the hell we were?  By the time our parents arrived back at the pad, we were both furious and hugely relieved.  We questioned them like parents waiting for their kids to return from breaking curfew.    *Might be the reason I don't have kids.  Just a guess.

The Nighttime Walk, or "How My Brother and I Almost Died" - During one vacation, we arrived late at a campground and had to set up in the dark*.   Now, I can't remember if this was the camper that had the bathroom in it or was the trailer that did not.  Either way, BOTH my brother and I had to find the communal bathrooms/showers to use it's services.  We set out in the dark, armed only with a fading flashlight and our wits.  Which were fading also.  We looked for the wooden arrows nailed to trees identifying the pathway to the bathrooms and finally found it.  Unforunately, we did not take note of our campsite number or how we actually GOT to the bathroom itself.  After doing our deeds and meeting up, we were stumped.  We headed out in the direction we thought was correct, but turned out to be completely wrong.  We travelled in circles, always ending up back at the restrooms.  By this time, our flashlight had completely died, as had our hopes, dreams and desires.  In it's place was once again fear, and the understanding that our life would be spent wandering the woods of the campground.  Like ghosts from the bathroom.  As in movies we started to panic, and made the wise choice to run.  'Cause if you don't know where the hell you are, running is always the best option.  Holding my brother's hand and following his lead, we ran and ran.  Ran straight into a picnic table.  Ran straight into a thorn bush.  Ran right into a pine tree.  We finally found our camper, with it's welcoming light and familiar car.  We ran inside, sweaty, bloody, bruised and frightened.  My brother and I told our parents our harrowing tale, our escape from near-death, our instinct to stay alive.  My parent broke out into hysterical laughter.  Rat bastards.

 

• * Regardless of when the camper was set up, my father's ability to curse still amazes me.  He would let out a stream of swears so incredible that we would just sit and stare in awe

In retrospect, these were some of the best times of my life.  These are the memories that LIFE is made of.  Even though we haven't gone on a family vacation in over 20 years, I still look fondly on those times and appreciate every moment of them.  Because of these trips, I developed my humor.  I learned to see the quirky side of life.  I learned to find an ally in my brother, admiration for my Dad and unending love, respect and sympathy for my Mom.  I am who I am because of these trips.  For better of for worse.

So, I leave you with these philosophical words of wisdom:  When in doubt, when in fear, when you don't know the direction, Sit Down America!  The answer shall come to you.

With Love
Lady Butterfly
xoxo