Northern Aggression

I am sick as fuck and my narrative mode is sort of in the shitter right now, so I’m just going to get all capsuly and crap re: our trip to the Carolinas. Cough, sniffle.

  • It is a fairly standard joke/truism that when middle-Americans visit New York City, they still go to Applebee’s and the Olive Garden for meals because it’s familiar and they are chuckleheads. However, there is something about visiting the South as a northerner that makes it fabulous and exotic to eat at chain restaurants, because they have chains we don’t have, which are all about obscene buffets and perma-breakfast. When we weren’t eating at Waffle House, we were eating at its knock-off Huddle House, with a grand finale at the mind-blowing monstrosity that is Golden Corral. And then Aaron was dumbass enough to go to their website when we got home and discover that there is a location in South Jersey, which is wonderful/hideous news. People who have driven from New York to Philly just for cereal can certainly not be kept from going an extra 10 minutes for dinner rolls and red velvet cake. And that one might not even have the toothless smoking (while serving) waitresses. Goddamit. [UPDATE: We totally went last weekend, and it was delicious, and disgusting.]
  • Our cottage in Hendersonville, NC had a screened-in porch with a hot tub. I hearted the hot tub. Hearted it big.
  • In some kind of laughable plan to be “active every day,” we brought (ok, forgot to bring so bought for $25 at Play It Again Sports) tennis rackets and located a set of courts near our cottage. Via Google satellite maps, the courts appeared to be at a high school. In real life, they were part of a Christian girls’ summer camp, and the morning we traipsed down there happened to be opening day for the summer. The place was littered with SUVs from across the South and little white girls dragging pillows, and the courts were right in the middle of it. We played anyway. They must have thought we were counselors or someone authorized to be there, because who the hell would trespass on Jesus camp property to play tennis. We left after one set, though (I won btw), just long enough to hear a mom walking towards the parking lot yell back “Bye! I love you! Make good choices!” Which is of course now our official household morning salutation.
  • At this rate it will take approximately 216 years, but thanks to VeeDub, we can now check off the Greenville Drive from our nationwide tour of minor league baseball stops.
  • Which also gave us an excuse to take this picture, which is as close as our souls were permitted to get.
  • As we were driving along a windey (windy? wtf?) road on our last night, we suddenly spotted a baby turtle in the middle of the road, on his month-long journey from one side to the other. And because Aaron is a superhero, he turned the car around, stopped a line of traffic behind us, scooped the baby up with a notebook and carried him to the other side. Karma, that’s your cue. Unless the turtle tried to go back.
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