Vacations, Real and Imaginary

    First of all, thanks for such a warm reception to my very first blog post, if I had known I loved attention this much I would have released a sex tape years ago. 

    I’m currently watching Dinosaur Train while my kids wrestle over some alphabet magnets— all in all, just your normal average Tuesday.  My kids have emptied out the contents of two toy boxes onto the living room floor, and mixed in a few crushed Fritos for good measure.   In about a half hour I will begin the arduous process of trying to make them nap. In about two hours I will give up and settle for just making them sit on the bed with enough electronics to keep them occupied, or successfully navigate a 747.  Mommy needs her quiet time or she might not be the kind, nurturing, homemaker it shows on the brochure.

    One of my most favorite activities during quiet time is to sneak away and eat the candy I’ve been hiding in my purse, and to surf the web.  I really like Priceline, which I use to plan imaginary vacations.  If you looked at my Priceline browser history you’d probably think I was some jet-setting travel writer, a drug mule, or a congressman with a secret family somewhere.  I plan imaginary vacations everywhere— to the beaches of Mexico, exciting European romps, weekends berry-picking in Maine, Dude Ranches in Montana, and I even explored a “Cruise to Lose” weight-loss cruise… but decided that a bunch of fat people on a boat with no food would end up like a fleshier version of Lord of the Flies.
   

    Once I pick a spot for my imagication (a term that I just coined and will be copywriting soon so don’t even THINK about jacking it), I then google popular attractions in the area such as local restaurants, and I even check Zagats ratings to make sure they are clean, because even I don’t want to find imaginary mouse droppings in the imaginary ice machine.  I then plan an imagitinerary! Ok, that one doesn’t work… an itinerary.  It might sound pathetic, but, well, it really is.  But what can you expect?  The closest thing to a real vacation I’ve had in 5 years is going to my husband’s grandmother's funeral in Salt Lake City.  Momma needs to get away! (Did you read that in Monique's voice? Because that is what I intended.)  It’s not like I haven’t been anywhere though. Every once in a while we’ll take an overnight trip to somewhere close.  That is when I actually get to use my beloved Priceline for something real.  Being the thrifty (nice word for BROKE) shopper I am, I bid for the absolute cheapest thing I can find.  So far that has been ok. I have had only one bad experience so far, but boooooy was it a doozy!

    For our anniversary last year, I drug my honey to a country music concert that he liked about as much as a root canal and a pap smear (if men could have their paps smeared) combined, but I loved it so he went along.  When the concert was over it was after midnight and too late to drive home, so i whipped out my phone with my trusty Priceline app! I was ELATED to find an amazing deal on a hotel pretty close, so off we went.  When we got there I thought it was a joke.  There were no lights in the parking lot, and it looked like we were the only people for miles and miles.  The chain lock had been broken off the door and it looked like an episode of CSI waiting to happen.  A dark and terrifying walk to the front desk to complain was no use.  The innkeeper (do people still use that term, or is it strictly for nativity stories and Shakespearian plays?) wasn't remotely helpful.  English was not his first language and he gave me an international scowl that said, “Hey lady, you got this room at 2 am for 40 bucks! What did you expect, bolted locks on your doors?”  I gave up and had another terrifying and dark sprint back to the room.

    The sheets were yellowed and there was only one towel in the bathroom, probably because the owner was planning on stabbing one of us in the shower… so obviously we only needed one towel.  Just doing his best to stay green.  After checking under the bed for dead prostitutes or hypodermic needles, my husband (who can sleep under ANY circumstance) snuggled up in the bodily-fluid encrusted comforter (or Exhibit A, depending on who you ask) and fell sound asleep.

    There was no way I could sleep, so I kept watch all night. I don’t know what I would have done if I were attacked, the only weapon I could find in the room was an ancient remote control with no batteries (or exhibit B, depending on who you ask.)  When morning broke my husband awoke fresh as a daisy and chipper as a Disney Princess.  I swear I thought blue birds were gonna swoop in and make the bed, but really they were probably just there to eat the bedbugs. 
   
    I keep this experience in mind every time I read the online reviews of hotels: “I give our stay a -1, the pool was too cold…” or “The lines at the continental breakfast were VERY long…”  When I read comments like this I have to stop myself from responding, “At least you didn’t have to take a round or antibiotics after check out,” or “Have you ever heard a cockroach scream in terror?” But it’s ok, our anniversary is coming up soon, and this year we’re going to find a great place: a place with locks, at least two towels, and a continental breakfast that consists of than Mountain Dew and methamphetamines.  What can I say, I’m a dreamer!