A Fino Vacation

by: Mary

How do you take vacations? Do you set up in a airplane, plug in the ol ipad, pick at your tiny peanuts, and wait for the time to pass? Do you sit in a car, tuning out the infrequent, yet horrendously awkward sing-alongs, the tepid and uninteresting conversation, praying for a meteorite to hit your moving vehicle in between every rest stop? Or does your travel pass with such banality that when asked how the travel portion of your vacation was, do respond with a resigned shrug and a meandering, ‘meh.’?

Well, that’s not how we do it. For us, for as long as we can remember, vacations are the precious gems in our treasure trove of memories. And for us, unlike many, the journey to the destination is half (or more) of the fun. Deluged in a torrent of inappropriate and often offensive humor, a blessed ability to shrug off the hitches, and  of course the infamous TMI zone, our trips, mostly in car on the long dusty road, sometimes are more memorable than the trip itself.

One occasion in particular holds true to this. After winning a free trip to Scottsdale, Arizona form work, Stacey and I decided not to fly with the others but rather take the 2-day drive from Omaha. We packed up, programmed our Garmin, and headed out.

As anyone whose ever had the pleasure of driving on the straight line through brown flatness that is I80 Nebraska can tell you there isn’t exactly a ton to see or experience, unless of course seeing a cow is a novelty to you (Welcome, Readers born and raised in Antarctica!). Just a long stretch of tiny towns, increasingly spread out and progressively seedy gas stations, the occasional Porn Store, and lots, and lots, and lots, of corn. (Whether or not the rhyming of those things is coincidence, we have yet to see. )

But for us, the scenery, the other drivers, the monotony – that doesn’t bother us. For while you have an ipod with Nickelback and Taylor Swift, and whatever else you kids listen to these days, Stacey and I had our own brand of entertainment: pure, unadulterated insanity.

Quick, what was the last conversation you remember from your last road trip? Oh, you listened to your mom tell stories about how much fun it was growing up in rural Connecticut? Good for you! What wholesome conversation. But that sort of talk isn’t for us. No, rather than a chat on politics or weather, Stacey and I lost ourselves in a lengthy exploration  of the inhumane curse from the almighty that is a woman’s period, and how it seems to unlock the floodgates of everything horrible, disgusting thing that can happen to a human body. In essence, this: (Through the thunderous sound of our shared laughter.)

“Oh my god, its so disgusting! You poop more, you fart more….”

“Your feet smell worse!”

“Your hair grows in darker and greasier, like sasquatch!”

“Your burps are stinkier!”

“Louder too!”

“Its like your punishment for not being pregnant is to become so incredibly unattractive that you’re impossible to impregnate!”

Are you starting to see the difference?

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