We headed down to Ashland a few weeks ago to celebrate our anniversary. On the way there, we decided to stop in Roseburg, since we remembered some friends of ours had stopped there while driving down to our wedding. They said the town was adorable, and that they had a really nice time.

I’ve now concluded that Rand and I must have fabricated that memory entirely. Not because Roseburg wasn’t cute (it kind of was … sort of), but because we asked around, and not a single one of our friends had stopped in Roseburg. Was it a case of matrimonial hallucination? Or perhaps a well-crafted subliminal message created by the powerful and covert Roseburg tourism board? We still aren’t sure. The point is, something led us there.

And boy was it … yeah.

We knew we were getting close to Roseburg when I saw the Mc Donald’s billboard that looks like the mugshot of some dude who hangs out in elementary school parking lots:

Scary, right?

(more…)

The lamest hotel in Ashland: I couldn't be bothered to take a better picture than this.

I’ll confess – I’m beginning to worry that roughly a quarter of all my posts are Dick Moves. Am I growing impatient with humanity? Is it impossible to avoid frustration and Dick Moves! while traveling? Are we too stressed as a society to be nice to one another?

I’m not really sure. My husband rarely loses his patience with anyone. I once told him that if everyone on the planet lived like he did, the world would be a better place. I know there are those that disagree with me, and they can go f*ck themselves (a sentiment which, upon expressing, makes me realize how different Rand and I are).

The point is, I ocassionally try to be a better person, and when I do, it’s all because of Rand. And I really honestly tried to be good with the Stratford Inn. But everyone has their limits. Especially hot-tempered girls who are only pretending to be nice. So when I say this did not begin as a Dick Move, I mean it. But after a while, even Rand agreed with me. Dick Move, Stratford Inn. (more…)

I can’t quite remember when it started. It might have been when I first saw La Revista Di La Television con Vinny Vedici. It’s a SNL sketch where Bill Heder plays an Italian talk show host..  When I first saw it, my jaw dropped. Rand asked if it was real Italian.

“No … it’s jibberish.”

“Seriously? It sounds just like your family.” (more…)

Rand and I are on our way to Oslo, though by the time I post this, we’ll already be there (barring the usual global disasters). We’re currently in the Newark Airport, still reeling from our adventure at Sea-Tac eight hours ago. Needless to say, we made the flight because of Rand, who managed to get us through a one-and-a-half-hour security line in 20 minutes.

He might have offered the devil our first born child in exchange, but whatever. I mean, first-borns are practice, anyway. They’re the ones on which you screw up, right? (more…)

Dear Hotel Deluxe,

I like you guys. A lot. I’m smitten over the old movie stills and quotes that line the walls of your hotel. Just a few years ago, I went through a brief period where I refused to watch any movie made after 1955. This proved fairly challenging for my husband. It was the early days of Netflix, so their selection was far more limited than it is now, so he’d basically just add anything starring Cary Grant to our queue.

At the time we were so broke, the $25 a month subscription fee seemed extravagant. But when we’d curl up together on his god-awful-looked-like-it-came-from-the-set-of-Wall-Street couch and watch Bogey and Bacall fall in love, it seemed worth it. (more…)

Dude.

Duuuuuuuude.

Seriously, I’m so effing angry/shocked/bemused, I’m having trouble writing this post. But I will write it. I MUST write it. Because, gentle reader(s), you must know about this Dick Move. Especially if you take road trips. Or go anywhere in your car.

Remember how I said never to leave anything in your trunk? How I’ve mentioned it repeatedly – here, and also here? Well, just to make sure the message sticks: NEVER LEAVE ANYTHING IN YOUR TRUNK. Ever. I don’t care if it’s for five minutes. And you’ve parked across the street from your destination. And it’s three in the afternoon on a sunny afternoon and there are frequent cops driving past. Don’t do it.  (more…)

On some level, I feel like I should apologize for this post. Because really, I’m in the sort of weird, ridiculously sappy euphoria that comes from being stupid in love. And no one wants to read that. At no time has a conflict between two people over who has cuter freckles ever been interesting to a third party, unless that third party had accidentally swallowed rat poison, and found that they had simultaneously run out of ipecac.

If that is your situation, please read on. (more…)