The Freedom Tale

I suck. I know. I have been neglecting this blog like the fruitcake at a dessert table.

But I have been waiting for something really good to write about, and thanks to Joe, I now do. And we are both still feeling it.

It all began last Thursday…

“So I’ve been thinking,” Joe said, collapsing next to me. I was relaxing and reading in bed, when he came in with a glint in his eye. I’ve been with him long enough to know that glint.

“How would you feel about going to Boston?”

Before I could register my feelings about what he meant by that he explained how he had been hearing more and more details about what was happening with the Occupy Wall Street protests, and in particular, that things were heating up in Boston.

“I just feel like I really have to be there. I really want to film it, I want to talk to people, and just really document what’s going on.”

He looked ecstatic. I was slightly skeptical. I kept asking questions, like, where we would stay, what would we do with the dog, can we afford it, etc. With every question he had a ready answer: we would find a place to sleep up there, we would take the dog with us, and that he would take care of everything.

I tried to be positive and hopeful, but my nagging pessimism kept at me. After some deliberation and compromise, I finally got on board.

We were to leave Saturday morning at *gulp* 3 a.m. yet I, still being on weekday-mode, found myself still vegging on the couch till around 11 p.m., leaving me only 4 hours of sleep.

I think I paid for that stupid mistake the whole weekend.

The alarm went off after what seemed like only 20 mins. and I stumbled helplessly to my feet like a newborn giraffe.

As we finished packing and at last got on the road, I suddenly got a flush of excitement. We would be witnesses to something so specific to our generation; something we might add to our list of experiences and tell grandkids about if it should ever make the history books.

Six seamless hours later we found ourselves in the financial district of Boston, and smack dab in the middle of a tent city that had been erected by the protesters.

We parked the car and made our way back to where the tents were. After discovering Joe was allowed to film we got to work talking to whoever would be willing to be on camera and had something to say (which was everyone). Joe interviewed all kinds of people- professionals and students, young and old, musicians and lawyers; yet their one unifying strand was that they were all disenfranchised and dissatisfied with the global governments and big businesses.

While Joe filmed, I looked around for some way to make myself useful. I noticed a guy walking around with a box of trash bags shouting for help with the garbage. Without really thinking I raised my hand and grabbed a bag, handing the dog leash off to Joe.

After some garbage picking I walked back to where Joe was, only to notice a crowd gathering. It appeared that a religious anti-homosexuality group had arrived with a bull horn, expounding hateful rhetoric. In response, several protesters began surrounding them and chanting things like “Hate is a Choice, Homosexuality is Not”, and drawing hearts with chalk all around them. I found myself chanting along with them and writing hearts as well.

I realized, standing there with garbage juice on my jeans and sweatshirt, chalk in my hand, and shouting alongside dozens of people, part of something. I wondered if this was what the people of the 60s felt when they were showing their support or discontent with something. It was very unifying, and unmistakingly American.

But, there was more America to experience- particularly the “Freedom Trail” which I pestered Joe about walking along since we were in Boston.

After we toured outside the old city and found the headstones of founding fathers John Hancock, Samuel Adams, and Paul Revere, we started to make our way back to the car and were told we couldn’t go down a certain street.

“Sorry guys, this street’s closed off,” a man with a walkie talkie and ear-piece in his ear explained.

When we asked why he responded, “They’re filming a movie.” And I couldn’t help but ask, “Really? Who’s in it??”

“Ryan Reynolds and Jeff Bridges. But they aren’t on set right now.”

Damnit.

A fine American day spent exercising American rights and walking along early American history could only be topped by crossing paths with great American actors. But we got close enough.

At last we found our car and made it back on the road to find a hotel and then head over to New York. What happened next? Dogs, dilemmas and disappointments…

Water Road Warrior

Well, I'm back after yet another adventure in New Jersey. I went up to finally give my sister and brother their birthday/Christmas presents- tickets to see "Cinematic Titanic", the live-action version of the now defunct television show, "Mystery Science Theater 3000".

Joe had taken me two years ago for New Years and we had a ball. And since my sister and brother were such fans of the TV show too I looked up when they would be touring in New Jersey and purchased tickets.

The drive up to New Jersey in general wasn't bad, if not just a tad long. Joe and I arrived at around 10:00 p.m. and pretty much crashed right away.

The next day had miserable weather: rain, clouds, and cold wind. The theater we were going to was up in Princeton and though my dad insisted it was less than 45 minutes away, I was still anxious to get on the road. I probably shouldn't have been so quick to start driving.

We drove straight into downpour after downpour of rain. The wind batted my car around a bit and the splashes on my windshield made seeing a real challenge. We were armed with my Garmin but as we neared the theater we found ourselves confused. No signs that we could see indicated what direction the theater was in, and worse, we couldn't find the parking lot.

We drove around in a circle a few times till finally I drove right into the first semi-safe parking lot I could find. I even asked a couple in that same lot getting out of their cars if this was the right place to park.

"I dunno, " the woman said, "but I'm parking here anyway." That was good enough for me.

We parked thinking the theater was right around the corner; after all, that's what the Garmin had us believe. It wasn't until I hollered at two guys smoking outside a cathedral-like building where the McCarter theater was that we realized it was about 4 or 5 blocks away. So with time running out and the rain pouring directly on our heads, we dashed in the direction of the theater and, thankfully, made it on time.

The show was great, despite our discomfort in our seats due to cold, wetness, and hunger. Still, I was relieved to see how grateful and delighted my sister and brother were for their present.

When we got back on the road to get home the rain had stopped for the most part. We were instead treated to a fantastic lighting show right in front of us.

Now, I'm a nervous driver, anyway, but I'm even more so in a place I've never been before, and downright neurotic when it's nighttime and rain keeps getting in the way of my seeing. It must have been because of that that I failed to see the giant flood that took over a huge portion of the road. The oncoming traffic must not have expected it either, as I was about hit it another car did, and splashed a huge wave onto my car. A millisecond later, I hit it and soaked my own car. It happened so quickly and blinded me so completely that it took me several minutes to calm my nerves down.

I slowly pulled out of it and continued on my way. Happily there were no other car-incidences. But even still, I think I'll wait to visit Jersey again until after April's showers.

West Virginia: Wild and (Not So) Wonderful- Part 2

...We were about to try and get directions from Joe's parents over the phone when I pulled out my own GPS, my Garmin, and tried to see if it would work without being plugged in.

Much to my surprise (and incredible relief), it turned on. I typed in the address of the hotel and in a matter of moments, I held the way in my hands.

Joe hung up with his parents, reassuring them that we were finally good and on our way.

According to the directions we had to make a turn into what looked like a gravel driveway. We weren't quite sure we were heading in the right direction until the GPS continued to show an arrow leading the road.

At this point we were driving around in pitch black, only able to see what the came in front of the headlights. We soon found ourselves back in the wildlife preserve on the hill, except now we were on an even messier broken road. I clutched onto the GPS like the guiding light it was, hoping we didn't get a flat or run out of gas.

Finally we began to descend from the hill and soon we were back in the company of the residential area we had passed before. We kept asking ourselves, where did we go wrong?

We had a ways to go until we finally approached our destination. We came upon the industrial road again, and there, in a matter of yards, was the hotel. We could've seen it from the highway, had we been paying attention.

At long last, at around 9:40 p.m.- almost 5 hours for what should've been a road trip that at most, lasted an hour and a half- we arrived at our hotel. I had never been so happy to see a Hampton Inn in my life.

West Virginia: Wild and (Not So) Wonderful

"It's only three directions," Joe said as I was saying my last goodbyes to Georgia and asking him about his Tom-Tom GPS.

We were just about to leave for our overnight trip to the Hollywood Casino in Charlestown, West Virginia where we would meet-up with Joe's parents for dinner and a bit of gambling.

I was excited. Not just because we would get a night away from the responsibility of dog-ownership but we were heading out on a road trip that would be just far away enough to feel like we were really getting away. Plus it was an added bonus to get to see Joe's parents AND play a few slot machines.

Joe assured me his directions were fine and seeing as how we had once been there before we should have little trouble finding our way. I agreed and around 5:30 we took off.

The trip went smooth until we had to start paying attention to the directions. They were few but confusing. I read off the next one and Joe looked quizzical.

"It's supposed to be a left exit, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yes but according to the signs it's on the right," I said trying to decipher his chicken-scratch directions.

In a matter of a few turns we found ourselves driving away from the industrial road and towards a residential area. We conversed while gingerly looking around for the hotel, thinking it would appear in a clearing at some point. The miles clicked away, as did the time, and while Joe was insistent that we were fine since the numbers on the road were going in the right direction I was beginning to get doubtful.

Still we ventured forward, passing storage facilities and beaten up mechanic shops, houses that looked like barns and barns that looked like shacks; now I was starting to get concerned. Joe, the ever optimist, was certain we would find the hotel once we went over this approaching mountain-like hill.

We ascended the hill, grasping onto hairpin turns and hugging the road while leaving room for the occasional passing vehicle. We had a bit of remaining daylight and gasoline going for us, but I was having a hard time keeping my spirits up. I get nervous in the woods, especially in dark, and even more so when I'm lost.

As we paused to make another sharp turn we noticed a sign that read "Wildlife Preserve". Somehow we had accessed restricted grounds and suddenly all I could think was that a bear or mountain lion was waiting to pounce on the car.

With the last shred of daylight quickly dissolving and the inky blackness of the woods beginning to envelope us we finally made it out only to find...nothing. More of the same desolate fields and once-inhabited homes. No sign of a hotel. At long last Joe phoned his folks to let them know our situation.

It was then that I got an idea that would prove to be our savior....

(Part 2 tomorrow)

The Long and Winding Road

...I made a left onto the first semi-used road I could find. I quickly realized that I was mistaken- it turned out to be one of those utility roads. I had to cross a single lane bridge (always nerve wracking) and then cross over another single lane road (with another car waiting on the other side, of course, because there is ALWAYS another car waiting).

I looked down at the road and it had turned into a residential road, winding up into the woods with houses and neighborhoods on either side. I was trying to enjoy my ride, but the disorientation combined with the strong winds kept my knuckles white and tight on the steering wheel.

At long last I came out into the open and quickly scanned for signs for 83, deciding the highway should've been my first choice. If there is anything worse than being lost, it;s being lost with someone riding your ass. You can never be lost WITHOUT someone right behind you, and almost always, that person is a local who has lived in the area their entire lives, knows their neighbors and their neighbors' neighbors, and doesn't understand the concept of people visiting and therefore, being lost.

I finally see the sign for 83 and after missing the turn (expected) and receiving a sarcastic honk from the car finally passing me (also, expected), I get on the highway. If the wind was threatening on the small windy local roads, they were downright violent on the highway. Though I maintain my new SUV's safety and girth, it still managed to get pulled and pushed like a toy. It freaked me out but nevertheless I was determined to have a damn adventure destination, so I decided to pull off at the next somewhat interesting stop. That stop? Shrewsbury/Stewartstown, Pennsylvania.

I noticed the signs for a winery and an antique row, two pleasant and calming activities, so I was glad for the choice. It didn't help, however, to get lost again but thankfully I had my Garmin to show me the rest of the way. After a second attempt to find the winery's entrance I was at last successful.

I took a deep breath, suddenly panicking that I'd either look like apathetic loser visiting a winery alone on Valentine's day weekend, or else a hopeless drunk. Happily when I entered I was able to come up with a good back story to tell the woman working there.

"Can I help you?" she asked with confidence and kindness.

"Um, yes, I'm looking for a wine for my BOYFRIEND and me to share for Valentine's day," I said quickly.

She showed me to their tasting counter and after sampling just a few I settled on the first one I tried and purchased the bottle.

I went back outside, happy that I had at last done something productive that day, took a few random pictures of the surrounding farmlands and got back in my car. Now where to...

I tried to punch in the name of the antique row I saw advertised, but I couldn't recall the exact name. Instead I decided I was hungry so I'd look for a place to eat. Not just any place. I was looking for those real down-home local eateries, where regulars hang out.

It didn't take long for me to find a place and as I walked in I was hoping to experience some deep reflections on life and living in someone else's shoes. Instead, as I quietly ate my open-faced turkey sandwich and fries covered in yellow gravy, I realized just how mediocre things are elsewhere. If there was a deep message to be found there it went no deeper than, "Nuthin special." And maybe there is some comfort in that.

Anyway, after another terrifying trip back on the highway I finally pulled up by my house, and was happy to be home. At least I had a bottle of wine to show for my adventure...

Long Winded

Happy Roman Catholic martyr Day everyone! Hope your Valentines were all extra ooey-gooey. Mine was as well...at least, yesterday was. I had quite the mini adventure on Saturday....

I woke up that morning feeling particualrly antzy. I've been feeling antzy all week, actually. Maybe even a month. I think it has something to do with the winter- every year around the same time I find I am more irritable and anxious and I think it's because I get a little stir-crazy. I mean, you can't go anywhere without having to face the cold and even if you get somewhere you have to eventually leave and brave the cold AGAIN. And besides, with the days being so short you can't even enjoy any outdoor activity for too long anyway. So when it looked like we might have a small break from the cold, I was gunnin' to do something.

I knew Joe had a business meeting with his game design team during the day and I was trying to plot out some sort of activity to busy myself with. I've been craving a road trip, so I looked up what was nearby that I could explore. Deciding against having a set plan, I would instead take York Road, the main road up here that leads to York, Penns., all the way as far as it would take me. I would just let the wind be my guide.

I should have known, however, that Fate was trying to give me signs that I should just turn back home and sit quietly with a book from the first traffic back-up. I sat on York Rd., behind rows of cars waiting to bypass an accident that had occured in the intersection. Trying to recover my spirit of adventure, I pressed on...only to be stopped again by the even LONGER back-up of traffic for the Cycle Show. Still, I wasn't ready to give up yet.

When I finally broek free of that I finally began to FEEL free. I wound through only semi-familiar neighborhoods, and even passed a winery. I was considering going back to the winery when the roads suddenly got very winding. It was also at this time I noticed the wind was pretty strong. It was difficult to get back my carefree attitude when I was constantly feelin g lie I was about to be blown into a deep ditch.

Finally I had to slow down anyway for construction being done on the road. Now, I hate moments like these, because I can never get a good sense what the workers want me to do. If I stop when they are telling me to go, I look incompetent- if I go when they want me to stop, I look like and asshole. Who needs that pressure?

Anyway, that's exactly what happened. I pulled forward when what they REALLY wanted me to do was stop (despite the fact the guy holding the sign was waving his hand--as in, Go, right?) After recieving some nasty looks I pressed on, finally desciding York ROad wasn't working for me anymore. I would pull off at the next passable road.

Little did I know I should really have just stayed my course...

A Vine, "How Do You Do?"

Yes, I am still here. The oceans did not dry up. The world did not end. My parents met Joe's parents and I've lived to talk about it.

I wish I had some juicy tidbits to share, like someone talking with food in their teeth all evening, or someone spilling a beer on someone else, but truthfully the weekend went by without a real hitch. Well, maybe a small one...

My parents arrived first (something that never happens) and I was able to visit with them for a while until Joe's parents got there. We all had some drinks, went out to dinner, came back for more drinks, and then pretty much everyone went to their respective bedrooms or hotel rooms for a comatose rest.

The next day, Joe's school fair was cut short so he came home much earlier than we expected, allowing us to get a good head start on the wine tour I had planned.

Now, let me explain quite bluntly, that I'm a crappy planner. Sometimes I swear it's not always my fault; I truly believe fate likes to keep it's eye out for me and throw whatever barrels it can my way to make me look like an ass, as I've mentioned before. Still, like Sisyphus hauling that huge boulder up the hill, I try and try to plan ahead, no matter how futile.

I asked my friend Leslie which wineries I ought to hit, since there were a few in her neighborhood. Armed with her suggestions and a logical map I explained the route we would take to my hapless parents and Joe's parents, and we set out on our way.

We were fortunate for a beautiful clear day and as we passed rolling hill after hill, I figured the first winery would be around there somewhere. We followed the GPS and soon found ourselves in a small country town. Ok, I thought, it must be right behind here. However, instead of pulling us out back into the countryside, we were told to make a turn right into what looked like an alleyway. Oh, hell...

My last shred of hope was dashed as I spotted the winery's hanging sign just when the GPS announced we had arrived at our destination. We looked around for the organized rows of grapes, a rustic facility for crushing them; hell, even a tractor. Instead we were met with people's back porches and trash cans.

"Where do they make the wine? In some guy's garage?" my dad pondered. Joe's parents, God love them, just smiled and went with it. I could only hope the wine itself would outweigh the atmosphere of Meth Lab Vineyards. We walked in and behind the counter was a man who looked like a roadie for ZZTop, complete with long gray beard. He barely acknowledged us, only to hand out the glasses and a few sheets of paper with the descriptions of the wines. We asked how much it would be for us to taste.

"Nothin," he muttered out. We soon realized we would get what we paid for. While we assumed at first we could choose which wines we'd like to try, he brought out six and began pouring.

"If you taste anything you don't like you can drop it in that bucket right there," he said. I don't think I hav ever made use of those buckets in any wine tasting I've done, but there, I more than made up for it. While it could just be that my pallet is for sweeter wines, something tells me these were pretty lousy, even fore dry wines. I eventually contributed to the bucket more than I finished my sample. Still, I was there for the experience and wanted to buy a bottle from each place so I chose their one dessert wine. As I was handing him my card I noticed the size of the bottle was only slightly larger than an infant's. I tried to hold back my shock and disappointment, paying full price for basically a single serving. And for a flavor I hadn't even tried yet.

Thankfully, the other two places were more charming and had better quality wine. But if I ever get a hankering for the picturesque scene of alley cats meowing on broken down microwaves and see the stunning blue of recycling bins while sipping my battery acid Cabernet, I'll know just the place.

Labor (of Love) Day

Happy End-of-Summer people. Yeah, I know it pisses me off, too. I'm really not ready for the summer to be over when it feels like we hardly had one. I think it was mostly because of all the moving we had to go through. Plus, having Georgia around has somehow made time fly. I actually can't believe I've been without television-watching for almost 3 months. But thankfully this past weekend I was given one last bout of summer fun..including a healthy dose of beach time, pool time, and family time. But it wouldn't be a visit up to see my family without plenty of drama--and a heaping helping of comedy as well.

Friday- Fearing both the onslaught of traffic and the supposed hurricane that was coming up the coastline, I awoke early and began packing the car up. The traffic and weather did worry me, but actually I was more worried about Georgia. I was intent on bringing her but I worried what she might do in the car for three hours. We had never had her in the car for that long and I feared she'd freak out after hour 2. She did climb back and forth for a little while, trying to sniff out the cracked windows in the back and then back in the front seat for me to pet her, but eventually she settled on the back seat..except when we came upon the toll booths. As if giving money for no apparent reason wasn't bad enough, but then with every booth we came upon Georgia started barking hysterically. I guess this sort of thing happens pretty often, b/c one woman had a little dog biscuit all ready to give to her.

Luckily there were no other hitches and I arrived in Jersey in good time. I was happy to see my sister who I hadn't seen in a while and later we were joined by my other sister who had brought all kinds of accessories for Georgia. Unfortunately my head was pounding so while they watched the remake of "Death at a Funeral" with my mom, I read and then fell asleep.

Saturday- If Friday's worries were about my drive up, then Saturday's was all about making sure Georgia didn't crap or pee in the house, so I was compelled to get up at our usual time, put the leash on her and take her out. When she finally did her business (which took a while and then her leash got caught on my thumb and burned itself into my flesh), we set off for the beach. We were all astonished at how empty the beach was, especially for Labor Day weekend. After getting whipped by sand and nearly impaled by runaway beach umbrellas, we finally called it quits, picked up my sister and headed over to a local seafood favorite for steamer clams and a good ol' cajoling "let's makeover Kris's life" session. When that was said and done Hill offered to pay for us to get our nails done. It was a nice treat except for when the guy put the acetone on my thumb and brushed it into my gaping open wound. I need bit right through my lip trying not to yelp in pain as it felt like he (that's right, a "he", which I thought was odd...even odder was that his nails were longer-and more manicured- than my own) poured fresh battery acid on my thumb.

We arrived home, all looking for a place of sanctuary. Because the dog insisted on whining whenever I left the room I felt I had to stay in the same confines she was subjected to. The problem was that my sisters were seeking out a place to relax as well, which, in our family, meant a place with a soft piece of furniture and t.v. In fact, I have never been more confronted with the folly of my decision to give up television by anyone as much as my own family members. No wonder I was such an addict. They all look at me as a bit of a failure, I think, or as someone seeking attention, which I don't agree with. It's like coming back to the crack house after you finally gave up the pipe (ok, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration, but still. When I thought I would be met with a bunch of "good for yous" I got "what's wrong with you". Not that I can blame them. It's as unnatural for me to not watch t.v. as it is for me to be on time for something or knowing exactly what I want the second I'm asked).

Anyway, later on that night a big group of us were going to dinner at this other hidden Mexican restaurant gem called Agave. My family was the first to arrive, on time (shockingly) for the reservation. However, it seemed that not only were there no tables set up for us, there were hardly any tables left at all. The rest of the extended family, including my cousin Beck and her fiance, her parents, and my cousin Evan and his wife Kristen, arrived and we set about popping open some beer and wine and tailgating right outside the restaurant, waiting for someone or something to do something or happen. Finally, an hour later we were all seated. This was around 9:30. The restaurant closed at 10:00. Still, that didn't prevent the wait staff to take their ever-loving time to get the food out...nor did the loud-mouth kazoo-blowing drunk biotch party of 13 feel a rush to get out. But eventually both happened, almost miraculously. The food trickled out, two at a time, and by the time everyone had food in front of them, whether half eaten or still hot, at around 11:00. I wasn't even hungry and hardly remembered what I had ordered. Finally we came home and I collapsed on the sofa to sleep.

Sunday- The last day. I took the dog for a jog and then my mother and I went off to visit my nana and pop's pool. Their house is set on a high hill tucked away in the woods. My nana told me about how a deer was standing right outside the gate to the pool, and as my nana spoke to it, it raised it's head and stamped it's foot twice, like a scene from a Disney movie. Of course, these are also the same grandparents who had their own method of ridding their birdbaths and bird feeders of pesky squirrels by taking out a gun and blowing their heads off. I know...I've seen it. I'm not sure which was more disturbing...watching the squirrel writhe with a bullet in it's skull or the fact that my grandfather still had such good aim. We walked back up from the pool to see my pop, who informed us that a chipmunk had darted out from under the sofa and booked it out onto the screened porch. I swear, it's kind of a bizarro nature world up there, beautiful and brutal at the same time, with just a little humor thrown in.

Anyway, the rest of the night was pretty uneventful. I pretty much just ate dinner and went to bed, eager to once again get up early, pack up the car, and face whatever traffic and toll booth collectors we would.

Christ, this is a long entry. Sorry about that folks. I'm sure tomorrow's will be shorter, as I have no clue what I'll write about. Till then...

Road Rage

I freaking love road trips. I think I tend to like the trip even more than the destination (but it's a nice bonus when the place is awesome too). I love seeing the other places people live, wondering what they do for a living, where they for a vacation, etc. Usually all we need for a good road trip is good music, plenty of things to look at, and a nice ratio of talking to silence. And actually, sometimes a good fight makes the time go by fast.

I hadn't been on a road trip in a while, so when we found out we had an excuse I was pretty excited. When the day (or night I should say) came we packed up the car and stopped at our usual gas station for fuel and our road-trip necessity snacks- pizza-pretzel Combos, something chocolatey, something fruity, energy drinks for Joe and water for me. Finally, we were off.

When we started, we were good: music was as easy-going as the conversation as we passed all our landmarks. Road trips for us operate very much like any other mission- Joe is the driver, responsible for getting us there, knowing when to get gas, take break, and what music is played. My role as co-pilot is to simply keep him comfortable and awake (and occasionally pass him food or drink). We both take our jobs seriously and I have gotten remarkably good at being able to gauge when to start a conversation and when things ought to be quiet. Since we got such a late start, and Joe already mentioned he was tired before we even left the gas station, I knew that I'd have to do some talking every once in a while just to keep him from nodding off.

So when we came upon an especially boring view, I found myself bringing up simple topics to talk about (you know, the kind that require some thinking but have a small answer). But since he was showing signs of grumpitude, I figured I'd answer my own question...merely to keep the car from being silent, and therefore, easy to fall asleep.

We passed a large back-up of cars and when they were out of view I remembered a similar time when Joe and I were driving back somewhere and on the other side of the highway was such a terrible accident that the back-up damage extended for miles and miles. And then I wondered something aloud...

"I wonder what people do when their cars are all backed up like that."

"What do you mean?," Joe said abruptly.

"Well," I continued, "what do you suppose people do when they are stuck in such a terrible traffic jam for hours and hours?"

"They stay in their car," Joe said defiantly.

"No way," I said. "People can't stay in their cars for hours upon hours. What if it's cold and they know there's no chance they are gonna get their car out for a while? They can't just stay there."

"What are you talking about, hun, it's ILLEGAL to abandon your car," he said.

I should have dropped it then and there. But for some reason, I felt like he was baiting me, and honestly, I felt like taking him on. I knew it was going to be a pointless debate (or as I call it when Joe gets like that, "Mental Chess") since he wasn't going to relent his point without taking me around first.
I held my own, I think. I came up with some valid points, even trying to knock his theories out with scenarios of my own. But in the end, as we were practically yelling our sides over the other, I realized I was getting more annoyed than passionate about my point. I suddenly fell silent.

"You're just being a grouch," he said, again trying to bait me, but this time trying to make me forget what we were arguing about. Still I was silent.

"You're not allowed to be a grouch"

Silent.

"That's it, I'm dropping you off at that scary Bates' Motel looking thing in Frackville."

Silent some more. He waited a few minutes and then spoke back up.

"I just don't understand what the people trying to get by would do if you left your car," he said, trying to flush out the last of my arguments.

"You're just trying to have the last word, so I'm gonna be the adult and let you have it," I said simply. This actually led to us both trying to let the other have the last word, until we were both silent for a little while. Finally, as I continued to play my alphabet car game (something Joe hates) and spotted a letter I had been waiting for, Joe joined in helping me find other letters. Then we knew the fight was over.

Happily, as I looked at the clock, the fight had altogether eaten up almost an hour. We drove the rest of the way, with no incident. I later told Joe I think he purposely picked that fight.

"How could I have? YOU asked the question," he said. But I knew that he was glad for it. Not only did it help pass the time, but it helped chase away any fatigue he was feeling. Plus, I'm a big believer in fighting helping a relationship (not so much that you are screaming at the person everyday). Every now and then people need to sharpen their claws and doing it on each other not only opens communication, it really helps to de-stress.

As I'm typing this I am lounging on a bed at Joe's parents house in upstate NY. Sadly, we are already going to have to leave tomorrow, but it's been a nice visit. His mom and dad are awesome, and it's such a different atmosphere up here. But I am actually looking forward to the drive back. At least we'll be leaving a bit earlier, so we can see more sights, we'll be less tired...and JOE won't be such a grouch. Guess that's the nice thing about having a blog...I ALWAYS get the last word, lol.