It All Started With Turkeys.

It's Saturday morning, Day 4 of our trip, and Mr. Hawthorne and I have just left Mabry Mill and are continuing on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Mr. Hawthorne alerted me to a group of about a dozen turkeys (What does one call a group of turkeys? Edited later to add: rafter, gang, gaggle.) calmly walking across the highway. (I had my nose stuck in the maps.) He slowed down, coming to a stop (No cars behind us.), and I immediately bent forward to grab my camera on the floorboard and was promptly choked by the unyielding shoulder harness locking up. After numerous attempts to try to pick up the camera within 1/2 inch of my fingers, all the while the turkeys stood in the road and blankly stared at me, I finally released the seat belt, got the camera poised, and Mr. Hawthorne lowered my window for me. Then they flew off into the woods.

There really are about a dozen turkeys in this picture, but damn if I can find a one. They are very well camouflaged. Well crap. Mr. Hawthorne continues on our drive. I push the button to raise the window and it doesn't rise. The window is 2/3 open and we cannot close it. Now this is a 2004 Avalanche and this same window has already been repaired once while under warranty. We noticed the window was sticking a bit, but now it's totally broken again within 12 months of the last repair and it's threatening to screw up our trip. Mr. Hawthorne is all worried now about rain (There's not a cloud in sight.) and about what we're going to do with all our valuables (Put them in the truck bed and lock it. Bring the rest into the hotel room.) He wants to turn around and go back home. I veto this and we continue to our last destination - Grandfather Mountain. By the way, I have an '02 Avalanche and have already had my passenger side window repaired, (same problem) not under warranty, and it was OVER $300. Now, my driver's side window is showing signs of failure. ARRRGH.... Mr. Hawthorne called the crappy Chevy dealership on the Outer Banks and they told us things to try: Put the car in Park. Open the door. Push the window button while holding one's hands on either side of the window, like you're clapping, and try to pull it up. Nothing worked. Oh, at least our On Star works, since our cell phones had no reception. And another thing about GM: As I said, my Avalanche is an '02 and NOW my On Star service is caput, what with this change to digital in February. First, I was told I could get an upgrade to fix this for $40. Then they told me it would be about $400. Finally, they told me there was no such upgrade and my On Star is now worthless. Mr. H.: "Effin' piece of shit GM crap!!!!!" Throughout our drive, he tries numerous times to push the window button while I pull up on the window. No go. At one of the overlooks, I get in the driver's seat to push the button while he tries to pull the window up. It didn't budge. All of a sudden, my driver's seat starts moving forward... And forward... And forward... (I must have accidentally hit one of the seat adjustment memory buttons.) At this point, the seat is so far forward, my knees are pushed up to my chin and the steering wheel is gouging into my chest. Mr. Hawthorne yells, "What the hell are you doing? Hit stop!" And that's when the 24-quart cooler in the back seat full of ice and water falls off the seat onto the floor, spilling everything. At this point, I realize my Alinea cookbook, which, of course I brought along to read because, yes, I am a dork, is in the back on the floor. Panicking, I jump out of the car, fly around to the back door, throw 4 pieces of luggage, laptop, and camera bags out of the car, and find my Alinea, safe and dry on the opposite side. A big, fat WHEW! In the meantime, Mr. H., cursing under his breath, has taken my stack of crossword puzzles I'd brought along to occupy myself with when we weren't on a scenic highway (But everything's been very scenic so far.), and he's using the newspapers to mop up the water off the floor. No crossword puzzles, cryptoquips, word jumbles, or sudokus for me. I'm sure this makes Mr. H. happy, since Rosie won't be able to "dooky," as he refers to my doing sudokus, any on this trip. Mr. Hawthorne finishes cleaning up the water in the truck. It isn't until the next day that he realizes he left his rubber floor mat at the overlook. We head back on the parkway. "Well," I perkily inform him, "The carpet shouldn't take too long to dry out what with the window being open and all." One must always look on the bright side. Plus, we're getting a lot of fresh air. Now, all we have to do is rearrange the bed of the truck to allow for our "valuables," since Mr. Hawthorne bought 4 captain's chairs for a song for Daughter Hawthorne at the defunct restaurant at the Comfort Inn in Front Royal. We'll need to get all our bags, my cameras, and my laptop back there and lock it up whenever we stop somewhere. Then, he wanted to find a hardware store to get something to close up the window in case it rains, plus I'm not looking forward to the drive today and tomorrow on a 70mph highway with the window open. Do I need to tell you we don't find a hardware store? Fast forward to lunch in Boone, then our visit to Grandfather Mountain. It's 7:00 PM and we're on the way home. The window, of course, is still broken and 2/3 open, and we're merrily zipping along at 70mph. The right side of my head, if you can imagine, is a bit windblown and there's a constant roar in my right ear. Damn GM. No wonder they're in so much trouble. Crappy workmanship. Poor design. Faulty engineering. Upon arriving in Burlington, our Garmin guides us to a Quality Inn, and for some reason, Mr. H. is able to follow the directions and get there. I am leery at this "Quality" Inn and ask Mr. Hawthorne to do a drive-around. Some doors and curtains are open and it is painfully obvious the Quality Inn in Burlington is sorely lacking in ... well, quality. The air conditioning units are in the windows. It looks like a salacious no-tell mo-tel with rates by the hour. I'm waiting for hookers to be around the next corner. Mr. Hawthorne: "Well, what's wrong with this place?" Rosie: "Where the hell do I start? Sometimes you can judge a book by its cover." We leave. We find another motel by Garmin, without too many incidents, pull into the parking lot, and Mr. H. asks, "Where's the motel?" I really don't understand this man sometimes. The motel is shaped like the letter G, only upside down and reversed. And we're parked in the middle with the motel surrounding us. We get a room, unload anything of value, which is everything. All I want to do is take a shower, wash the day off, have a glass of wine, and sleep. The motel is basically empty except for the room directly next to ours where we see dozens of beer bottles on the table next to the open front door, and people are going in and out constantly. Plus, the Burlington Hindu contingent is having a party in the main banquet room and dozens of Indian children are running throughout the vast parking lot unsupervised. I am not happy, what with the window down and all. Hang on. It gets better. Mr. Hawthorne pulls down his bed spread, and lo and behold, he finds a bug. He thinks it's a sesame seed. The sesame seed is moving.

Since this is some kind of bug, and it was found in a bed, I'm going with BED BUG.

Sorry the pictures aren't in focus. I really wasn't thinking on my feet here. What I should have done is made marks on the white paper so the camera would have something to differentiate on and focus on. What with all the white, the camera didn't know where or how to focus. Like I said, I wasn't thinking clearly. Please forgive me. This happens when I find bugs in my bed. I order Mr. Hawthorne to call the front desk. We are leaving immediately. Now, get this: The desk clerk offers to UPGRADE us to a SUITE! Mr. Hawthorne actually asks me if this is acceptable. "What, do the suites have a better class of bug????" "Screw the suite, I'm outta here." I'm thinking to myself now, " This must be what it's like to be Xmaskatie, kind of." I almost had a glimpse into Xmaskatie's life. Now, Xmaskatie can be in business class, have a bulb burn out in her overhead or have a tear on her arm rest and when she points this out to a flight attendant, suddenly she's upgraded and transported to FIRST CLASS and the Moet & Chandon is flowing freely. Bitch. And, Xmaskatie, you know I mean that in the nicest way possible. ETA: Xmaskatie just called to correct me. That was not a tear in Xmaskatie's arm rest. It was a rip in her leg from her garment bag, apparently, perhaps from running through Miami airport. And she still has the scar.

In Rosie's world, she gets upgraded to a suite because she had the audacity to complain about bed bugs. Sheesh. Where's the justice, I ask you?

Freakin' BED BUGS.

We hastily load the car back up and head out again. I key in another motel on the Garmin and Mr. Hawthorne misses the exit, even though I am frantically pointing out the exit. I key in yet another another motel and it's deja vu all over again. It is 8:17 as I write this. We pass a total of 4 motels in this manner. I finally key in the 5th hotel - in Hillsborough. I tell Mr. Hawthorne, "If you miss this exit, I'm going to seriously hurt you. At 8:26, we arrive at ... no we don't. He made the exit, but he takes the turn to Holiday Inn Express too soon and turns into a small shopping area. "Where's the Holiday Inn," he asks, looking around? Thankfully, my eyeballs don't get stuck permanently in the back of my head. I direct him to make a U-turn and go 100 feet farther into the Holiday Inn parking lot. Finally, we get a room, park the car, and he gets out with his key card to check the room. No bags are on his person. I get out, have my key card and have 6 bags - 1 laptop, 2 camera bags, 2 extra bags, and my travel bag. He's ahead of me going into the outside door, puts his key card in, lets the door close, and wanders up the hallway, looking for the room, leaving me standing outside the door, looking like a baggage rack. I am able to wrangle my key card and insert it with my teeth, open the door, get to where Mr. Hawthorne is as he turns to me saying, "This key doesn't work." I look at the door number. It's 126. We're in 127. It is now 8:47. Time for a shower. Onward to 10:08. I'm finally able to upload my travel pictures to blogger, trying in vain to catch up after 3 nights of crap internet service, but it's painfully SLOW. Seven minutes to upload 4 pictures. Time for bed. Tomorrow - home. Thank you for staying with my ranting for this long. I look forward to being in my own kitchen and cooking again.