Vacation All I Ever Wanted

For security reasons I only blog about vacations in the past tense, because otherwise I may as well put up a blog post saying "My house is devoid of people and chock-full of stuff worth stealing!" (assuming a circa 1998 television set and pile of size-one bluejeans meet your definition of "worth stealing." There's also lots of battered paperbacks, and two jelly jars containing about $70 in nickels).

So I went to South Carolina, in August, where you can go outdoors, or you can be clean and non-stinky, but you can't do both. I opted to go outdoors, and if any South Carolinians reading this had problems getting a signal on their cell phones I sincerely apologize for that; the stink rays I emitted are probably what kept you from getting bars. (Bad enough dealing with swamp ass; I also had swamp boob, swamp scalp, swamp foot, and swamp everything that had fabric covering it. Bleah.)

On the off-chance any clothing designers are reading this, let me say: if it's hot enough to wear a sundress, it's too damned hot to wear rayon, polyester, or any other artificial fabric that does not "breathe," so why the hell do you use such fabric to make your sundresses? My theory: you are motivated by sheer hatred of your customers, a hatred so intense that if your IQ were a mere 50 points lower, you'd probably work for TSA.

Speaking of which: what would have been a three-hour flight to the Carolinas turned instead into a two-day drive, because I refuse to let some child-molesting waste of DNA feel my genitalia before I travel; dealing with vacation traffic on the I-95 corridor is vastly preferable to dealing with the TSA. (Side note: there will come a time when people say "TSA agent" the same way we now say "concentration-camp guard." I hope that time comes soon enough for me to benefit by it.)

We're fast approaching the one-year anniversary of the TSA's "We molest your children so you don't have to" mandatory groping policy. I honestly never believed it would last this long.