Home Sweet Nevada

Across the most deplorable state (short of Florida) up and back we are alas home!

I was swollen the entire time down there and while I do bruise easily, something about that elevation or climate just fucks me up. I look like Mr. Morgan has done nothing but beat the shit out of me, I have some seriously impressive bruises on me. Like, traffic fatality looking bruises. Not to say he shouldn't have beat the shit out of me as I am a rotten traveller "I have to pee" every hour type of thing and my head spins not unlike this :

(wax museum)

if he didn't pull off and let me go. I'm happy with a bush, not picky about where, but when. To his compliment, he handled me very well as I was the epitomy of menopause in a passenger seat. Hot, cold, mean, nice, happy, slappy. I could be in a ditch somewhere now as he smoked a cigar and smiled and I would think it well justified.

(Where the fuck ARE we??)

We got to Santa Cruz with a bit of traffic, the Boardwalk was reasonable enough. Any smart ass comments about people/traffic/.....people, simply comes from my severe aversion to, well, fucking people and crowds. And California. We had enough of that place and had extra tickets, which I handed to a little girl behind me, she rolled her eyes and mumbled "ok" What... the...fuck? Totally hardens up me opinion of the attitude that way. But being a guest in their state I didn't kick her boney ass or even lecture her.

Our room that night was 200 dollars because of the "spa" and I don't know if you all have lower expectations, but for two hunskies I do not want to see this shit. I'm all for fixing things up, but come-fucking-ON, that is beyond lazy.

All patched up, and poorly. We did not use it and I decided being dirty for a day was worth the risk of, ya know, I don't really have words for how fucking weird it was to look at that firrst hand. So just trust me.

We hit a few beaches along the way. One that ...ok well there was water, but no sand, just rocks. As we parked a surfer was suiting up, (and again to his divine credit of never lacking to ask someone for shit he wants) Mr. Morgan asked where the entrance was.

"It's that way dude.... but it's a bit chancey getting down" the surfer said, looking at my as if I was in a wheelchair and not capable of walking. That or he saw my bruises and thought - this bitch gonna die getting there.

Zoo time! Walking shoes on.

I'm not really sure what he's riding there. Whatever it is I made him do it.

This little fellow had himself a rock. At first I thought, what a filthy little shit because he was playing between his legs, hiding it, but no, he just had a great rock that he was quite proud of.

Closest I came to them. If you don't know my aversion to gorillas you can reference old blog. In fact the particular aversion I have counteracts the entire photo. They don't like us.

For Bosslady's Daughter. Le Meer Cat. Spelling probably. They had a thicket of babies, but they scurried from the high sun, thus no photo, but they were smaller than Moon's rats if that gives any lead. Very adorable and fast to follow Mom.

And dem der are. I don't know why my heart just stops at these guys, but it does and I can't not stand watching until I'm dragged off. They just stun me and make me wonder why I can't be so quiet. We share the same ungainly walk about us, the same curiousity. Anyway... I spent a long time with them, see below for video.

We stayed in Motel 6's the rest after that. The phone rang about 2am, and I lumbered to it, scared there was some emergency as we'd been checking in with family and letting them know where to look for our bodies and what not.

"Hey."
"Hello."
"What are you doing?" the man's voice asked me.
"Excuse me?"
"What's going on?"
"You have the wrong room man."
"Naw, can I come over?"

/phone handed to Mr. Morgan, baffled. He said hello but now a woman was on the phone.

I only heard one side of it, but he hung up. Fucker rang AGAIN! He picked it up and I hear this:
"Because I don't know you, you have the wrong room! No, I'm in here with my wife!"

This happened twice to us, about 400 miles apart in different motel 6's. Both times he had to tell some bitch that he was with his wife and full up on pussy. Frankly, it freaked me out. Are there people out there watching men go into a hotel? Are they randomly dialing rooms? Crackhead assholes waking us up at 2am wanting whatever and Mr. Morgan said after the second call, "I think that was the same bitch, stalking me!" Very very odd.

So we went to Universal Studios, I didn't bag any booze because they said not to but the bag check was a fucking joke, she asked me to open my bag and didn't even look, just moved me along.

Later that night we planned to walk the Walk of Fame, all those stupid ass stars and things, but I was beat. Too much walking on these lacking legs, and way too much sun. I didn't burn, but you all know how too much can exhaust you even if hydrated.

Later that night as we rested, waiting for the next call asking to fuck my husband, someone was stabbed to death about a block from our room. Next morning it seemed a good idea to boot the fuck out of dodge, get our dogs, and go home.

We made the trip from Hollywood to .... where I live, in one day and that was impressive although tiring. I can't say we made much conversation as Mr. Morgan was really done with driving and had that glazed look that people get when they are pushing themselves to do something they shouldn't just to prove they could. The dogs, well doG seemed happy we were home, Delilah's ears were toe fucking up and mad in need of cleaning as she did something not unlike a seizure half the night and wouldn't leave Mr. Morgan's side for a moment. I haven't slept for fuck wondering if a emergency vet visit was going to shake out, but we cleaned them and she seems calmer. Simon, gives a fuck about anything, he's fine.

And here I am, back..... gimme love and say how you missed me.

-DM