10:23 PM |
I am becoming afraid. I don't like it at all. The more people there are, the worse I feel. I had two creepy things happen today. And a lot of good stuff, but I wanted to take a shower after each encounter and somehow that trumps the sweet.
This morning I decided to sleep in. I felt extremely guilty not making the 9:30 cutoff for breakfast and Smart Coffee. They have Smart Coffee in the bathroom, but I neither make coffee in the bathroom, nor drink coffee from hotel rooms anywhere. Have you ever seen that episode in Myth Busters where they put some glow-in-the-dark stuff in the toilet and then flush it to see where it goes? It goes everywhere. I try to turn my back on the toilet as I flush it, but it's not as easy as it sounds. The coffee cups are wrapped in plastic, but you still have to touch the plastic. And that coffee pot-- yikes, it's been around for a whole bunch of flushes and I bet no one wipes it down with Lysol. Plus I hate powdered non-dairy creamer. I drink a whole lot of milk in my coffee. Helps with the potential osteopenia that Sally Fields worries so much about on TV. Also my mother drank it that way. I think I'm ending up doing a lot more stuff the way my mother did. My sister cooks pork chops and potato pancakes. But then again my grandmother was always the cook.
Checked out my waterfront view. Still see the beach but fog is rolling in. Just make 11 am checkout cutoff. Because I am now a Preferred Member at Holiday Inn Express, I could request a later checkout time, but I'm trying to have at least a modicum of discipline. This is the first time I've slept past 8:30 in a month. Bummed that I didn't go to outdoor pool.
I am some place between Gulfport and Biloxi (I think) but I'm really sure where. Started Woody up. No problems. While waiting for Woody to warm up (remember that? You have to let the car warm up otherwise your Uncle Marvin would just ruin the car again), saw hand-written note on the windshield. It was from Phil who lives in the log cabin at the end of the street and has two old cars and used to have more. He gave his address. What the hell. These old guys are so cute. Went to Phil's. Phil is sort of skinny with a light grey/brown mustache. He is probably 52. Not an old guy, at least in car years (and mine too, as I am 51 and not one bit old). He has a good handshake, neither limp nor break your fingers. I have been told that my handshake is too strong. I kinda notice that when they increase their pressure half way through. Tough shit. That's why I pay Ron the Hun to beat the crap out of me twice a week. Those weenies should see Ron too. Anyhow, Phil asks me in. I didn't think twice about it. His home is modest and pretty well kept if a bit cluttered. He took me to see his daughter's self-portrait. Tiffany (the first non-oddly spelled Tiffany of the trip) is a reasonably good artist but no Van Gogh. Then I saw Tiffany's rendition of Tiffany, Phil and Nanny. He asked me if I am married. Tiffany also drew a truck. Phil wants to show me around. The light bulb went off. What the hell am I doing in some stranger's house, especially one who talks about nothing but Tiffany? I am beginning to think that Tiffany is one of those kidnappees who has fourteen children while locked up in a shed out back. Phil wants me to see Tiffany's bedroom. He takes me in and shows me Tiffany's portrait of him in his SeaBee (is it written CeeBee?) outfit. He was a SeaBee or whatever for 25 years. I'm feeling more uneasy. Then he shows me Tiffany's drawing of him with his old truck. He reaches behind the drawing and I am sure he is going to pull a knife out. He touches my arm for the third time. He pulls out the photograph Tiffany worked from. He is wearing a baseball cap but Tiffany drew a straw hat as it went better with the period of the truck. Then Phil wants me to see the new bedroom he built Tiffany. Now I know that he has prepared a place just for me. Phil wants me to go there. Uh, do you have animals Phil? I'm feeling a little bit of allergy coming on. Several times he wonders why I would be having allergies as he doesn't have a pet. Then he wanted me to see his garage. His garage is in the back of the house, not in the front like some normal person. He unlocked the garage doors. Oh my god. He is going to chain me up in the garage. He touched my arm again and kind of guided me in. I was absolutely, positively certain that more than one door was open and they were not locked but I was still scared shitless. Uh, Phil, can I take your picture with your car? I was hoping he'd push the door up even further than before. He did. Next, he wanted to show me the first of the outbuildings. This was the first one he built. Am composing note to self if live: check missing persons reports for the year Phil built first outbuilding. He opened the door and made me look in. There are tools hung neatly along the wall. I don't know about you, but I watch Dexter, and that crazy Trinity killer had his tools hung up neatly along the wall too. In the middle is an axe. I am mentally trying to figure out how to grab the axe if he pulled a knife, and then wondering if I would have the stomach to split his skull open. He locked the door. From the outside with me outside, fortunately. Then we went to the second outbuilding. It had some crazy ass name on a board above the door and Phil said something about the name still being good if Tiffany didn't want to live there when it was done. He wanted to show me the inside, and then the upstairs. No fucking way. I told Phil I am a crazy klutz and I couldn't possibly walk around where there are unfinished floors (true). Gee Phil, I have to hit the road now. I was terrified that Woody wouldn't. But he did. You have never seen anyone hit State Road 90 as fast as I did. I was so traumatized that I even remember the number of the road.
Immediately forced myself to think normal thoughts. There is some stuff to visit in Buloxi so I hope I haven't missed it. Not hungry (!) due to junk food courtesy of the Preferred Member's club. Saw IHOP and decided to stop anyway. Had blueberry pancakes. Later decided that they were full of something like jello but probably synthetic. Maybe that was ok as jello is made from horses hooves (my mother told me), but probably are really made from cow's hooves as there are a lot left over after t-bones and hamburger meat. She also told me that penicillin is made of moles. I had a really hard time looking at those grey creatures that we killed by putting a stick in the tunnel and dumping poison in and then stomping on all the tunnels to keep them from coming back. I thought about ground up moles in the capsules Dr. Harrington sometimes made me take. I couldn't swallow pills (and still have a hard time) so my grandmother would open the capsules and mix them in something for me to drink. She gave me orange wedges to suck on afterwards because it tasted so yucky. I can still taste it. I was about thirty when I found out that penicillin is made from a mold, not moles. I tried to figure why on earth I would go to IHOP.
Noticed regular guy in blue oxford shirt and the light-colored jeans that are du rigeur down south. He had on a black leather vest that said Live Hard Ride Hard and had a skull embroidered between. It also had fringe. I hate these weekend warriors, old guys trying to get balls back from wife, like those guys in the movie with John Travolta. I paid Monica, a nice waitress with marginal teeth who called me sweetie. Whenever someone calls me honey or sweety I find myself saying it to the next half dozen people I meet. Note to almost-real imaginary boyfriend: call me honey or sweety. You won't regret it. Paid my bill, left big tip and went outside and to my surprise saw regular oxford shirt guy suit up to get on bike. He is a badass mother fucker. Go figure. His helmet had a bunch of stickers on it about guns and dead people and all sorts of other shit. My favorite:
Am now pretty much over Phil and first college boyfriend. Kept on driving along the coast. I wish I could see more but it was really foggy. Saw sign for Beauvoir, which if my high school french serves me right is nice view. It was Jefferson Davis' home also called the Confederate White House. It got really trashed in Katrina but not as bad as a lot of stuff. The ticket booth is in a trailer. They are building a huge Jefferson David Presidential Library behind it. Probably got disaster relief money to do it. I was told I had perfect timing (which I never, ever have) and the tour would start in 10 minutes, unless I'd like to watch the movie which is approximately 30 minutes and then wait for the tour. Then I could visit the grounds and walk around any way I wanted. And then I would come back and shop in the gift shop/ticket booth/potty/mini-museum/movie theater if I so desired. It felt like I should definitely so desire lest the ticket ladies beat me over the head with iron skillets. Noted confederate soldier mess kit. Looks like first Swiss Army knife in south. Even has corkscrew. Jerry was our guide. There was just something off about him. He looked like a fat Desi Arnes and sounded like Mr. Rogers. It creeped me out. I was hoping not to have a Phil repeat. James Brown was the first owner of this house! I feel good na-na-na-na like I should now, I feel fine, I feel fine do-do-do-do-do dododo. Mr. Brown's wife's name was Saffronita. Jerry thinks this is a pretty name. I learned how valuable everything is and how much money it cost to restore. I heard that the whole tour, over and over again. Also how the board of directors made every decision. And later something about the garden club which seems to be in cahoots with the Natchez garden club when it comes to running old houses. Because Katrina swept stuff away, they were replaced by some of the garden club ladies, including the twin rocker where two chairs faced each other but were far enough away that the kids couldn't smack each other. Jerry knew this because he has twin nephews in California. I think the crappy doll quilt and crocheted throw were also Mary Jane's work. She's so talented. Jerry also showed us a porcelain container which we all knew was a chamber pot. It's smaller than you thought, said Jerry, she must have had good aim. Yuck. Jerry, I don't know what you know about women's anatomy (apparently not much), but I'm pretty sure we don't aim. Jerry also told us that one of the cottages was used for visitors, especially for the board of directors meeting. It's not being used this week, so we can peek in and not worry about seeing a naked man. The lady with the red Coach purse said Oh Good very quickly. I was disappointed. The children eat in a separate dining room until they are 22, and the boys sleep in hammocks under the porch. The hammocks were next to the meat room. Doesn't everyone chill a meat room? No wonder all five of them died an early death. The girls spoke 7 languages and wrote books for a living. It was very clever of them. Jerry has no drawl. That is because he is from Michigan. He says the drawl is for people in the north (meaning north Mississippi) and everyone down here sounds like they're from New Jersey. If he says so. I went to the outbuildings (I think he called them pavilions) and saw no naked men. Did see Wipe Your Paws doormat. There were a whole stack of filled Seagram's boxes amongst the antiques in the other one. There is also the following written somewhere:
Continue to downtown Biloxi. See billboard for Oil Spill Distress Hot Line. Man. Woody coughing. He must have been sleeping with those Davis boys under the porch. Can't find any of the good stuff that's supposed to be downtown before ending up on some odd street. Woody's coughing getting worse. Stopped in at Automotive Electric store. Asked if anyone happened to know a good flathead guy. The shopkeeper and the customer with a sort of ratty concert t-shirt with silver accents on it did a double take. They are car guys. Custom race car guys. The customer is Aaron. This is Aaron. He checked under the hood and agrees with me that it is the carburetor. It is leaking. Aaron knows exactly who to call. Earl. Aaron had me follow him to Earl's in D'Iberville. If I had learned anything, I wouldn't be following guy in dirty white pickup to some other stranger's house. Sigh. What I do for Woody. Checked for 9 mm under seat. Damn, didn't bring it.
It turns out that Earl is the good kind of old car guy. His mailbox is an old car. He has a gorgeous burgundy 1951 Ford. He took the sun visor off because he didn't like the way it made the car look. My dad does that too. Earl also has a neon orange racer that has rear tires that cost $259 apiece. He doesn't work up smoke and leave rubber on the track for effect. Those guys buy 4 or 5 sets of tires a year. Earl says tires get sticky enough if you just burn a tiny bit of rubber. He does a 9 second quarter. Which is really good. This is Earl. I tell Earl I think the carb is messed up. Earl has 14 grandchildren and 4 kids. He wishes he had a do over with his own kids. It was fun. I told him he can do it with his grandkids. Nah, they have their own ideas about things. Earl's wife Bertie brought out their teeny dog Princess. Princess mourns when Earl isn't there. She won't eat. I touched Princess a lot. I never, ever touch dogs. She jumped up on my lap when I was in Woody. Princess can also knock on the neighbor's door. Earl said the carb had junk in it and the float needed to be lowered. He cleaned it and lowered it. The guy next door leaves that expensive RV in the driveway. He's had it for two years and has never used it. He and his wife just pull in from two week trip. In their car. Earl doesn't gamble. Everyone he knows has lost ve-hicles. Every time they publish how much money the casinos bring to the community, Earl says that's how much people are losing. He is right. Earl bets I could get a lot of money for Woody. He watches the craziness of Barrett-Jackson auctions. He tapes it so that he doesn't have to watch commercials. He timed it. One time 10 minutes of show 11 minutes of ads. Another time 11 minutes of show 13 minutes of ads. He thinks the rich guys are nuts to pay all that money. It was better when it was just regular guys. He's right again. Earl is smart. He wouldn't take any money from me. I gave him last bottle of Maker's Mark bourbon from which he will make a toddy for his cough. Sorry, me. I have now given away all three of the bottles of 47. I hope I don't have any more car trouble.
Hit the road again. Saw sign for Cajun Famous Fried Chicken. Then sign Cajun RV Park. Taking that old Loretta Lynn angle. Went in and out and in and out and in and out of Biloxi and could find nothing but casinos. Hit bathroom at some gas station somewhere. Can't remember, but definitely remember one seater bathroom with giant scale that will give you your lucky lottery numbers too. It is digital and you need to weigh yourself every day for good health, it says. Tempted.
Driving down 90 again (wish I could see the beach, still foggy). Woody racing like crazy. He is a woody in heat. I am going nuts and need to have him tuned down a bit. Also, he is still hiccuping but not as badly. See old truck in bay of actual service station, you know the kind that is actually attached to a gas station with two pumps and no convenience store. Stop at garage. Nice old guy named Charlie fixes carburetor and checks plugs. This is Charlie. Thinks ethanol is causing hiccups. I think so too. See auto parts store. Get oil and Sta-bil, as well as spray graphite for cranky locks. Sta-bil bottle the guy gives me is leaking. Washed hands in back of store. Never been in back of an auto parts store before. Cleaner than auto body place, dirtier than auto dealer. Two more miles down 90. CVS. Need to get RX refills. Go in. No more refills available. Note to self: Call doctor. Figure out where doctor should call. Tough because 1) I don't know where I'll be 2) don't know if they have CVS's where I'll maybe be. Eat four pralines. Continue through a billion stop lights. Finally hit part that has little green dots on it on map. Scenic. It is night. It is foggy. You moron, it won't be scenic. Finally tired of being only one on road. Took sign to I-whatever. Outside of Mobile. Saw sign for Holiday Inn (no Express). Decided to have Mexican. First, gas. Went to Speedway which is run like a 7-11. No offense, but these Indians did not have their shit together. Swiped Amex at pump. Said see manager. That usually means no more credit. That would be a nightmare. They don't take Amex. What? Did you ever go to a gas station that doesn't take Amex. They swiped my Visa inside. Went to pump. Nothing. Went back in (this is not close at this station). Did you put the handle back in? Went to pump. Put handle back in. Took handle out. Made sure Premium was selected. Nothing. Go back in. I want my money back. No, wait, he's in training. Other lady says put handle back in. I motioned for her to try. Nothing. I want my money back. They want to try again. I hold the handle up to the side of my head and pressed the lever. See? Nothing. I want my money back. He's in training. I know he's in training. Keep the fucking money. And I left. Went to Shell station. No problem pumping. Two guys in truck admire Woody for a while. Show me coupon book for hotels. Ask if I'm staying here. I am not committing. They've been in the truck for two weeks. Can't I smell them? We're trying to get into that Red Roof Inn. Lady comes out of convenience store. Tom, go away. Go. I guess he's a regular. Decide to get Mexican anyway. Tom follows me. Go in quickly and ask for table from which I can watch Woody. Next to fire pit. Getting smoky. Don't care. Double dip in the salsa. Have large margarita.
This morning I decided to sleep in. I felt extremely guilty not making the 9:30 cutoff for breakfast and Smart Coffee. They have Smart Coffee in the bathroom, but I neither make coffee in the bathroom, nor drink coffee from hotel rooms anywhere. Have you ever seen that episode in Myth Busters where they put some glow-in-the-dark stuff in the toilet and then flush it to see where it goes? It goes everywhere. I try to turn my back on the toilet as I flush it, but it's not as easy as it sounds. The coffee cups are wrapped in plastic, but you still have to touch the plastic. And that coffee pot-- yikes, it's been around for a whole bunch of flushes and I bet no one wipes it down with Lysol. Plus I hate powdered non-dairy creamer. I drink a whole lot of milk in my coffee. Helps with the potential osteopenia that Sally Fields worries so much about on TV. Also my mother drank it that way. I think I'm ending up doing a lot more stuff the way my mother did. My sister cooks pork chops and potato pancakes. But then again my grandmother was always the cook.
Checked out my waterfront view. Still see the beach but fog is rolling in. Just make 11 am checkout cutoff. Because I am now a Preferred Member at Holiday Inn Express, I could request a later checkout time, but I'm trying to have at least a modicum of discipline. This is the first time I've slept past 8:30 in a month. Bummed that I didn't go to outdoor pool.
I am some place between Gulfport and Biloxi (I think) but I'm really sure where. Started Woody up. No problems. While waiting for Woody to warm up (remember that? You have to let the car warm up otherwise your Uncle Marvin would just ruin the car again), saw hand-written note on the windshield. It was from Phil who lives in the log cabin at the end of the street and has two old cars and used to have more. He gave his address. What the hell. These old guys are so cute. Went to Phil's. Phil is sort of skinny with a light grey/brown mustache. He is probably 52. Not an old guy, at least in car years (and mine too, as I am 51 and not one bit old). He has a good handshake, neither limp nor break your fingers. I have been told that my handshake is too strong. I kinda notice that when they increase their pressure half way through. Tough shit. That's why I pay Ron the Hun to beat the crap out of me twice a week. Those weenies should see Ron too. Anyhow, Phil asks me in. I didn't think twice about it. His home is modest and pretty well kept if a bit cluttered. He took me to see his daughter's self-portrait. Tiffany (the first non-oddly spelled Tiffany of the trip) is a reasonably good artist but no Van Gogh. Then I saw Tiffany's rendition of Tiffany, Phil and Nanny. He asked me if I am married. Tiffany also drew a truck. Phil wants to show me around. The light bulb went off. What the hell am I doing in some stranger's house, especially one who talks about nothing but Tiffany? I am beginning to think that Tiffany is one of those kidnappees who has fourteen children while locked up in a shed out back. Phil wants me to see Tiffany's bedroom. He takes me in and shows me Tiffany's portrait of him in his SeaBee (is it written CeeBee?) outfit. He was a SeaBee or whatever for 25 years. I'm feeling more uneasy. Then he shows me Tiffany's drawing of him with his old truck. He reaches behind the drawing and I am sure he is going to pull a knife out. He touches my arm for the third time. He pulls out the photograph Tiffany worked from. He is wearing a baseball cap but Tiffany drew a straw hat as it went better with the period of the truck. Then Phil wants me to see the new bedroom he built Tiffany. Now I know that he has prepared a place just for me. Phil wants me to go there. Uh, do you have animals Phil? I'm feeling a little bit of allergy coming on. Several times he wonders why I would be having allergies as he doesn't have a pet. Then he wanted me to see his garage. His garage is in the back of the house, not in the front like some normal person. He unlocked the garage doors. Oh my god. He is going to chain me up in the garage. He touched my arm again and kind of guided me in. I was absolutely, positively certain that more than one door was open and they were not locked but I was still scared shitless. Uh, Phil, can I take your picture with your car? I was hoping he'd push the door up even further than before. He did. Next, he wanted to show me the first of the outbuildings. This was the first one he built. Am composing note to self if live: check missing persons reports for the year Phil built first outbuilding. He opened the door and made me look in. There are tools hung neatly along the wall. I don't know about you, but I watch Dexter, and that crazy Trinity killer had his tools hung up neatly along the wall too. In the middle is an axe. I am mentally trying to figure out how to grab the axe if he pulled a knife, and then wondering if I would have the stomach to split his skull open. He locked the door. From the outside with me outside, fortunately. Then we went to the second outbuilding. It had some crazy ass name on a board above the door and Phil said something about the name still being good if Tiffany didn't want to live there when it was done. He wanted to show me the inside, and then the upstairs. No fucking way. I told Phil I am a crazy klutz and I couldn't possibly walk around where there are unfinished floors (true). Gee Phil, I have to hit the road now. I was terrified that Woody wouldn't. But he did. You have never seen anyone hit State Road 90 as fast as I did. I was so traumatized that I even remember the number of the road.
Immediately forced myself to think normal thoughts. There is some stuff to visit in Buloxi so I hope I haven't missed it. Not hungry (!) due to junk food courtesy of the Preferred Member's club. Saw IHOP and decided to stop anyway. Had blueberry pancakes. Later decided that they were full of something like jello but probably synthetic. Maybe that was ok as jello is made from horses hooves (my mother told me), but probably are really made from cow's hooves as there are a lot left over after t-bones and hamburger meat. She also told me that penicillin is made of moles. I had a really hard time looking at those grey creatures that we killed by putting a stick in the tunnel and dumping poison in and then stomping on all the tunnels to keep them from coming back. I thought about ground up moles in the capsules Dr. Harrington sometimes made me take. I couldn't swallow pills (and still have a hard time) so my grandmother would open the capsules and mix them in something for me to drink. She gave me orange wedges to suck on afterwards because it tasted so yucky. I can still taste it. I was about thirty when I found out that penicillin is made from a mold, not moles. I tried to figure why on earth I would go to IHOP.
Noticed regular guy in blue oxford shirt and the light-colored jeans that are du rigeur down south. He had on a black leather vest that said Live Hard Ride Hard and had a skull embroidered between. It also had fringe. I hate these weekend warriors, old guys trying to get balls back from wife, like those guys in the movie with John Travolta. I paid Monica, a nice waitress with marginal teeth who called me sweetie. Whenever someone calls me honey or sweety I find myself saying it to the next half dozen people I meet. Note to almost-real imaginary boyfriend: call me honey or sweety. You won't regret it. Paid my bill, left big tip and went outside and to my surprise saw regular oxford shirt guy suit up to get on bike. He is a badass mother fucker. Go figure. His helmet had a bunch of stickers on it about guns and dead people and all sorts of other shit. My favorite:If I Don't Get Laid Soon
Someone's Going To Get Hurt
I had noticed one of the women light a cigarette and get ready to hop on the back of the bike. She put her bandanna on. I'm thinking how is she going to ride with that lit cigarette? Tougher than me, she is. Pat, Tony, Susan and Denise are all suited up but they want to know about Woody. They are very nice and took my picture with Woody (not for me, for themselves). They are staying around here (later deduced that staying there meant lived here) and just riding. They will take care of me if I need anything. Now I have seven friends in Gulfport. They need a motto to put on a sign when you enter: Gulfport, The Friendly Town. Hit the road again.
Still thinking about why on earth I would go to an IHOP when I wasn't even hungry and I'm sure I could find a bunch of all-day breakfast places that would be locally-owned and operated, hopefully by a woman named Alice. Then it hit me. I have been dancing down memory lane the last month or so, and I hadn't visited first college boyfriend. He was my first everything, including my first bad breakup. I told you, I am a bad breaker upper. We went to an Ivy League school which was by definition a snowy place. First college boyfriend never ate on campus. He and his best friend who got married young to a gold-digger who wore curlers while driving with him to dinner always went out. I started going out too, but not all the time. Billy Joel was singing Big Shot and Italian Restaurant to Christy Brinkley but we didn't know that at the time because Billy Joel was so ugly. I played them on my 8 track. My first date with first college boyfriend was to an IHOP. They had these really great colored (and I guess flavored) syrups. I can still see the slush and feel the wind when we walked out. He was going to give me his mother's diamond because she wanted a bigger canary one. He brought Opium perfume for me and his sister from Europe where he went with Kevin. At the time, Opium was very statusy. He left me for a girl with a rod in her back. I stopped studying and got kicked out of school. As I said, memories.
Am now pretty much over Phil and first college boyfriend. Kept on driving along the coast. I wish I could see more but it was really foggy. Saw sign for Beauvoir, which if my high school french serves me right is nice view. It was Jefferson Davis' home also called the Confederate White House. It got really trashed in Katrina but not as bad as a lot of stuff. The ticket booth is in a trailer. They are building a huge Jefferson David Presidential Library behind it. Probably got disaster relief money to do it. I was told I had perfect timing (which I never, ever have) and the tour would start in 10 minutes, unless I'd like to watch the movie which is approximately 30 minutes and then wait for the tour. Then I could visit the grounds and walk around any way I wanted. And then I would come back and shop in the gift shop/ticket booth/potty/mini-museum/movie theater if I so desired. It felt like I should definitely so desire lest the ticket ladies beat me over the head with iron skillets. Noted confederate soldier mess kit. Looks like first Swiss Army knife in south. Even has corkscrew. Jerry was our guide. There was just something off about him. He looked like a fat Desi Arnes and sounded like Mr. Rogers. It creeped me out. I was hoping not to have a Phil repeat. James Brown was the first owner of this house! I feel good na-na-na-na like I should now, I feel fine, I feel fine do-do-do-do-do dododo. Mr. Brown's wife's name was Saffronita. Jerry thinks this is a pretty name. I learned how valuable everything is and how much money it cost to restore. I heard that the whole tour, over and over again. Also how the board of directors made every decision. And later something about the garden club which seems to be in cahoots with the Natchez garden club when it comes to running old houses. Because Katrina swept stuff away, they were replaced by some of the garden club ladies, including the twin rocker where two chairs faced each other but were far enough away that the kids couldn't smack each other. Jerry knew this because he has twin nephews in California. I think the crappy doll quilt and crocheted throw were also Mary Jane's work. She's so talented. Jerry also showed us a porcelain container which we all knew was a chamber pot. It's smaller than you thought, said Jerry, she must have had good aim. Yuck. Jerry, I don't know what you know about women's anatomy (apparently not much), but I'm pretty sure we don't aim. Jerry also told us that one of the cottages was used for visitors, especially for the board of directors meeting. It's not being used this week, so we can peek in and not worry about seeing a naked man. The lady with the red Coach purse said Oh Good very quickly. I was disappointed. The children eat in a separate dining room until they are 22, and the boys sleep in hammocks under the porch. The hammocks were next to the meat room. Doesn't everyone chill a meat room? No wonder all five of them died an early death. The girls spoke 7 languages and wrote books for a living. It was very clever of them. Jerry has no drawl. That is because he is from Michigan. He says the drawl is for people in the north (meaning north Mississippi) and everyone down here sounds like they're from New Jersey. If he says so. I went to the outbuildings (I think he called them pavilions) and saw no naked men. Did see Wipe Your Paws doormat. There were a whole stack of filled Seagram's boxes amongst the antiques in the other one. There is also the following written somewhere:The supremacy of law is the test of liberty
I don't know how much I'd be advertising supremacy here. In Jefferson Davis' time, there were peacocks on the lawn. Jerry said he hates the noise they make at all hours. Mrs. Davis served them to Mr. Davis. They sound good. Other people in tour horrified.
I went back to the trailer to check out the merchandise there were the expected confederate flag license plates and shot glasses. And just to be on the safe side, they had a children's book called Jim Linber Davis: An Orphan In The White House with a little black nappy-headed boy drawn on the cover. Did James Brown die? There was no mention of slaves during the tour. They also had little cartoon frog and turtle statues with things like I Miss You on them. And check this out. Sparkly shirts with Paris, Chocolate and Merlot on them. And a Whimsical Wicks brand candle in Kudzu scent. They must have been chosen by Mary Jane who did the crochet. She appears to be the alpha garden club member. I did get a kick out of one t-shirt:
Real Women Love The South
The Rest Marry Yankees
Continue to downtown Biloxi. See billboard for Oil Spill Distress Hot Line. Man. Woody coughing. He must have been sleeping with those Davis boys under the porch. Can't find any of the good stuff that's supposed to be downtown before ending up on some odd street. Woody's coughing getting worse. Stopped in at Automotive Electric store. Asked if anyone happened to know a good flathead guy. The shopkeeper and the customer with a sort of ratty concert t-shirt with silver accents on it did a double take. They are car guys. Custom race car guys. The customer is Aaron. This is Aaron. He checked under the hood and agrees with me that it is the carburetor. It is leaking. Aaron knows exactly who to call. Earl. Aaron had me follow him to Earl's in D'Iberville. If I had learned anything, I wouldn't be following guy in dirty white pickup to some other stranger's house. Sigh. What I do for Woody. Checked for 9 mm under seat. Damn, didn't bring it.
It turns out that Earl is the good kind of old car guy. His mailbox is an old car. He has a gorgeous burgundy 1951 Ford. He took the sun visor off because he didn't like the way it made the car look. My dad does that too. Earl also has a neon orange racer that has rear tires that cost $259 apiece. He doesn't work up smoke and leave rubber on the track for effect. Those guys buy 4 or 5 sets of tires a year. Earl says tires get sticky enough if you just burn a tiny bit of rubber. He does a 9 second quarter. Which is really good. This is Earl. I tell Earl I think the carb is messed up. Earl has 14 grandchildren and 4 kids. He wishes he had a do over with his own kids. It was fun. I told him he can do it with his grandkids. Nah, they have their own ideas about things. Earl's wife Bertie brought out their teeny dog Princess. Princess mourns when Earl isn't there. She won't eat. I touched Princess a lot. I never, ever touch dogs. She jumped up on my lap when I was in Woody. Princess can also knock on the neighbor's door. Earl said the carb had junk in it and the float needed to be lowered. He cleaned it and lowered it. The guy next door leaves that expensive RV in the driveway. He's had it for two years and has never used it. He and his wife just pull in from two week trip. In their car. Earl doesn't gamble. Everyone he knows has lost ve-hicles. Every time they publish how much money the casinos bring to the community, Earl says that's how much people are losing. He is right. Earl bets I could get a lot of money for Woody. He watches the craziness of Barrett-Jackson auctions. He tapes it so that he doesn't have to watch commercials. He timed it. One time 10 minutes of show 11 minutes of ads. Another time 11 minutes of show 13 minutes of ads. He thinks the rich guys are nuts to pay all that money. It was better when it was just regular guys. He's right again. Earl is smart. He wouldn't take any money from me. I gave him last bottle of Maker's Mark bourbon from which he will make a toddy for his cough. Sorry, me. I have now given away all three of the bottles of 47. I hope I don't have any more car trouble.
Hit the road again. Saw sign for Cajun Famous Fried Chicken. Then sign Cajun RV Park. Taking that old Loretta Lynn angle. Went in and out and in and out and in and out of Biloxi and could find nothing but casinos. Hit bathroom at some gas station somewhere. Can't remember, but definitely remember one seater bathroom with giant scale that will give you your lucky lottery numbers too. It is digital and you need to weigh yourself every day for good health, it says. Tempted. More Biloxi. Saw marina and had to go in. There is no public parking, but Woody gets away with a lot. I stopped and just smelled the sea and watched the shrimpers bob. I thought about my childhood on boats. One of the fishing boats is named Tiffany, spelled the right way. It is beautiful and I hope that Phil isn't holding Tiffany below decks. After all, I've never seen Tiffany. By the time I gave up on the Georgia O'Keefe and George Orr museum and the marine life museum, I was on Route 90 along the beach again. Three minutes later found museum. I didn't feel like going any more. Guy I met on Match was a collector of Arts & Crafts furniture and had one of the best collections in the country. George Orr was an Arts & Crafts potter. Match guy hooked up with personal trainer. Skipped museum.
Driving down 90 again (wish I could see the beach, still foggy). Woody racing like crazy. He is a woody in heat. I am going nuts and need to have him tuned down a bit. Also, he is still hiccuping but not as badly. See old truck in bay of actual service station, you know the kind that is actually attached to a gas station with two pumps and no convenience store. Stop at garage. Nice old guy named Charlie fixes carburetor and checks plugs. This is Charlie. Thinks ethanol is causing hiccups. I think so too. See auto parts store. Get oil and Sta-bil, as well as spray graphite for cranky locks. Sta-bil bottle the guy gives me is leaking. Washed hands in back of store. Never been in back of an auto parts store before. Cleaner than auto body place, dirtier than auto dealer. Two more miles down 90. CVS. Need to get RX refills. Go in. No more refills available. Note to self: Call doctor. Figure out where doctor should call. Tough because 1) I don't know where I'll be 2) don't know if they have CVS's where I'll maybe be. Eat four pralines. Continue through a billion stop lights. Finally hit part that has little green dots on it on map. Scenic. It is night. It is foggy. You moron, it won't be scenic. Finally tired of being only one on road. Took sign to I-whatever. Outside of Mobile. Saw sign for Holiday Inn (no Express). Decided to have Mexican. First, gas. Went to Speedway which is run like a 7-11. No offense, but these Indians did not have their shit together. Swiped Amex at pump. Said see manager. That usually means no more credit. That would be a nightmare. They don't take Amex. What? Did you ever go to a gas station that doesn't take Amex. They swiped my Visa inside. Went to pump. Nothing. Went back in (this is not close at this station). Did you put the handle back in? Went to pump. Put handle back in. Took handle out. Made sure Premium was selected. Nothing. Go back in. I want my money back. No, wait, he's in training. Other lady says put handle back in. I motioned for her to try. Nothing. I want my money back. They want to try again. I hold the handle up to the side of my head and pressed the lever. See? Nothing. I want my money back. He's in training. I know he's in training. Keep the fucking money. And I left. Went to Shell station. No problem pumping. Two guys in truck admire Woody for a while. Show me coupon book for hotels. Ask if I'm staying here. I am not committing. They've been in the truck for two weeks. Can't I smell them? We're trying to get into that Red Roof Inn. Lady comes out of convenience store. Tom, go away. Go. I guess he's a regular. Decide to get Mexican anyway. Tom follows me. Go in quickly and ask for table from which I can watch Woody. Next to fire pit. Getting smoky. Don't care. Double dip in the salsa. Have large margarita.Belly distended from IHOP and Mexican. Need to get back to small-town cooking. Huge room at Holiday Inn. $103. Can't see TV. The one night I want to watch TV. This is getting to be a pain. I hate cities. I hate people. No more food worth photographing. I want to read magazines while I eat alone. I am not enjoying this. Do I head north through Unclaimed Baggage super store? That would be entire day of driving. Do I go east toward all the beaches I went to on Beach Week with fraternity? Maybe really drive, drive, drive to some funky gulf coast island down south? Do I just blow through all of it and see family in Orlando? Last one not likely. Too much drama. This is my trip. As usual, it will be better in the morning. Where are any of my imaginary boyfriends?