warner robins, everybody’s favorite place

7/25/99

My mom told me this really interesting but unfunny story the other day. A few years ago, my grandparents were making their annual trip to Florida, where they live from November to May. As they drove, my grandad starting feeling pretty awful, and when they arrived in Tampa he had several gall stones removed.

They were driving through Georgia when he really started to hurt. My grandma sped to find a hospital, and of course she was pulled over. The police officer would hear nothing of an emergency situation, seeing my grandparents as con artists who wer trying to get out of a ticket. He forced my grandma to step out of the car and sit in his squad car while he checked her personal information and made sure she wasn’t fleeing the state of Indiana.

While he took his time, my grandad couldn’t take the pain. He’d unbuttoned his pants because he couldn’t stand to have them touching his abdomen. He thought he was going to die. He worked his way out of the car, but couldn’t stand, so he began to crawl down the freeway to the police car. When the officer saw my grandad crawling down the highway, he thought, “Man, they think they’re so hot,” and he dawdled a little longer while he wrote my grandma a speeding ticket.

When he was done, my grandma asked him if he could at least tell them where a hospital was. He said oh sure, right down the road here, you’ll see the signs. They drove and drove, and never found a hospital, but eventually my grandad felt well enough to press on till Tampa.

That cop? Guess where he was. That’s right—Warner Robins, GA. I’m told my grandparents will never visit me here.

Is marriage incest?

I thought about it after John’s brother, David, called me his sister. See, if I’m David’s sister, then I’m also John’s sister. But I’m John’s wife. Hmmm....

I’ve really done nothing at all this weekend. Cooked a lot, cleaned a little, and generally stayed on top of things. Last Wednesday the bug spray guy came and sprayed our apartment. It’s a complimentary service provided by the complex. Up to that point, I hadn’t seen a live bug. When John and I were sitting on the balcony last night, I felt a feathery something scurrying across my toes. I shrieked (what is this girly impulse that overtakes me at such times?) and kicked it off. “What is it what is it what is it?” John replied, “You don’t want to know.” He brushed it over the side of the deck.

I know I live in this warm place now and I have to get used to (shudder) roaches. I don’t want to be used to roaches. I don’t want to make jokes about leaving them in the middle of the floor so all the other roaches can see what will happen to them. I just don’t want roaches at all. At least that little bastard was outside the house.

I’ve gone ahead and uploaded the entry I wrote on the fourteenth. I know I said I was going to make it all hypertext and fancy, but it’s about to be August and then nobody will see it because it will be lost in the archives. Go ahead back and read it.