Savannah

8/14/99

John and Betsy
Pre-Breakfast Conversation

B: Look at this picture! Pigs! Or are those dogs?

J: They’re pigs.

B: Cute! Pigs!

J: Yeah, but that’s George W. Bush holding them.

B: No, it’s not. It’s (checks caption) Pat Buchanan.

J: That’s worse.

B: Three little pigs.

J: Pat Buchanan with a few of his own.

B: One of these things is not like the other.

J: Yeah. The pigs are cute.

B: Are we going to Waffle House or what?

J: I thought we’d get lunch somewhere.

B: Yeah, those blackberry newtons set me up....

J: Those were so good!

B: I don’t feel like eating now.

J: You didn’t like the newtons?

B: I don’t like newtons that much.

J: The only ones I don’t like so much are fig.

B: I only like the fig ones. The others are too, like, you know.

J: Yeah.

(pause)

J: (pointing) Creative.

B: Huh? (spots the KR8IVE license plate.) Oh, God.

J: Except it’s not creative, it’s “Crative.”

B: Crative. Ha ha.

J: That’s pretty crative.

B: He does look pretty cute in this picture.

J: What??!

B: Well, it’s kind of a cute picture.

J: Yes. It’s very good for his image.

B: Male Chauvinist With Pigs.

J: Them’s good Amurrican pigs!

B: (giggling) Yeah!

J: None uh them IM-ported pigs!

John and I decided to drive off to Savannah for the weekend. It’s about a three hour drive from where we live, and we left late in the afternoon, so we arrived at the Atlantic Ocean around dusk. We wandered around while the tide came in, and then we went into Savannah to see what goes on there.

Savannah’s a happening place! There were lots of people strolling around, even at midnight. A small band played in a midtown park until 1 am. The bars were open, and we found a cool burrito restaurant—one of those tiny places with fresh ingredients, the sort of place one visits late at night when stoned. We were not stoned, I swear.

John and I finally met our match in the quest for a cheap motel. The Schmotel was easily the most foul motel I’ve ever stayed in—clean enough, but that’s about it. The sink stood up on skinny metal legs, one of which was broken off and lying in the corner. The first room we got had no power button on the TV, it was poked in and broken. John insisted that we switch rooms. The security lock on the door consisted of a rubber-coated cable loop that stretched over the doorknob. There was no toilet paper in the bathroom. We did have a nice view of the Waffle House across the street.

We spent a couple hours at the beach today. I lost a crucial battle in the convenience store: I let John convince me that SPF 15 would be just fine for my fair, sensitive Northern skin. On the way home, he noticed that my face was sort of freckly. And maybe just a little pink. When I got into my own bathroom and looked in the mirror, I saw not only freckles and pink cheeks, but pink shoulders and nice fat lines where my swimsuit straps were. The back of my neck is red. The tops of my breasts are red. I hate sunburn.

The only reason I’m not complaining more is that the ocean was totally worth it. I haven’t been in the ocean since I was in high school, haven’t even seen it in several years. I did see the Pacific from afar when I visited John’s family in Oregon a few summers ago. The only really notable part of today was when I put a dolphin-shaped cracker in the middle of John’s back when he slept in the sun. I had great hopes for a dolphin-shaped tan line, but alas. He moved too soon.

We also did a really cool journal-y thing and took pictures, so if those turn out there’ll be a sweet new graphic. You’ll see....