The houseboat and I are moving to North Carolina in less than a month. And by moving I mean we are fucking driving to North Carolina in less than a month with three animals in the back seat of my sweet whip (mom-mobile Volvo). Here is the map to Mordor:
FUCK. I’m posing this picture so you know where to start the search for my decomposing remains when I throw myself out the car window after three days. I know in all the indie movies that its super cool to just ‘get in a car and go anywhere’ and ‘not shower for a month’ and ‘sit still until you have lesions on your ass’ but I’ll be honest this is not my cup of tea. Do you know how often I have to pee? God damnit.
The only way my houseboat could trick me into doing this was by holding up national park photography opportunities in front of me like a carrot on a stick. The only way I will not simultaneously divorce my houseboat and gouge my eyes out with camping spoons during this trans-continental road trip is if we take this crazy route and stop and see our families (free alcohol) along the way.
National parks are very clear about not allowing dogs anywhere, but they didn’t say shit about cats on harnesses with leashes so we’ll see how this plays out.
I don’t mean to be presumptuous, it is a very real possibility that these parks will all become wastelands filled with oil fields or developed and commercialized with Taco Bell’s and Waffle Houses before we get there. In which case, I’m grabbing a waffle and hopping on a plane to NC sans Paul.