Friday, January 05, 2007
Hotel mattresses: You either love them or hate them. I woke up this morning with the worst back ache. Of course I'm alone (something I've begun to think may be my lot in life) so it's not as if I enjoyed hurting it. It's just that the mattress at this Holiday Inn has absolutely no back support. I can't readily equate it to sleeping on a cotton ball because that brings up images of soft, soothing comfort. No, this bed is more like a worn out handkerchief one that when you blow really hard stuff comes out through the other side.
I'm just waiting for the Tylenol to kick in.
Normally when I visit my family I don't stay at a hotel; I stay with them. But for a variety of reasons planning this trip got all fucked up. So instead of sleeping on the air mattress at my mother's modular home with the cat batting my face at 2 am, I'm sleeping on a suspended handkerchief, my ass smacking the floor with every toss and turn. I wonder what would happen if I did have "company". We'd probably get more back support because instead of being suspend in the air by a thin piece of cotton, our backs would be resting on the floor. Yet if there was fun involved, with the other party, we'd probably rip right through the mattress/handkerchief.
Despite my lack of support, I'm having myself a good time. After all that's what vacations are for. Then again, I never really think of visiting family as a vacation. True, it's time away from the office and in that respect it's nice but on the other hand it's not as if I'm riding roller coasters or dining with a romantic interest. I guess it's all in how you define the term vacation. I think the Webster's definition of a time of respite from something is too vague. My definition of a vacation is something more like this: drinking, eating, engaging in great sex and forgetting one has another life elsewhere by being so immersed into the surroundings it's as if you've always belonged there and then drinking, eating and having more great sex. This I am not doing, except for maybe the eating part. My family didn't get to be overweight by having family bike-a-thons or kayaking the Kissimmee River. We eat.
Yesterday our meals consisted of Burger King for breakfast, Chinese food for lunch and take-out pizza for dinner. Me, at a relatively normal 175 pounds finds my body can't keep up with all this eating. I prefer a good healthy, home-cooked meal. And if I do engage in binging on empty calories, I find myself hungry two hours later needing something good. I made sure I had a salad when the pizza came. Mind you I like my junk. I'm not trying to paint the picture of me being some health freak here. It's just that I need nutrition.
Last night while feasting on a bowl of onion dip and potato chips, my brother and I watched Jackass II. I don't know why I enjoy such base humor. Life teaches you that things such as attaching leeches to your testicles, chugging beer with your anus and wearing a beard of pubic hair is disgusting but for some reason I find these guys unbelievably funny. Especially watching Johnny Knoxville (who I secretly have a crush on) as an old man wearing a pair gym shorts with set of prosthetic balls hanging well below the leg line, smacking his inner thigh as he shuffles the streets with his walker. Or Chris Pontius (another one I secretly have a crush on) dressing his penis as a mouse and sticking it threw a glory hole so that a fanged snake on the other side can enjoy. I was roaring with laughter. And I thought I was fucked up: I only dress up my penis in private and never for a snake, and most certainly not for public viewing. (Well, then again there was that one time in Key West.)
Posted by Rick Bettencourt at 7:22 AM