Andy's 2 Balls, My Magenta Bruise, and My Mom's Fake O (10/30/05)

We left late. I got home at 8 and showered and did all my packing in one hour; I needed to drive my mom to pick up Kristy at college; we were meeting Stacy there. Somehow, even though Mom was all packed when I got there, we still were unable to leave for another 45 minutes after I was ready. So we were finally on the road.

First stop: This awesome little winery called North River Winery in southern VT, where they brew non-grape based fruit wines. We stopped there this summer for the first time, loved it and bought many bottles, which are all gone now; so we took orders from everyone and swung by on the way to Kristy. Well, we got there at like 11 and they were just starting a tasting with some other group so of course we joined in. When we finished, we had discovered this excellent wine for Thanksgiving, Vermont Harvest. It’s made of almost entirely apples with a little maple syrup and cinnamon. You serve it hot and it tastes like sipping an apple pie. Yum!

So when I finished there I sent a text to my friend saying that I just finished a wine tasting. (My plan had been to send out snarky little messages all weekend along the lines of, “Look what I’m doing and you’re not!” Unfortunately, I soon lost signal and my evil little plan fell through.) So he replied, “I see you haven’t left home yet.” Ha ha. I’m a drunk. How very clever. (Okay, so maybe the evidence supports this and maybe it is sort of funny, but this is MY blog, so let’s all be sarcastic about how not funny that was.)

We brought my 5 month old kitten, Andy. I have another cat who beats him up when I’m not home and I felt really bad leaving them home together all weekend without adult supervision. Andy’s pretty good in the car and he likes getting a lot of attention to himself. (Oh, and before you go and start thinking, “So she’s going to be the old lady with 20 cats,” that is not the case. I actually never really liked cats but have a soft heart for any abandoned animal, and the both of them were abandoned. Then again, I suppose all those old ladies started somewhere, but I am drawing the line at two, do you hear me?)

So my youngest sister didn’t get there until like 10:30 and then we decided to open a bottle of wine. We were all having a pretty good time but let me tell you, someone in that room had severe intestinal issues, and the whole room was just a nasty pit of fartiness. Then we decided to check on the status of Andy’s balls because only one dropped and we’re supposed to wait until they both do to get him fixed, so I went to see how many balls he had, and out was sticking his little pecker! EWWW! I don’t want to see Andy’s little pecker! It took me awhile to get up the nerve to check again, but sure enough, he had 2 balls! He’s become a little man! How cute.

Next morning, I had to sneak Andy out of the hotel because see we weren’t technically supposed to have him there. So I had a plan. I had my black Sierra Club backpack, which I was going to zip him into and run as fast as I could out of the building and dump him into my car. So here I come, barreling down the stairs and holding a mad, possessed backpack in my arms, and guess what? I missed the second step. Landed hard on my ass and slid down the next several steps, whacking my back on each one. I had slowed enough momentum about halfway down enough to think about stopping but decided, what the hell? And finished the ride.

When I got up and rounded the corner there was the maid all are you okay? Do you need me to get anything? And here I was, disheveled and limping and holding a backpack to my chest that had a cat-shaped face outlined in black cloth as Andy tried to find his way out in about 15 different directions. No, no, I’m fine. (Nervous laugh and exit as fast as possible.) Then I dumped Andy in the back of Prof. Bob and landed in the front and just sat examining whether anything was broken. Nope, just a lot of soreness. But . . . that night I discovered a very large magenta bruise all across my ass. How very attractive. It was so hideous that when I saw it, I ran out to show my sisters my ugly ass. Guess I’ll just have to make sure to keep my pants on around Mr. Guy unless the lights are out.

So anyway, before the discovery of the hideous bruise, we went looking for moose, which was the whole point of the trip. I myself, having seen several moose, was the official moose expert among the group. The truth is they tend to frequent the same spots at around the same times of night so if you know the pattern, they’re not that difficult to find. So we were driving this stretch of road called Success Loop, where I have seen 5 moose and shining the flashlight out into the woods without much luck. My sisters decided if they made moose calling noises this would help the situation so there are now dreadful moans being emitted from Prof. Bob along with the light; I’m sure any moose in the area took off pronto.

We did, however, find a couple making out in their pickup truck. On the second pass they seemed to be getting themselves back together so I think we scared them too. My sister made a comment about my mom’s moose calls sounding more like sex, to which my mom replied that she must be doing it wrong; this is how you fake an orgasm. And then we were treated to my mom’s own little reenactment of the When Harry Met Sally diner scene.

Oh. My. God. I really think my ears are permanently damaged. I do believe hearing your mom fake it as an educational tool for you is worse than just about anything, including catching the parents in the act. And yet, when I informed her that I never again wanted to hear those noises issuing from her again, she was shocked (and a little miffed, probably). She could honestly not understand what was so disturbing about that whole fiasco.

Oh yeah, and we never got to see any moose. We’ll have to try again in the spring.