YUMA! Short for YUMAkemewannadie

Here's the thing: Donna and I are on a road trip. I've been excited about this for weeks...it's a belated birthday present for my lovely sister. She LOVES Arizona, for some unknown reason, and so we planned this trip because we thought I was off work. (To be fair, I was off work...but the gig got extended--at 10:30 last night. . .)

Anyway, I spent four (4) hours in the car today driving down to meet at her place in San Diego. FOUR HOURS in the car, and we didn't even start the damned trip yet.

I approached her place and she took one look at my suitcase with wheels on it and said, "Oh. I thought that wheely suitcases weren't allowed on the road trips." My mind began to race: "Oh shit. I'm completely delirious after four hours on the road. Clearly, she's not saying what I think she's saying." I asked, "Huh?" For some reason, Donna was under the impression that one of the "Road Trip Rules" was that it was "Duffel-Bag Time!"

Which is why this is how she had originally packed:

Donna has Baggage.

Insane

Once we clarified that there was, in fact, no such insane rule, she re-packed and we went to dinner in her 'hood--where there are Electric Pies!

Taste the Fruit-filled Power!

God Bless California! Except for the Godforsaken Sunbeam Lake rest area. Donna and I walked up to this dingy place and I went into the Men's room. I simply stared in horror. Meanwhile, I hear Donna let out a scream from the Women's room. There were bugs in hers.

In mine? Feces:

Someone Pooped In It. Again.

Apparently, there was a full-blown Poopenanny.

Yeah, I think I win. Donna briefly considered using the men's room...somehow reasoning that HUMAN EXCREMENT is less offensive than crickets. Why are all of my road trips filled with poop? Maybe Road Trip Rule #1 should be "Don't Poop on my walls or in my pool. I don't paint or swim in your toilet." If someone out there could stitch that on something for me, I'd appreciate it. It makes much more sense than "No Wheely Suitcases."

Anyway, we chose to drive off to Yuma full of urine. Donna booked us in the Ramada, specifically because it has a bar.

Of course, once we arrived here, the bar was closed. We walked to the Circle K (in the middle of the street, since Yuma has no sidewalks. Thanks, everyone.) but it did little to booze us up.

On our way there, I noticed that Arizona is so dry, it my eyes feel like there is sand in them. It is about 92 degrees outside--and it's midnight. Tomorrow, I may perish.

I think I'm looking forward to it. . .