Friday: Omaha's Mom
Jul. 20th, 2003 12:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elfsAnd we're up and out the door, heading toward the Waffle House for breakfast. We all have huge waffles and Omaha and I order grits. Mmm, grits; I haven't had grits in years, and it's wonderful to have one of the best comfort foods ever invented once more. This is much better than cream o' wheat or whatever that poison sold in most supermarkets is called.
We drive north, prepared for about a three-hour tour. Along the way, we become involved in a quest for fresh-squeezed orange juice. I don't really find any, and the best I can do is some orchard-squeezed and refrigerated stuff that's a few days old. It tastes a little off, but not dangerously so. Is there a rule that even in the heart of Florida the best-tasting orange juice to be found is Minute Maid? Even the tall glass of grapefruit juice I had for breakfast was a product of the Coca Cola company.
We get to meet Omaha's mother's house and introduce her to her granddaughter. While she plays with Kouryou-chan and enjoys leading her around the park near her home, Omaha and I find a hotel. It's an ancient Red Carpet. And I mean ancient. It's run-down and terrible, and I immediately have my worries when I see that in the front window there's a list of nearby churches. It might be a friendly gesture, but I don't have immediate good associations with that kind of thing.
We go back to Omaha's mother and she takes us out to a restaurant called The Longhorn which has huge racks of ribs. Kouryou-chan ate a grilled cheese sandwich, Omaha had a smaller rack.
After saying goodbye to Omaha's mother, we stopped at Starbucks where we updated our LJs, read our email, and visited Yahoo maps to find our way to Omaha's grandparents and other relatives. Then we return to the hotel.
This hotel is atrocious. The towels are horribly rough, the curtain is torn and broken. The bathroom is the worst part. When I go to take a shower, there's something disgusting in the tub: an old band-aid. I take it out with some toilet paper. I'm reluctant to have a wank in the shower because I know I'm only contributing to the next occupant's misery. It's just terrible.
Unfortunately, it's only eight, and we want Kouryou-chan to go to bed at a normal time, around ten, so keeping her occupied for two hours is a challenge. As we're floating through the channels available on the television, we come across a black-and-white filmed on 60's-era video show on, believe it or not, a Catholic channel. I mean, there are tons of Evangelical channels, but one for Catholics is new to me. As we're watching, a guy in over-the-top Cardinal clothing is gesturing toward a blackboard with a drawing of what looks like stairs and the words "Temptation" and "Sex" on them. He's circling "Temptation" with chalk. Feeling mischievous, I said, "Kouryou-chan, who does that look like?" And she looks back at me and says, "Dracula!"
Omaha takes a shower and concurs with my opinion of the hotel. There's a tear in the bed cover. And as I drove around the back of the hotel I realize there's an entire bank of rooms that have been abandoned: the doorknobs have been drilled out, and some of the windows have been boarded up. Great goddess, it occurs to me that there might be squatters in some of them.
Bad sign: along with the phone books and the Bible is an apartment buyer's guide. Translation: "Live somewhere else."
The cable cuts out at 11:00.
I don't think I'm going to sleep well tonight.
We drive north, prepared for about a three-hour tour. Along the way, we become involved in a quest for fresh-squeezed orange juice. I don't really find any, and the best I can do is some orchard-squeezed and refrigerated stuff that's a few days old. It tastes a little off, but not dangerously so. Is there a rule that even in the heart of Florida the best-tasting orange juice to be found is Minute Maid? Even the tall glass of grapefruit juice I had for breakfast was a product of the Coca Cola company.
We get to meet Omaha's mother's house and introduce her to her granddaughter. While she plays with Kouryou-chan and enjoys leading her around the park near her home, Omaha and I find a hotel. It's an ancient Red Carpet. And I mean ancient. It's run-down and terrible, and I immediately have my worries when I see that in the front window there's a list of nearby churches. It might be a friendly gesture, but I don't have immediate good associations with that kind of thing.
We go back to Omaha's mother and she takes us out to a restaurant called The Longhorn which has huge racks of ribs. Kouryou-chan ate a grilled cheese sandwich, Omaha had a smaller rack.
After saying goodbye to Omaha's mother, we stopped at Starbucks where we updated our LJs, read our email, and visited Yahoo maps to find our way to Omaha's grandparents and other relatives. Then we return to the hotel.
This hotel is atrocious. The towels are horribly rough, the curtain is torn and broken. The bathroom is the worst part. When I go to take a shower, there's something disgusting in the tub: an old band-aid. I take it out with some toilet paper. I'm reluctant to have a wank in the shower because I know I'm only contributing to the next occupant's misery. It's just terrible.
Unfortunately, it's only eight, and we want Kouryou-chan to go to bed at a normal time, around ten, so keeping her occupied for two hours is a challenge. As we're floating through the channels available on the television, we come across a black-and-white filmed on 60's-era video show on, believe it or not, a Catholic channel. I mean, there are tons of Evangelical channels, but one for Catholics is new to me. As we're watching, a guy in over-the-top Cardinal clothing is gesturing toward a blackboard with a drawing of what looks like stairs and the words "Temptation" and "Sex" on them. He's circling "Temptation" with chalk. Feeling mischievous, I said, "Kouryou-chan, who does that look like?" And she looks back at me and says, "Dracula!"
Omaha takes a shower and concurs with my opinion of the hotel. There's a tear in the bed cover. And as I drove around the back of the hotel I realize there's an entire bank of rooms that have been abandoned: the doorknobs have been drilled out, and some of the windows have been boarded up. Great goddess, it occurs to me that there might be squatters in some of them.
Bad sign: along with the phone books and the Bible is an apartment buyer's guide. Translation: "Live somewhere else."
The cable cuts out at 11:00.
I don't think I'm going to sleep well tonight.
