Chattanoogan Honeymoon

Ian and I journeyed to Chattanooga over the Memorial Day weekend. I called it a honeymoon in the title, but truthfully I feel like we've spent the past month honeymooning.

We walked all over downtown Chattanooga, including the Market Street bridge.

The sun blazed fiercely, so Ian performed his husbandly duty and sprayed me down with SPF fifty million.

I was on a mission to remain pasty white throughout the trip. I prefer keeping my skin a fine ivory tone because I'm terrified of skin cancer. Terrified.

I decided I needed extra protection for my face and hairline so we stopped in a shop so I could buy a hat. There were a lot to choose from, and I love a good fashion show so...

"Look, I'm Blossom!"

"I'm Gilligan!"

"I'm stoned!"

"I'm Bob Marley!"

"See!"

"I'm Bonnie and Clyde! I'm Clyde!"

"I'M MONICA LEWINSKY!"

After trying on every hat and accidentally bashing some hanging wind-chimes, I left empty-handed. I can't remember why I declined to buy a hat, except I was tired of hats at that point.

Just about every shop in the Market Street area included a dog. I was terribly impressed. Ian was not.

Laura: "We should have brought Winnie!"

Ian: "Gross."

Our hotel had a pool. And you know how much we love pools.

We smuggled rum into the pool, and the children present learned what "inebriated" means.

On Sunday morning, we visited Rock City. 

This was right before the Tyrannosaurus Rex smashed through Rock City and ate the goat.

Laura: "I bet if you drink the water, you'll live forever. Drink the water, Ian!"

Ian: "Okay."

Rock City contains a "Fairyland Caverns." 

You enter a dark cavern, listen to classical music straight out of A Clockwork Orange, and stare at Brothers Grimm characters. The attraction brags that the figurines came directly from Germany. 

It was awesome. 

No. Wait. It was horrifying.

"Don't worry, children. We're merely going to drain your blood and eat your organs."

Humpty Dumpty: classic children's poem character and harbinger of death

Gonna get a bitch.

The Ferris Wheel of Doom

Fairyland Caverns highlighted an important fact: we can't trust the Germans. 

The Germans probably slipped some mind-control devices into the caverns, so if I start blogging about my blood-lust for orphans, be a dear and send help.

After fleeing Fairyland Caverns, we made our way to the top of Rock City, finding a magnificent view.

Laura: "Look! This part of the mountain is called "Lover's Leap." That means you have to leap off to prove your undying love to me... Well. Hop to it."

Ian: "I don't think so."

Rock City features gnomes pretty heavily. Ian tried on a gnome hat.

It appears the German mind-control devices were already getting to him.

Next, we went to the Chattanooga aquarium. We met Toucan Sam and his twin.

The jellyfish were beautiful. 

When I was eight, a jellyfish attacked me while swimming in the ocean. 

My dad carried me back to the hotel, and my mom stuck me in the bathtub and shook a box of meat tenderizer all over me, as instructed by medical professionals. 

I think I finally came to terms with this trauma while photographing the jellyfish. Those sons-a-bitches take no bad photos.

We saw an octopus. I insisted on calling him an octo-pussy because I'm classy.

A snapping turtle

He resembled Spike from The Land Before Time. Same facial expressions, anyways:

In the late afternoon, we headed to Ruby Falls to see the caves and giant waterfall. 

Hey, y'all.

Howdy.

The waterfall in the cave, lit up by neon lights. How authentic!

We wrapped up our trip by traveling to the Crossville tree house, the world's largest tree house. 

I think this thing breaks at least forty-six building codes. Nonetheless, we and many others scampered through it.

I waited for one of us to crash through the tree house at any second, but everything remained intact.

The tree house included baby goats, which made me awfully excited. They stood in their food as they ate. 

Ian painstakingly set up the camera at just the right angle to take this photo. Look for the discreet photo-bomb in the corner.

We had a fantastic trip. Peace out.

Luring Readers

Ian and I watch the page views on the blog constantly, eager to see the number grow.

Ian: "How many views did the Lost story get?"

Laura: "Not nearly as many views as The Pool"

Ian: "I wonder why?"

Laura: "I don't know. I guess people really liked it. The page views skyrocketed. They were double what we usually get."

Ian: "I thought the Guinifred story was stronger."

Laura: "Me too."

I've been thinking it over. And the only great departure between "The Pool" and any other story on this blog?

Ian. Shirtless.

I'm positive Ian beefcake brought in the extra views. I may be a progressive feminist, but I will offer up more photos of shirtless Ian for women to objectify if it means double the views.

This is a blog we're talking about. This is serious business.

Ladies, don't hold back. Click here and leer at Ian's chest. It's for the greater good.

Why do you offer up my body for sexual objectification and capitalistic gain? I feel so used.

I am NOT posting this one to my Facebook.

This week promises to be busy and chaotic. I'm packing up all my stuff and moving in with Ian this week. I finally told my parents (on Father's Day! I love you, Dad! Guess what?!). 

My parents reacted positively, although my mom couldn't resist leaning over and whispering, "You know you'll by living in sin." And I was like, "Yeah. It's coo." 

Anyways, both Ian's and my parents support our sinful living arrangement. Which makes Ian and me feel pretty ecstatic.

We have a busy week ahead of us. Moreover, I've had spotty internet connection for the past few days. I may only post once this week, but I'll check back later with more stories, such as the gory moving day details. 

And I'll provide the answers to things you all want to know: 

• Is Spottswood gay or straight?
• Is Harvey really that fat? 
• Who is CDR, that second guinea pig you mentioned in your About Winiferd in the Burbs page? 
• Why do you keep linking back to old crap on your blog? 
• And when will Winiferd the dog achieve international superstardom? 

The answers to these, and much, much more, are coming up next month.   

Bye bye, apartment. I surely did love barking at passers-by at two in the morning and receiving non-stop squealing attention from my apartment-dwelling admirers. 

The Pool

Last weekend, Ian and I bought a pool. Since March, we've been playing this game:

Ian: "It's hot."

Laura: "And you need a pool!"

In June, we decided it was hot and we needed a pool.

Upon purchasing the pool, we spent the whole weekend swimming. That same weekend, I wrote a blog post cheerfully describing the wonderful awesomeness of owning a pool. Snippets included:

"We bought happiness!"

"Pools are better when you're an adult. Because you can drink beer in them. Make sure you put that in the blog."

"POOLS ARE THE GREATEST THING EVER I WANNA LIVE IN THE POOL!!"

The blog post was edited and arranged, sitting in my draft box, just waiting to be posted.

Then events took a sudden turn:

Ian: "Yay! We're swimming in the pool! I love the pool!"

Laura: "The pool completes me!  <squints at the glass door> Uh, Ian, look at Winnie."

Ian: "What? Why?....Oh. Oh god."

Winnie, ever anxious to be with her humans, sat perched on the edge of the couch, staring through the glass door, boring holes into our souls.

She looked like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.

Laura: "That's...really creepy."

Ian: "I think she wants to murder us."

Laura: "Red-rum! Red-rum!"

Ian: "Look at her. Oh god."

Laura: "She's going to hack us into pieces."

A few days after seeing Murderous Winnie peer through the glass, Ian phoned me, sounding anxious.

Ian: "Listen, the pool looks...sick."

Laura: "Sick?"

Ian: "I'm worried about it."

Laura: "How exactly does it look?"

Ian: "Deflated."

Laura: "Uh oh."

Ian: "Errr, and another thing. The chlorine did something to the pool."

Laura: "What?"

Ian: "It bleached out the bottom of it. I probably should have read the directions first."

While cleaning the pool, Ian had haphazardly tossed a packet of chlorine in and called it a day.

At the time, I had figured putting chlorine in a pool was one of those innate man things that comes naturally to the male species. Like reading magazines on the toilet or cooking steaks on a grill. Turns out, it's not.

The next day, I looked at the pool.

Ian: "I think the rubber is melting and it's reforming into that bulbous shape."

Laura: "The bottom of the pool looks like a white fluffy cloud now."

Ian: "Try not to accidentally drink the water. It's probably over-saturated with chlorine. Um, we should probably get out soon. To be safe..."

Laura: "I just drank pool water. Will I be okay?"

Ian: "Yes."

Laura: "Will you drink some too, just in case?"

Ian: "No."