This weekend finds your girl Diary out of town on a field trip of sorts. I am going to be taking a road trip with my mother and her cousin. You could say I’m granny sittin, but these broads are too tough to characterize as grannies. Doing so could result in a ninja-stealth punch to the nutsack. And nobody likes that.
We were hoping to relive the glory of our (now infamous) *1991 trip to Atlantic City, where we got robbed, cheated and swindled, all in the name of a good time. But there were nine of us on that trip and we couldn't put the band back together, so all hopes of replaying that episode of our lives were dashed. Sad, as I do so miss (insert eye roll) the crack police work of the Egg Harbor Police. It was like an episode of Police Squad, only with less competent police work.
For now, I will tell you that both of the women that I will be traveling with are tough chicks that spent their rebellious years sneaking out their windows to go to Alan Freed Rock N Roll shows, wearing their “hoodlum” jeans rolled up under their poodle skirts, getting their ears boxed by parochial school nuns, carousing in bars and chain smoking cigarettes until all hours. OK, that was just my mom. (The apple doesn’t fall far, which is why I don’t sleep at night.)
My mom’s cousin dates a horse trainer, so she has spent much of her adult life at the race track. Any woman that can spend that much time at New Jersey race tracks is clearly a no-nonsense broad that would slap the teeth out of Sinatra’s head if he busted a move. (And I'm talking skinny, mobbed up Sinatra that remembered the lyrics. Not doddering, hardening of the arteries Sinatra)
So me and these two tough old birds are making our way to Atlantic City for some R&R. And while I fear that there could be a geriatric/mid-life Thelma and Louise (And Diary) moment in my future, I will risk it because these ladies know how to have fun and best of all, how to laugh.
For the next couple of days, I won’t doing much posting, replying to comments or commenting on your blogs. However, if I don’t start showing my face at your place by the end of the week, send the cops and tell them to check for a droptop 66 Thunderbird at the bottom of the cliffs of New Jersey. Ok, Ok a green minivan. Gah!
*That 1991 trip to AC is a whole other Oprah and I will be sure to write a lengthy and multi-episode post about it, in the very near future.