Home is where the clothes are.

I lied at the end of the last post. We did not venture through the Smoky Mountains. We completely sidestepped them, in fact, driving through rural Virginia and western Pennsylvania before cutting through the Jerz and then the city. We made great time, though (as I drove much of it), and made it home a day earlier than planned since there was nothing to see between Tenneesee and New York.

Our last night on the road, we were royally schooled by an old man. For much of the trip, Pops and I stayed at the same big name hotel chain. The wireless was free, the beds were comfy enough, and each location had a decent fitness center. We found most of our accommodations using tomtom and her "point of interest near destination" search. Tomtom listed all the hotels within the vicinity of our destination city, and once we found the chain we liked, we'd click on it and get the phone number to make reservations. This method was successful every time we used it...until Pennsylvania. We followed the same steps, finding the big name chain in a city on our way home, and made the reservation. Pops commented on how cheap the room was compared to the other ones we had stayed in, but we figured it was just a somewhat remote location, so cheaper rates were par for the course around there. We were mistaken. We pulled into the parking lot of the "hotel" to find the only other parked vehicles were two trucks (just the cab parts). The place looked like the motel Samantha lived in on Without a Trace when she went undercover as a hard up for cash lady, hoping to get drug dealers to use her to transport the goods. Turns out the 75 year old man at the desk appropriated the hotel chain's name for his own place and was luring unknowing travelers like Pops and me in with huge misrepresentations. I have no idea how this guy is still in business and has not been sued by the big hotel chain. I was so mad when we pulled in that I told Pops I'd rather sleep in the car than in that place. He would have none of that, and bought me a Friendly's shiver to cheer me up. (It seems he knows my soft spot.) As the American Idol finale was on that night, I couldn't actually escape entering the hotel room, but I told Pops to be ready to run out of the room swinging his suitcase if my car alarm went off in the middle of the night. (Otto was sitting right outside the entrance to our room, completely packed with all of my worldly possessions not already in NY.) A car alarm went off at approximately 5:05am, and I've never seen Pops run as fast as he did to get to the door. He inspected Otto, and satisfied the alarm wasn't his, Pops said, "okay, let's get out of here." I was thrilled by the thought of leaving that place and didn't so much as shower before jumping in the car. (I left my flip flops in the car and thought it would be unsanitary to shower in that place without them.)

Moral of the story: if you get a price quote from a big hotel chain that seems a bit off, don't assume it's your lucky day. Ask whether this location has a fitness center, and the answer will usually tip you off as to whether you're being conned into staying at a truck stop.

I have now been home for four days, and my bags are still downstairs, packed. I am not being lazy. The real problem is that my room is already completely full. For the past seven years or so, I have had a complete wardrobe and all the daily necessities in New York at my parents' house, and another full wardrobe and set of necessities in CT, London, NYC, or LA- wherever I happened to have another residence at the moment. This is the first time in years that all my belongings are being held under one roof, and my room just isn't big enough for it all. I'm thinking of investing in one of those build-it-yourself storage sheds to put in the backyard to house all my presently superfluous items that will once again become necessities once I move out. I have to wonder what the HGTV people would say if they saw my overflowing room. I used to watch HGTV every night before bed, and I'm pretty sure half my closet would be tossed into the trash pile if anyone from that channel ever came to make over my room. But honestly, you never know when you're going to need a poodle skirt or fifteen college sweatshirts. These items just can't be thrown out.

I was going through my wallet today, and I noticed I still had the punch card from my favorite fro yo place in LA. I expected a wave of nostalgia to hit me, but then I realized two things: 1- we have TCBY here, and it truly lives up to its name (the full name, not just the letters); and 2- I had just enough punches that next time I went in there, I would have received a free fro yo. I cannot believe it. I EARNED a free fro yo, and I'm not even going to get it! How sad. Roomie, if you're reading this, I am sending you my fro yo punch card. Enjoy a (free) fro yo, on me.