More catch up...

First, let's start off with the pictures: I've uploaded a bunch to my Flickr, which you can view here (and there are still more to upload?!).

Okay, now for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday of the trip - the final three days.


FRIDAY:

A pretty laid-back day, Friday. It was fairly overcast and, therefore much cooler. Rob and I went down to the beach and did a little boogie boarding then came back in time to get showers since we were going to be eating out that night with the whole group. It was going to be at the Down Under again, which we didn't mind. We liked the atmosphere there, the Australian theme and decorations.

When we got there, everyone ordered his food. Sitting next to me, my uncle and I heard my grandma order "sautéed shrimp" which wasn't actually on the menu by that name; rather, it was "shrimp - sautéed or deep fried." So when the food arrived and my grandma started arguing with the waiter about her shrimp being sautéed instead of deep fried, my uncle and I were just as gobsmacked as the poor, blushing waiter. My uncle finally spoke up to reassure the waiter that yes, she did in fact order the sautéed shrimp, and that it wasn't his fault that our grandma is going senile. He walked back to the kitchen, and we reminded Grandma of exactly what she said when she ordered. She denied it and pouted instead. My uncle offered to order her another plate(!) but she refused. Instead, she allowed my brother to eat all of her shrimp.


That night, Rob and I watched a few movies then finished packing our bags so that we would be ready for the next day.



SATURDAY:


Since the realty peeps needed us out of the house by 11:00 so that they could begin cleaning it up for the next group, we decided we'd plan to leave at 10:00 when, in reality, we knew it'd be more like 10:30 or later. Which did end up being the case.

Since the Californian members of the group had to leave about 5:30 that morning to drive up to Norfolk (to catch a plane), it was up to us Pennsylvanians (not to be confused with "Transylvanians") to do the kitchen clean up. There was so much leftover food; it was shameful. Luckily, there's a food bank that takes all unopened food not used by tenants, so we were able to take advantage of that for some items. Others though, like bread, were fed to the seagulls...which was SO MUCH FUN. I stood out on the balcony and tossed some out to the two or three that were on the ground below. Within seconds though, there was a FLOCK of about twenty circling the sky above me, looping 'round and 'round to snatch some out of my hands or catch it as I flung it up in the air.

Then it was time to load our things into the vehicles. Rob was having trouble with his mp3 player, so I was trying to help him figure it out. My grandparents - who drove with us this trip - had been a little...out of sorts this week. My grandpa had been in discomfort the whole trip due to his hip, but he was for the most part content with just getting out and rarely complained. My grandma, on the other hand, was suffering from symptoms of gout and was therefore in a very grouchy state for most of the week. She waddled around, badgering us to get our stuff out to the minivan and not to forget anything.

"Saaaaammiiiii, don't forget your suitcase" - my only piece of luggage - "that's still in the bathroom here," she'd moan out to me as I tried some futile repairs on Rob's music player. I finally got frustrated after awhile and probably, to her, got a little out of character when I hollered back after the third or fourth whine, "I know, Grandma, it's just that I'm busy doing something for someone else right now!" (This hit home for her because she's one of those grandparents who are like the kid with a new toy that needs assembled: you need to do it now - they think - or it's never going to get done.) So finally I had to give up hope on Rob's silent mp3 player and hauled both our luggage out while he spruced up our sleeping area. I finished loading up the van and walked around to the front of it to see my grandma sitting on a lawn chair pouting. Ugh. That made me feel bad and angry, both at the same time.

Everyone finally piled into his respective vehicle and pulled out around ten 'til eleven. As we neared the end of our street and turned onto the main road, Highway 12, I realized that I was glad to be on my way home. Unfortunately, going home was just going to have to wait for awhile...

[CUT: remember that post a few entries back? The one about that phrase "Someone had better be dying"? That statement was used in the context of what is about to follow.]

It suddenly seemed as though there was tons of traffic. Not uncommon - it was a Saturday, it was the afternoon, and it was a typical day for checkout for a lot of realties. But then we sat...and sat...and sat some more. Soon we realized it wasn't ordinary traffic. Something was wrong. As I was poking my head out the window to get a glance at the traffic up ahead of our van, a man came over to the driver's window to report that there had been an accident about 30 miles ahead and that they'd be closing down the road for about three hours from the time of the incident just to manage the problem. The accident was at 9:00. It was only just 11:00.


"So we're going to be stuck here for another hour?" Rob asked. I involuntarily reached back and thwapped him on the side of the face for whining, even though I was subconciously asking the same thing. Luckily, the traffic inched along slowly until we made it to an intersection that had a souvenior shop we liked. So instead of sitting in traffic, we popped into the shop. I was able to pick up a beautiful cedar box for my friend and a nice "beachy" picture frame for my mom (to put a picture of Rob and I from the trip in it). Rob got a really sharp brown hoodie and had a decal slapped on it of "OBX" in rusty orange and sage colors (okay, so I picked it out, but where else would he be getting such good taste? *wink*).


We finally were on our way home in more like 40 minutes, which was a relief. We and the other group met up in Nagshead around 1:00 at the Slammin' Sammy's sports bar (where my uncle had bought me a cool t-shirt since 1: it was purple and 2: it had my name on it). Nagshead is famous for its horses that it has scattered across the island, posing in front of businesses, brightly decorated. There was one at the Slammin' Sammy's with a racer theme painted read and bearing a "motor" on its back and the number "3" which I'm guessing was significant (I don't know a thing about racing).


Seven hours later, we were in Philadelphia. I'm sure my sigh of relief was more than audible when we pulled into the driveway. The trip back to eastern PA had been so difficult - Rob's mp3 player had broken, so he was bored - I'd given him mine, so I was then bored. Soon though, Rob figured out a way to pass the time: he pulled his sleeping bag from its case in the back, laid it out on the long back-back seat of the van, and curled up in it across the seats. He remained in the same spot for the rest of the 5 hour trip...boy, that kid can sleep.


SUNDAY:

That day was one of the worst days of my existence. My grandfather asked me to drive the rest of the way back home from Philly (since his hip was hurting and my grandma's feet were hurting). So he sat in the front while my grandma and Rob sat in the back. OH MYYY GOSH. My grandmother probably has a kink in her neck from straining the ENTIRE trip to be able to keep an eye on the spedometer. And when she wasn't chastising me for going over the speed limit, it was something else. Something dumb that I already knew. I was really getting ticked with her. After the first two hours of driving, I honestly felt like pulling over on the side of the three-lane highway and getting out of the front, ordering her, "FINE! YOU DRIVE!" but I held myself back. We were almost to Breezewood when my grandfather woke up and realized we needed to make a pit stop and he couldn't wait until "the midpoint" (Breezewood). So we stopped at a service station that was right off the road because Grandma saw a Roy Rogers (curse you, Roy Rogers, I hate your filthy cowboy guts). Poor Rob, who had been feeling ill since the evening before, very sweetly said, "Grandma, do you think we could maybe stop at Wendy's for lunch? It'd be cheaper..." But she cut him off with "Roy Rogers is a FINE restaurant, and we'll eat there. You can't just stop at a different place for each person, Robbie." My blood started boiling. My poor little brother wanted Wendy's - I found out later that he'd wanted to get something light like a salad because he was still sick - and she was making him eat at a bloody Roy Rogers! I've always hated that place, mainly because anytime I travel anywhere with them, my grandma loves to stop there. I really don't see the draw. I mean, really: their food is over-priced, looks so disgustingly greasy (and small, as far as portions), and from what Rob said, it still tastes bad too. He got a Philly steak sub and threw most of it out. It was only about six inches, but he paid about $7 for it. Ridiculous.

So after Rob and I called my mom and vented to her for a few stolen minutes while the grandparents ordered their food, we all piled back into the little car and finished the last 2.5 hours of the trip. After taking a few more annoying jabs from grandma, my brother tried standing up for me. First, he took the defensive stance by attempting to assure her that I was an excellent driver and that I knew what I was doing.

[CUT: from this post, I'm sure you're probably all thinking I'm a horrible driver when - in reality - I'm not. My grandma would call me a "better driver" if I went 45 mph on the turnpike, but I'm sure you can all imagine what that would be like, so instead I get called a "risky driver" because I go 70 in a 65 zone to stay with the pack. *sigh* I can't win with her.]

Next, he tried distracting her by asking her questions (to which I knew he didn't care about the answer) or pointing to different things on the side of the road. Finally, he gave up and started making fun of her. Rob's way of poking fun is different though: he did it so subtly that she didn't even realize he was doing it. He'd mimic things she said as if he felt the same way; i.e., bursted into a state of panic and exclaimed, "SAM! You NEED to SLOW DOWN! You're going 67 in a 65 zone!" Finally, after casting a couple mean glares at him (which he didn't process as "the evil eye" meaning "stifle yourself"), I glanced back at him and said something to the effect of "Rob. Shut your piehole."

We finally made it home around 6:00, but not without having to sit through Grandma discussing everything from politics to racism to gay rights. And strangely, none of it was brought up by us. We try to steer those kind of conversations away from Gram. Anyway, it just made it all that more "good to be home."

Oh, and PS: we realized once we got in the house that we'd somehow swapped bags with my grandma: her dirty laundry *ahem* and our souvenirs(?!?!?!). I didn't like the thought another visit so soon after this, so I drove down and made the swap while they were moving their luggage into their house.