Must be nice.

Yep, yours truly.  Not as exciting as my laser beam 2nd grade yearbook photo (you know, the one with the sideswept hair and Minnie Mouse sweater?  Totally going to have to dig that one up and submit to Laser Portraits by the way,) but still fun.

Hope everyone has a great Thanksgiving, I’ve got tons of doggie portraits to post when I get back!

P.S.  Everyone think good thoughts for my mom, she’s having surgery today!

They were even good sports about this strange bearded dude that kept popping up behind them!  (for new readers:  Don’t worry, that is my husband Josh.  He and John were college roommates, so believe me, John is used to his antics!)

Entertaining and painless is remarkably pretty much how I would describe the ridiculous number of hours that Josh and I spent in a car.  Together.  12 hours to South Carolina, 3 hours to Charleston and back (twice), 4 hours to Savannah and back (twice), and another 12 hours back home without a scratch on us.  I am pretty sure we deserve some kind of medal.

That’s not to say there wasn’t some squabbling in the car.  Not between us, no.  We focused our irritation on a third party with a knack for being a know-it-all, albeit often about 5 seconds too late.  Yes, I’m talking about my GPS.  At one point as we navigated those winding South Carolina highways, I am pretty sure I swore that if I heard the word “Recalculating” ONEMORETIME, I would jump out of the car and accept death via Spanish Moss.

That’s not to say I could have even possibly survived this trip without the trusty old GPS.  Oh, no.  I would probably still be going in circles in a tiny Georgia town square if that were the case.  We had some good times with the GPS, for sure.  Like when we got kind of bored and thought it would be fun if we received our driving instructions from a Fancy British voice named Daniel.  “It’ll be like having a British chauffeur,” we said.  (Aside from the fact that we were still the ones driving.  He did ask us “Where to?” though.)

Unfortunately Daniel had an enunciation problem and stopped being fun around the third missed turn.  American Jill may not be terribly exciting, but at least we could understand her.  (Though we still make fun of the way she says “Polk Street”:  (Pullllk Street)

No worries, eventually all three of us made it safely to our destination.  Look at this bridge in Charleston!  Isn’t that pretty?  (I tried to come up with a witty comment for this photo, but unfortunately I got nothin’.  This doesn’t bode well for the rest of the photo essay, huh?  Buck up, guys, I’m just getting started!  On a side note:  doozy, buck up, and mosey?  What am I, a cowboy?)

Our first stop in Charleston was the very manly Patriot’s Point Naval and Maritime Museum, which is located on an aircraft carrier (The USS Yorktown.)  Guess which of the two of us this attraction was targeted to?

Don’t worry, I found something to be excited about:  The space-geek in me very much enjoyed the sight of this pod-thingy which the Apollo 8 astronauts were in when they splashed down after re-entering the Earth’s atmosphere.  (The Yorktown picked them up afterward.)

If only it had been the Apollo 13 module, my space-movie dork-o-meter would have been off the charts. (Second only to my yet-to-be-realized meeting with Jinx from Space Camp.  Trivia alert:  John Locke was totally in Space Camp!)  By the way, that Apollo 13 comment isn’t the only Tom Hanks movie reference you guys are in store for.  Just you wait!

This guy looked a little lost, so Josh stopped to help him get in the map.

Josh fills me in on the attack plan…

…which was then followed by my brief demonstration on Proper Lifejacketing techniques.

He is so lucky the Captain didn’t come in and catch him in his chair.

While Josh walked around on an airplane high, I looked at the pretty water and took pictures of the Charleston harbor:

The closest any of you want me to get to flying a plane, ever.

On our second day in Charleston, we decided to take a ferry out to Ft. Sumter.  Because we are super intelligent, we chose the coldest day of the entire trip to set sail.  It was Cold.  Cold, cold, cold, cold, COLD.  Here’s Josh on the top deck of the ferry.  It wasn’t until the return trip that we realized the bottom deck was enclosed and much, much warmer.  See?  Smarts, we got em’.

Josh very much enjoyed the canons and War Things (of which I am not qualified to speak)…

while I stood by walls and chattered about being Cold.  Hey, also?  It was COLD.

After Ft. Sumter, we ate at this awesome seafood place where I ate grits and bacon and cheese and crab cakes and alfredo sauce.  That sounds disgusting, but trust me.  It was AMAZING.

Then it was off to the Aquarium, where I took photos of an eagle, an otter, an owl, and a skunk.  I kind of thought that I would leave with some fish photos?  You know, from the aquarium?  But alas, it seems I don’t have a future in Fish Photography.  I mean don’t get me wrong, this aquarium, they definitely had fish.  Just not many photogenic ones.

This Bald Eagle was humongous.  His name was Liberty.  I would make a joke about that being a totally corny name, but um.  He could probably eat me.  Which is why I think Liberty is a LOVELY name.

Oh man you guys, I totally wanted to take this otter home and let him live in my bathtub, Andre-style.

Upon seeing this guy, I secretly wished I had a Howler to send off.

Skunks really are not as cute as I expected them to be.

Well, except for maybe these two:

And now, on to the Savannah portion of our trip!  This city is full of awesome old houses.  Like this one, which is said to be the most haunted house in Savannah.  According to our tour guide, it is perpetually on the market, as the spirits frequently drive tenants to relocate.  Notice how Josh gives it a wide berth.  Trust me, that was intentional.  The boy can watch Zombie movies all day, but don’t you dare turn on Ghost Hunters when he’s in the house.

This house was built entirely from a kit in a Sears Roebuck catalog.  And yep, somehow during the argument over whether Piece A connects to Piece B, the windows were all put in sill-side up.  Josh turns his head in disgust, as if the exact same thing didn’t happen when the two of us tried to put together an entertainment center last winter.

During our time in Savannah, I became convinced that I wanted to sell all our crap and move there to live forever.  That is, until I found out that this 500 square-foot house (the smallest house in Savannah) just sold for about 3 times what our house cost.  Alas, historic Savannah, I am way too poor for you.

Of course, I had to take some portraits in the gorgeous backdrop that this amazing city provided.  Here’s Josh in a cemetery.  (I like to imagine that he is thinking to himself over and over:  “I ain’t afraid of no ghosts!”

I bought a faux-Gorillapod from Target specifically so we could get some shots together during this trip.  Unfortunately, that thing was a piece of crap.  Here’s one of the few shots that turned out nicely:

And here’s Josh laughing as I run to save the camera from imminent doom as the faux-Gorillapod fell to the concrete.  (Later one of the legs broke off as well.  The Target Customer Service girl as I returned it:  “What is THAT?  IS THAT A SNAKE IN THERE?”  Fun times=trying to explain to Target Girl what a Gorillapod is.)

In true tourist fashion, I began reading “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil” in preparation for our Savannah visit.  This is the house where Jim Williams shot Danny Hansford.  We were told that we could tour the house, but if we even mentioned the book, the movie, or the murder, we would immediately be thrown out.

Okay, so you remember in Forrest Gump, where he sat on a park bench?  (Of course you do, he does it the whole movie.)  Anyway, that is where I am sitting.  Okay, not exactly.  Those plants behind me are where the bench was.  Apparently it was only a movie prop and was removed after shooting.  (Seriously, though, Savannah?  Pony up and put in a fake Forrest Gump bench.  Us tourists NEED it for our photo-ops.)

The missing Forrest Gump bench did not deterr us from embracing our inner Gumps, however.  Here you see Josh reminiscing with a pigeon about his ping-pong days, and thinking about how life is like a box of chocolates.  Pigeon:  “My feet hurt.”

Then it was off to the lighthouse on Tybee Island, where we severely underestimated how many stairs 178 actually is.

Panting our way to the top.

One thing I will say about this part of the country:  They have some gorgeous sunsets.

Aw, sad.  I’ve reached the end of my (previously thought to be) Endless vacation blog.  Guys, I counted at least 10 pop culture references in there.  That’s right.  You’re Welcome.

I think it’s probably safe to say that my bosses are now aware of my accident prone-ness.  Would have liked to usher that trait in with a little bit smaller doses, but go figure, clumsy people aren’t exactly skilled at this “being graceful” business.

Upcoming:  a photo essay from last week’s vacation!  Josh and I accumulated about 35 hours in the car together over the course of the week, and amazingly didn’t get tired of each other.  Shocking, right?

“I spent all day looking at that guy’s Twitter!”

Her husband:

“Um, you know I’m standing right here, don’t you?”

We have recently had a mystery of our own in my household.  The past few weeks I have carefully purchased enough deli meat to make sandwiches for our lunches, and yet every week, we have run out by Wednesday or Thursday.

Little did I know that one afternoon I would walk into our kitchen and stumble across The Mystery of the Disappearing Lunchmeat revealed!

What you are about to see is not a news broadcast.  The following is a re-enactment of an actual eyewitness account.  (note:  the re-enactment could not be filmed at the actual crime scene, due to a Bad Lighting Situation.  And also due to a Dishwasher in Pieces and Cluttering the Kitchen Floor Situation.)

Seems innocent enough, right?  A dog looks up adoringly at her owner.

The owner speaks:  “Hello Holly.  Would you like to play a game?  You’ll like this game.  I call it Silence of the Labs.”

The narrator starts to get suspicious:  “Hey, wait a minu—”

“OH THE HORROR!  WHAT AM I LOOKING AT RIGHT NOW?”

“Is it over?  Did I black out?  Why does my dog smell like Honey Ham?”

Around the time of our first Christmas as a married couple, someone gave me a tin of fudge. The next day Josh kept bugging me to make some brownies or a cake or something, anything with chocolate (and I thought the girls were supposed to have the chocolate cravings?)

I wasn’t in the mood to bake. Okay, let’s be serious here, I am never in the mood to bake. Me + Baking = dangerous. I once fell asleep while baking, only to wake with a start and run into the kitchen hollering “CHESS SQUARES!”

It was too late, our house smelled like burnt sugar and cream cheese for a week, and I am pretty sure we had to throw out the pan. Annnnyway, let’s shift the attention back to Josh now, shall we? In lieu of the indoor bonfire I was sure to create upon attempting baked goods, I suggested that he calm his inner chocoholic with the gifted fudge.

Josh: What fudge?
Me: You know, the fudge. The tin of fudge I brought home last night.
Josh: Um.
Me: …
Josh: Well, I saw an empty tin on the counter this morning–
Me: No, it’s not empty, there are at least 30 pieces of fudge in there.
Josh: It was definitely em– oh.
Me: Wait.
Josh: …
Me: Are you telling me that you ate an ENTIRE tin of fudge in your sleep last night?
Josh: …
Me: Wow, how are you not dead?

I am okay with these weird sleeping habits, even though finding half-eaten containers of junk food scattered around your house is a little off-putting. I don’t even really mind when he asks me if I’m “depreciating” in his sleep after watching a real estate show, or telling me “where the trail ends” during a particularly vivid dream after a day of riding dirt bikes.

But I have to admit, his latest nocturnal escapade really threw me for a loop.

I was enjoying a nice, relaxing sleep, when all the sudden Josh sat straight up in bed, looked around, and BOLTED out of the bedroom like something was chasing him.

I lay there dazed for a moment, wondering if I should get up and help him–maybe he thought he heard a burglar or something? But um, I am kind of ashamed to admit this, but it would take a lot more than that to get me out of my comfy bed. I was channeling my inner Jim Gaffigan:

You ever been asleep at night, and you’re awakened by a noise, and you’re convinced there someone breaking into your house and they’re gonna kill ya? But instead of getting up, you just go back to bed.

“Oh what is that a murderer? I gotta get some sleep, can’t kill me if I’m asleep!”

That’d be embarrassing… you get to heaven: “Hey, how’d you die?”

“Oh me? I was too lazy to get out of bed. Yeah, I heard the guy in the kitchen and I thought I had an hour.”

So I just stayed in bed and kept very still and listened for signs of danger. All I really heard was Josh opening and closing the refrigerator, so I figured we were safe. Eventually he came back to bed.

Me: Okay, WHAT. was that?
Josh: There was a flying fish chasing me.
Me: …
Josh: (shrug)
Me: So I guess if we ever get attacked by flying fish, I’m on my own?
Josh: I guess so.

Maybe.

I’ve really been digging the term “afoot” recently, so I could be just inventing an excuse to use it.

In any case, I think we can all agree –exciting or no– things, they are: afoot.

Goodness, sometimes my vocabulary and I are obnoxious.

P.S. I have solved the previously unmentioned Mystery of the Disappearing Lunchmeat. Look for photographic evidence in an upcoming blog!