Murder by REST STOP

My man. SO BACK OFF. Just kidding. But, seriously. 

Well hello everybody! I’m sorry it’s been so long — I’ve just been supes busy (“supes” that’s cool people talk for super, in case any of you aren’t cool … which of course is not possible). Anyways, so I’m 23 now. Yeah, how ‘bout them apples.

I went to the land of Disney for the big two three and it was just fantastic. I was accompanied by my old roommates Ashley, Lexie, Rachel (who is an old roommate too except I was roommates with her in Africa last summer … which I should tell you about sometime), and Ryan — but we all call him Waddles. He doesn’t actually waddle, his last name just rhymes with waddles. Sometimes he waddles.

Disneyland was just beautiful — all Nightmare Before Chirstmas-ed out. And just so everyone knows, that happens to be my favorite movie of all time. Like, I’m serious. I’ve been in love with Jack Skellington since I was eight. Way before it became some weird gothic phenomena. Is it weird that I’m attracted to a skeleton? Not if he has the Danny Elfman’s vocal chords.  Then it’s not weird at all. So shut up.

The whole weekend in LA was pretty great. Lexie bought me my favorite cookies — which just happened to be breast cancer themed because apparently October is breast cancer month. So I ate breast cancer cookies — on my birthday. Thanks a lot breast cancer.

Anyways, since Ashley and I are both from the northern (and better) half of California, we carpooled back and the adventures were absolutely endless. Anyone who has ever driven through central California (Fresno, Bakersfield, Kettlemen City, Hell … etc.) will tell you the same thing — natural wonder as far as the eye can see. I know you can’t see my face right now but it has the dull expression on it that often accompanies sarcasm. In case you wanted to know what my face looked like — which you most definitely did.

Actually we did have one adventure at a rest stop … a rest stop that turned out to be NOT SO RESTFUL. It was actually not that exciting. But wouldn’t that be a great tagline for a scary movie about rest stops? I think so.

So anyways, we were at this rest stop and everything was going great until we walked to the bathroom and noticed something fishy. There was both a male and female door to two separate bathrooms except the men’s room had the usual white-stencil man while the women’s sign was nowhere to be seen. Instead, in its place was a small piece of torn-off, binder paper that looked like a convicted felon had written “Women’s Restroom” on it with the closest available pen. Just kidding, I actually have no way of knowing whether it was a convicted felon — but I mean, let’s be real. It was a rest stop. WHERE THE ONLY THING THAT STOPS IS YOUR LIFE.

Ok I’m done with the tag lines.

After reading this small parchment that seemed to be foreshadowing the danger that lie beyond the portal to the potty if I may— we both looked at each other as if understanding that we may be entering a room that will lead us down the road of therapy and relationship issues for the next 30 years.

And then she said it — the exact phrase that would have emerged forth from my mouth two seconds later if she had not said it.

“So is that like, covering up something that says ‘rape room?’”

As we both chuckled over the ridiculousness of that statement we pushed the doors open and I tried to act brave as I secretly scanned the room for any sign of the mass murderer who had written that note.

There was no mass murderer — only a hand drier that didn’t work. Which is just as bad as murder. Just kidding. A broken hand dryer is totally worse.