My mom, driving us to the airport.
Wearing nearly matching outfits. Mine had yellow stripes instead of blue.
Getting dressed now that we're through security.
Oooh! A nun! We saw like 18 nuns while we were there. There must have been a convention or something.
Our layover was in Dallas, I believe. If memory serves, and sometimes it doesn't, we flew into the "Gates B1-B19" vicinity, and followed signs across the bridge, indicated on the map with the little walking person, and made it to the "YOU ARE HERE" marker on the map. We wanted to be in the vicinity of Gates A1-A21, so we stupidly just started walking. Turns out you have to take their little tram. I don't know why the map lies.
Ahh, Texas. We had a running "Coyboy hat" tally, but we didn't see that many. Only a half dozen or so in the near hour we were there. Still, more than you see in beautiful sane Cali.
Eric sleeping on the plane.
Trying with minimal success to get a picture of the two of us.
Emergency exit! You may exit 15 seconds after the emergency begins!
I don't remember exactly what this sticker says, but I remember being very amused by it at the time. Now I am more amused by the robot crotch below.
Eric and Eric and I, playing in the basement.
I was amazed by how phallic this looked.
Terra loves him.
I don't remember where we were going. We probably didn't have a specific destination.
We eventually wound up at Kenyon at the upside down tree whose branches grow down instead of up.
Enter the tree!
It was like 20 degrees cooler inside the tree. It was a welcome change from the beloved humid Ohio summer.
When I die, I certainly hope someone will engrave my face onto my tombstone.
So does Eric.
What a great place for a bath tub!
In California, you can't just stop your car in the middle of the highway and get out and take a picture. Most of the time.
At the Apple Valley man-made lake. Everyone calls it "the beach", but that just doesn't sit well with me.
I do love me some teeter totter. And photographs of my crotch.
I took this for Karen and Scott. Woo!
We stopped at this tourist trap in Utica. There were only two face holes, so we all switched around so as to get all possible combinations photographed.
Once we were home, I photoshopped the problem away. Except that I have no legs.
California Eric always wanted a picture of himself at this tombstone.
Again, we ran into the problem of two seats, 3 people.
Again, Photoshop saved the day. See if you can guess who I added this time.
We went to the river, but Eric and I didn't have any special river shoes to wear, so we bought these shoes from the 99 cent store. Eric was saying that they looked like shoes you'd get married in or something, and have henceforth become known as the wedding shoes. Eric's are the funeral shoes. Eric's look new, but mine are already about as brown as the gravel under my feet. Makes sense though. You theoretically only get married once, whereas you can go to lots of funerals over the course of your life, so it's more important that the funeral shoes conceal dirt.
That's right, it's the Butts-Gronberg wedding. Aren't you sad you weren't invited?
The Erics happen to know this couple, so we talked about going and crashing the wedding, but we didn't.
We went for a walk in the park on the edge of town.
What a great place to leave your old car!
What a great place to leave your dead body!
We were quite convinced that's what was under there, but upon removing the plastic, it turned out to be just firewood. Ohio Eric assured us those bones were from deer.
Right before this picture was taken, California Eric and I were walking ahead of Ohio Eric, when we passed a dead creature lying on the ground, covered in maggots. We waited a few feet ahead of it while Ohio Eric caught up. Sure enough, he stepped right on it, and maggots spewed everywhere. And California Eric and I giggled, because we're immature.