Cape Cod's Revenge

I recently took a vacation to the lovely, overpriced and often under-estimated tip of Massachusetts that is Cape Cod. Or as us regional types like to call it "The Cape." I have some vague memories of visiting the Cape as a little girl, (my dad in his yellow,70's swimming trunks that she still has!) As an adult, however, this was my fourth time down there. And was it ever!

If this were seven years ago, I would be recanting the tale of me, my friends Larry and Heather, holding fort in the tiniest hotel room in the world in Wellfleet, when I foolishly misinterpreted "two, twin beds" over the phone to be "two, large beds." They were not LARGE. They were little, kid beds and I ended up on the floor, which was fine, for a little while. I bitched about it seven years ago, but it actually was one of the most memorable experiences of my life. Those and the NYC trips, even with all the little glitches: TIME OF MY LIFE. Anyway, here are some photos from that time:





p.s. Jimmy James really is one of the only real reasons to ever see drag, especially in P-town. Check him out.


Nextly, I went to Falmouth in 2008 for business, not for pleasure, but I did slip away to Martha's Vineyard for the first time ever on a quest to figure out what all the squawking was about. My friend Annie and I found an utterly fantastic restaurant/jazz bar in Falmouth called the Nimrod.

The food was divine and I found myself in a fugue state trying to get out the door because this man launched into Ella's "Black Coffee", then Tom Waites' "Time, then Ann Ronnell's "Willow Weep for Me". What?? Got to chatting with this wife, turned out he was a big jazz guy in Boston. Really neat. And there is an actual Cannonball hole in there from the War of 1812. This kind of stuff gets my knickers all in a super-twist. Here are some photos from THAT trip (and yes, there are SHEEP on Martha's Vineyard!):








So now we come to my latest trip: "The Mom and Daughter Bonder". Curse you, Hollywood. Curse you to hell. It's so funny how much I am after my Mom's own heart, but yet how much different we are in almost all respects. I know, it's kind of hard to understand unless you're a daughter. We had a great time, but the hotel situation, early August with all the local travelers was very dicey. The first night we had an almost picture-perfect room right on the beach, dude! We toasted our mini-vaca with some low-cal, lime beer. Heaven. But the owner didn't say (and I neglected to ask) what floor the room was on. Well, it was up about two and a half flights and I have a senior dog. Not a good combo. By the end of the night, I had a fierce crick in my neck from helping her up and down stairs. But we knew that they had promised us a room in the main house-lower floor the next night, right? NOPE. Because of the glitch, the lovely woman at the place dialed like crazy to find us a pet-friendly room. Not much luck, peak season. So that morning was spent driving around in 90 degree heat feverishly trying to find an ocean-front, bottom floor dwelling, preferably without pee smell or bed bugs or serial rapists in Dennis, MA. Wasn't happening. We started bickering the way Mother's and Daughters do. You know, like you're about an foot away from ripping off some shoulder pads with your Lee Press-on nails. Okay well, not THAT bad, but bad enough to feel like I was reverting to adolescence a little. We ended up at a wonderful Best Western in Yarmouth that catered to dogs. No joke. They had dog books, doggie beds, doggie cd's, dvds, elevated bowls and best of all, A/C. A real pooch heaven, except we weren't near the beach. Actually, this place was on a Golf Course. But hey, give and take. I went for a beautiful swim, took photos, wrote and my Mom went on her quest for Steamers and a beach. I was perfectly content being alone. My mom's not as much of a loner-type as me, but she managed, came back with a stomach ache from a hot dog (she couldn't find the steamer place).

So later on that night, feeling fully refreshed, I pretended I had to go to the store, game back with 22 oz. of the best fat, full bellies this side of the Atlantic I ended up eating most of 'em, thinking, damn, when I was a kid these things grossed the hell out of me. Like ick, look at 'em. They're like slimy, sea-sects, just a neck and a belly, all green and rubbery. Just goes to show, butter makes everything taste good. That Paula cook-lady is onto something.

So some things do change, some do stay the same, but if it's ALL the same, I'll stick to a Mom and Daughter Clam DINNER bonder next time....;)