A Day Trip to Misqamicut ("miss-kwah-mih-kutt"): Don't Take Joy in a Dead Skunk.

A Day Trip to Misqamicut ("miss-kwah-mih-kutt"): Don't Take Joy in a Dead Skunk.

On the way to Misqamicut Beach, smelling Erzulia's clove cigarettes, blasting pulsating international drum beats, we race down the highway. I observe:

Yellow leaves dancing their way down to the street of some off ramp to some Connecticut town.

A dumbass macho man riding his motorcycle with only one hand on the handlebars,and no helmet on his obviously bad-to-the-bone head.

Bright orange signs, one of which warns us "No stopping. Correctional Facility Ahead." I imagine the cops are trying to tell us to stay out or they might mistake us for fugitives and shoot us. Erzulia explains they don't want people to pick up hitchhikers here. Oh. Duh. More orange signs read "Bump," one after the other. I say that I want to take a picture next to one of those signs some day when I'm pregnant.

A beat-up Lincoln with "Pro-child, Pro-choice" and "I'm straight but not narrow" stickers, driven by a youngish white dude sporting a cowboy hat with an American flag around the brim, the hood of his car displaying giant bull horns. Rock on.

Now I've decided there's already so much interesting and cool stuff going on and we've only just left, so I asked Erzulia for a pad of paper. Her car is like a second home, so of course she has one, and ten different kinds of pens to choose from. We decide to stop and pee, and unwittingly take the exit for what is marked in big letter as the "Submarine Capital of the World," Groton. The golden arches of McDonalds beckon us with the promise of toilets and sinks. We are greeted at the door by a glaring yellow, white, and red Ronald McDonald, grinning maniacally on a plastic park bench by the trash bins and condiments. No way Ronald, am I sitting next to you, you creepy, shiny, plastic icon! I will not drink your kool-aid no matter how many billions and billions have been served! We quicken our pace to the ladies room, where Madonna's "Ray of Light" can be heard. Hmmm.... Interesting.

As we set out again on our journey we can hear the rumbling of long-haired motorcycle Mama's, approaching ever faster. Mystic Pizza suddenly peaks my puppy-like interest! Oh my God, Mystic Pizza! I love Mystic Pizza! A-a-a-and it's gone. Erzulia, you cruel temptress.

Continuing along on our journey, I am excited and intrigued at the following sights:

A 1950's bubblegum pink car, which is across the street perhaps not coincidentally, from a bright pink house

A residence displaying a bright yellow flag across its porch railing. It depicts a striking snake underlined by the phrase "Don't tread on me." Friendly folks they must be.

The 11th or 12th cop car of the journey thus far, waiting on the side of the road for some fuck-up or another. If a car could twiddle its thumbs that's what these cars would do.

The statue of a bunny rabbit on its hind legs decorating someone's fence, my 4th bunny sighting of the summer.

A gigantic, melancholy, stone angel with outstretched wings, seated on a grave in a vast cemetery overlooking the water.

Now we have reached our destination, and are immediately surrounded by young and pert teens wearing bikinis and flip-flops. More cops mingle with EMTs across the street from the outrageously expensive parking lot. Maybe they're waiting for someone to freak out and have a heart attack at the cost. The parking lot attendant, a raspy sun-baked lady, recognizes Erzulia who is a regular, and inquires about her Cactus, Julia. Julia is fine thank you. She lives at home now, she kept tipping over in the car.

We squish into the changing rooms and into bathing suits, which is always somewhat laborious for me and my ample bosom. Get in there girls! Get! In! There you go.. And then-

We are at the beach! Hot sand sinks beneath our feet, colorful beach umbrellas create a kind of chaotic canopy, (that alliteration couldn't be helped), the smell of fried food entices the air, which is thick with the endless, joyful chatter of those strange creatures called human beings, returning to their source. We all move toward that unfathomable, sandwiched horizon of blue on blue on white on blue. Mamas bounce their babies in the waves, young lovers coo and cling to one another, Erzulia shrugs off the fact that her nipples are totally visible through her top, while I cautiously monitor the delicate placement of my "girls," who always seem to crave freedom when they hit those waves. And who can blame them? Sorry ladies, we can't stay forever.

We're back in the car, salt on our lips, hair all askew, skin crusted with sand, ready for round two of this mini road trip. Bye-bye stone angel., Erzulia noticed your arms are tiny but I assured her you will be okay because your wings will carry you. Bye-bye pink car. Hey, wait a minute! I notice in the same yard is one of my all-time favorite lawn decorations: a little sign in the shape of a dog shitting that simply exclaims "No!" as if any dogs considering relieving themselves there will stop and think, "Oh look a shitting dog, I'm a dog who needs to shit, but wait, it says, 'No!' Too bad. Guess I'll have to shit somewhere else." Don't they know dogs can't read!?

Again we find ourselves passing through the Submarine Capital of the World, and wonder how we didn't notice on our way in the giant replica of a canon's machine gun in the center of town. Erzulia wonders why cities display weapons like that, and I imagine out loud that it's their way of saying, "We're hot shit because we have these big, powerful weapons and this is how we got control of this town in the first place, so while you're here, don't fuck with us cause we'll destroy you. Welcome to our city. " Am I paranoid? Probably.

Now we are in Mystic again and we stop at the Sea Swirl for fried clammy goodness. And a side of fries. Cause what goes better with fried food than more fried food? We sit in the shade on a park bench and I admire the cute, little birdies hopping along looking for food. Can we give them a fry? I ask Erzulia. She chucks the fry at the bird, and of course, more birds instantly make their way over to our area. Birdy #1 is smart, and takes his fry closer to the street. The big seagulls amuse Erzulia, who proceeds to toss fry after fry to the same sea gull. I express concern for his cardiovascular system and she reminds me that he is a scavenger and this is his food source. She is made giddy by the sea gull's appreciation watching his wriggle his neck to get the fry down his gullet. I later remark how I love the word "gullet" and intend to use it in my poem. Mission accomplished.

Before heading out again, I skip over to Dunkin Donuts to use the bathroom. How lovely, some lady or girl left a big turd in the toilet just for me. I flush the toilet trying not to hurl. As I am peeing I think about how passive aggressive it is to leave your shit in a public toilet. In my head I start to make excuses for the turd-leaver. Maybe it was a little kid who is still learning. I describe the turd to Erzulia when I return to the car and as you can imagine she was enthralled and wanted to hear more. Not.

Driving through the rest of Mystic, I see a super buff woman wearing a white sports bra and little shorty shorts. She has platinum blond hair cropped short and is walking spiritedly along with some old shlub. I appreciate how totally jacked she is and wonder about the relationship between the two.

Just before we get on the interstate, I describe to Erzulia this gorgeous sculpture of a horse we just passed by. It's huge, golden brown, and made of sheet metal. It looks like a magical being who just appeared next to someone's house, intent on carrying him or her away to some far-off land. I'll go with you, horsey! Take me to the Abarat! We merge onto the highway. Alas, I will stay in this world.

I share with Erzulia that the reason I have noted all these sights and sounds in writing is because I recently saw a reality TV show with a young woman who is going blind, due to a degenerative eye disease and that I was inspired by her message to appreciate, notice, and take joy in every little thing. Just as I am saying that, we pass a dead skunk on the side of the road. I add to my sentiment, "But don't take joy in a dead skunk, 'cause that's sad. " This is suddenly hilarious to me and I chuckle and guffaw, giving myself the hiccups as I always do when I laugh this hard. Poor Erzulia tries to add to the conversation with something serious and profound about life's little blessings and I keep bursting into laughter and then explaining that I'm still on about the dead skunk. She muses that the quote, "Don't take joy in a dead skunk cause that's sad," would be the type of thing her 16-year-old daughter, whom I have watched grow up, would post as her facebook headline. I agree, it's perfect for that purpose.

The journey comes to an end and I am dropped off at my car, just in time to get to my regular Tuesday night activity. We hug the familiar and extra long embrace of old friends, and I thank her for such a fantastic day. She informs me that she's going back in a few days. I wish I could accompany her again, and notice all the funny, weird, and beautiful things along the way once more, but then it occurs to me. I don't have to drive to the beach to do that. Tomorrow there will be all kinds of obscure, notable moments to reflect upon. And again, the day after that, and so on. I silently thank the Universe for the richness and utter inanity of life, which is already, as many have said, a beach.