Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Mosquito, Nevada

That's right, we spent our Valentines in Mosquito, Nevada--just the eight of us--at a Soccer tourney.

Does that sound romantic or what?

It's called Mosquito because it's an itchy little town that buzzes in your ear when you try to sleep. My kids wanted to know why if it's called Mosquito, it's spelled Mesquite and I told them the truth, that Nevada discriminates against the letter o.

My (know-it-all) MIL corrected me and said the town is named Mesquite after all the mesquite bushes on the other side of the Virgin River.

"Well," I said with a hmph, "what are the odds that that Virgin River is actually a virgin? This is Nevada, after all."

Was that rude?

But I have a point, right?

I mean, remember when Brittany Spears became an oxymoron because she claimed she was a virgin? And remember when Madonna became a simile because she said she was like a virgin?

It's all just rhetoric.

Later on though I started thinking that maybe it really is a virgin river after all. I mean the whole town of Mosquito is pretty barren. The desert palms are kinda prudish too. They stand up perfectly straight and you'll never catch them teasing each other like the palms in Hawaii. The wind isn't playful either, it's more on the stern, abrasive side, like a catholic nun or a librarian--always shushing you or giving you the stink eye.

The whole place is just kinda impatient. Even the toilets flush every 30 seconds whether you're finished with your business or not.

However, there is one really attractive thing about Mosquito, Nevada--the sun. That is one HOT sun. Bold too. Nothing shy about it.

The Astroturf's not hard on the eyes either. It's a bee-U-tiful, bright, vivid green--almost the color of joy. Except it's not real joy. It's synthetic--little blades of grass implants all over the soccer field.

Between the bold sun and the Astroturf implants, let's just say I didn't wear a single drab colored sweater all weekend.

Picture this: me . . . walking across the Astroturf in slow motion . . . in my slippahs--toes fully exposed, and my flimsy hot pink, v-neck tee . . . my thumb hooked carelessly in the pocket of my denim culottes . . . It would have been picture perfect if that indignant wind hadn't kept scolding me every time I got too friendly with the sun.

The one thing I realized from my romantic weekend getaway is that love truly is all you need. Plus a little sun. And maybe a "periodic" pedicure.

I got plenty of all three this weekend. Except the pedicure, which I didn't get because of the recession. And anyway, I still have a little bit of polish left from my last pedi.

I didn't get much love either, but I still have a little bit left over from my wedding so I'm good. Waste not, want not, that's what my MIL always says (among other things).

Naybe I'll gather the courage to tell you about the other things tomorrow.

Stay tuned for photographic evidence of my hub pumping gas in his snowman pj's. (Talk about mood killer!)


Kristina P. said...

You are on to something with that whole Virgin River thing. I bet it's had an affair with a stream or something.

Jami said...

Oh--snowman pjs are hot and you know it! It's amazing those little snow pictures don't just melt.

I was thinking about putting astro-turf in for our lawn. All that mowing and watering just gets old. But vivid green year round is invigorating.

Jillybean said...

Did you gamble and win any money while in Mosquito? Or did you loose money and just don't want to tell us about it?
Did you eat at the all you can eat buffet?I know how much you love those places.

Astroturf sounds like a great idea for our us, if we installed some in our yard, maybe our neighbors would stop putting notes in our mailbox telling us to mow our lawn.

OldBoatGuy said...

Virgin Mosquitos, Hee Hee.

DeNae said...

You realize, of course, that those "desert" palms are all a bunch of fakers. They aren't native to Mosquito or any other part of Nevada. That's why they're so uptight; they're afraid someone's going to ask them to name the Nevada state bird or sing the Nevada state song ("Home Means Nevada" if it comes up on Jeopardy; "Please Empty Your Pockets and Get Lost" if we're discussing our feelings about tourism.)

And did you see all the retirees down there? The whole TOWN is plugged astroturf; what isn't green is brown and sitting atop a 70-year old scalp.

But what a weekend, eh? It's supposed to be 70 degrees all week long down here.

The Garden of Egan said...

Wow, I bet your feet's pedicure were the leftover Christmas pedi that you got...before Christmas. I bet you were hot lookin' and all those stuck up Mosquitoians were all judgy and everything.

Glad you got to flirt with the sun.

Ya, it's good that you didn't use up all the romance too, since you had some leftover from the honeymoon. Wouldn't want to have it run out and all.

The Crash Test Dummy said...

Hee hee hee Kristina P. I wish I had thought of that.

Jami, Snowman pjs are hot, yes, especially when they are fleece, but at the gas pump? Uhhhhh . . . At least he wasn't wearing his Sunday shoes.

Astroturf implants all the way. I'm sold.

Jillybean, OF COURSE we ate at the Virgin River Hotel/casino buffet. We didn't gamble, but my twins sat down and said "hey can we play these games." It was their first time in a casino.

Old Boat Guy, there's an oxymoron for ya. ;)

DeNae, hahahahahaha You crack me up! Can't wait to read your first novel.

Hey, Garden, did you notice I put that "periodic" in there just for you? Brilliant.

April said...

I bet the plugged astroturf wasn't the only fake plugs you saw all weekend. With wind as stern as that, there are no rugs would make it a day. They should have a motto. Yes to plugs, No to rugs (or a combover).

nevadanista said...

Hey, I just hope you know how to say Nevada the right way :)