Cigars, Massages, and Bears (Oh My)

Gentle Reader(s), I had myself a vay-kay-shun this weekend!

It was absolutely blissful.

After a brief conniption fit on the drive up when I became convinced that I had left my Ambien sitting on the kitchen counter at home (false alarm), I was able to relax and enjoy my stay at the beautiful Nemacolin Woodlands Resort.

I give Nemacolin near-perfect ratings in all categories except "name appeal," because for all of its charm and luxury, I could not refrain from calling it Nemacolonoscopy Woods all weekend long.

Immediately upon arrival, we made ourselves comfortable in our new digs:

After a brief interlude during which the P-Dog familiarized himself with his surroundings:

"According to my calculations, there should be a large Tiffany skylight right about here."

It was off to the cigar bar in which Bill Clinton himself was once-upon-a-time presented with a very special gift:

Bill to self: "I know just the place for that cee-gar!"

The next morning, we headed to the Woodlands Spa for our appointments (more on that tomorrow):

Later, we took a hike around the grounds:

"Ohmahgawd this totally sucks I'm supposed to be on vacation!"

Where there was no end to my delight upon this discovery:

There Was a Nature Preserve There

But I didn't get too close this time, because:

I Saw That Episode of Lost!

I really don't understand why National Geographic Explorer has not contacted me yet.

After a spectacular dinner, during which we were serenaded by a bagpiper on the 18th hole of the green:

. . . .We did a lot of other fun stuff.

The only low point of the whole weekend was when I hurled the craptastic in-room blow drier across our suite, nearly missing the P-Dog's beautiful head on the occasion of our seventh wedding anniversary. Because if you are going to pay an arm and a leg to stay at the resort whose personal airstrip Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt used when they flew in to visit Frank Lloyd Wright’s Falling Water, you’re going to want a blow drier with more horsepower than a puppy fart and one that does not cause you to break out in a hot sweat and begin foaming at the mouth while you are using it:

This Blow Drier Can Blow Me

Stay tuned for an account of my dreaded, yet surprisingly rewarding couples massage experience!