I can be a stubborn fuck sometimes. I still won’t acknowledge the existence of Scrappy Doo. Scooby had NO fucking nephews as far as I’m concerned. Oh, and 2010: The Year We Make Contact doesn’t exist either by the way.
Although, I tried to change my ways as much as I could when I went on my honeymoon back in 2003. I guess my thinking was that I should learn to compromise more and do my part for the new marriage. My wife is an activities person on vacations, and I’m more of an explore and rest person on them. We ended up choosing to go to Iceland and we mapped out time to do a little of both of our agendas for the trip.
One of the things she wanted to check out was this spa called “The Blue Lagoon”. It’s this amazing geothermally heated pool with this white substance added in it. The stuff is known to cure eczema and psoriasis from what I understand. It feels like you’re in a bowl of hot milk. It’s strange, because it’s in the middle of this sea of volcanic rock. You feel like you’re on the moon.
Pomeroyski is not much of a spa guy. My OCD works against me in spas. I’m not hugely comfortable bathing around a bunch of nude people for sure. But I was going to compromise, damn it all.
My issue came up right in the locker room. As I was changing I noticed that this really big, blonde, naked fellow was toweling himself while staring at me. I did the quick acknowledging glance over at him, which usually makes someone look away. Of course, he kept right on staring at me. In my head, I wanted to say “Hey Lars, if you want to propose I’d prefer it if you were on your fucking knee”. But there was no way I was going to say that to this guy. He could have come up to me, put his index finger and thumb on my chin, and BANG!! He could have slammed my head through the ceiling. I can imagine other guests walking around the bottom 3/4 of my nude body. Maybe if I’d had an erection, people would have a place to hang their towel. That may have been useful. Instead, I endured the blonde perv’s ogling.
However, I was a whiny bitch for the whole time there afterward. Imagine a bodyless head sticking out of a tub of milk chronically complaining to you. Amazingly, my wife didn’t drown me.
The highlight of the trip was the fucking horses. Jeanne wanted to try horseback riding and I’d agreed to go for it. She had learned that Icelandic horses were smaller and more docile than their western cousins. This may make it easier for me to swallow, she thinks. However, I did NOT have a good feeling about it. Maybe it’s because I’m a chicken shit. Maybe it’s because I’m not the most adventurous fellow in the world. But most likely, it was because I’ve lived life in MY shoes, and I knew that something bad was going to happen.
The “teachers” turned out to be these 16 year old Swiss girls. Each of them picked one of us to teach and ride with. Of course mine didn’t speak a lick of English. I didn’t know what the fuck she was talking about. We were in this indoor rink area, with the intention to go out for a ride after we got used to our steeds.
When I got up on the horse, I just knew I wasn’t supposed to be there. The horse looked back at me, with that “I am going to FUCK you UP” look in his eye. I asked the girl how to make him go. She didn’t know what I was saying. So I kept saying “go, go” while pointing around the rink. So she grabbed the rein and snapped it. WHOOP… the horse was running around the track. I was hanging on for dear life. We hadn’t even gone outside yet & I thought I was going to die. I was concentrating on holding on tightly.
What I didn’t notice was that the girls left the door open where the PEOPLE go. My horse started his canter right on through the fucking door!
Jeanne’s horse followed, and the “teachers” chased us with the attempt of a quick rescue.
I tried to stop the horse the only way I knew how. I started yelling “WHOA! WHOA”! That’s how Tex Ritter did it. I didn’t realize that you were supposed to pull back on the reins. Dummy.
My horse (with me in tow) went by the equestrian gear first, then galloped past the rest rooms. Imagine if you came out from peeing and you see horses riding by you in the hallway. That would have been hilarious.
So I turned my head around to yell for help. I yelled “HEL-“ and then BOOM! My helmeted head smacked against the doorway that I didn’t see. I’d swear to you that the horse saw the low bridge and thought “This will peel the prick off my back”. Somehow I was still hanging on, but my helmet was almost sideways now. After I whacked my head, Jeanne ducked her head in time. I became the warning video I guess.
The horse went into the stables and then took a right to head for the door leading outside. Before I took another shot on the squash, or even worse went out into the wild I tried my escape. I dove for the nearest stable. I made it off, but my left foot didn’t come out of the stirrup. Needless to say, the horse wasn’t stopping. Before I knew it, there was a tug of war between the horse, and the Swiss girls with my leg as the anchor.
Fortunately the Heidi twins saved me from being drawn & quartered.
And amazingly, I didn’t have a broken foot. Although, I did have a limp for the rest of the trip. Jeanne was on her horse (which she obviously figured out how to ride and control within two minutes) just shaking her head. She told me then “I’ll never doubt you again Pomeroy”.
She was true to her word. We were on another vacation to the Royal Gorge in Colorado and she wanted to go in this cable car that went over the gorge. I basically said “I don’t like the look of this…” She answered “Ummm… why don’t you stay here then”. Right on the honeymoon she started to get it, and the Icelandic people did as well. Not even the amazing landscapes and wonderful people there could disperse the Pomeroy black cloud. How Scandinavian of them.
