Water Gap?

A water gap is a “geological formation where a river cuts through a mountain ridge.”

You’re welcome.

Saturday the Good Doctor and I went canoeing down the Delaware Water Gap… which is actually in Pennsylvania. And Jersey. But not Delaware.

Yes, I know I swore off Jersey after a 5th of July BBQ that almost left me stranded at a bus stop out there. But this time we had a rental car. And we didn’t actually have to step foot in Jersey. We just had to drive through it. My window stayed rolled up the entire time.

Once in the Keystone State, we coasted down the Delaware River where I sang songs from Pocahontas and worked on my life vest tan:

The Good D. and I were the only gays on The Gap that day. While rafts full of frat boys and their soon-to-be-gangbanged girlfriends rolled by drinking 6-packs of Bud Light, we nibbled on cheese wedges and sipped our vodka and o.j. on the rocks.

Later we pulled our canoe up on the real rocks (not ice), and had a picnic courtesy of Whole Foods. Old wives’ tale be damned, we went for a swim right after eating. The rental company suggested wearing water shoes. Um, no thanks:

If only I had listened… While laying on a mossy, submerged rock I felt something about the size of a silver dollar on my foot. IT WAS A FUCKING LEECH!!! I hate leeches. They’re right up there with centipedes and worms that lay out in the rain and get run over by cars for me.

After I pulled the sucker (literally) off of my foot and threw it back in the water, I had a mini-freak out and decided that I was done swimming. I began to tell the Good D. about the time I went swimming as a child and stepped in a pool of baby leeches, when I felt something on my back.

Please don’t let it be more leeches. Please don’t let it be more leeches… Sure enough, I scratched my back, and when I pulled my hand back around to inspect it… it was crawling with baby leeches. Now it was time for a MAJOR freak out.

After a lot of whimpering and hyper-ventilating, I got back in the canoe and rowed like there was no tomorrow. I wasn’t trying to row fast to get away from the leeches. But rather, I was picking up the pace because on our way into town I spotted a Flea Market store that was only open until 6pm.

This is me in heaven:

The Good D. knew about my sick love affair with kitsch, but this is the first time he had seen it in action. I could have spent hours in that store. They had a whole room full of boxes where everything was a dollar. There was a sign on the wall that said if you spent $25 in that room, you got $5 for free. It was a challenge that was just begging for me to accept it… but I didn’t want to freak the Good D. out too much.

So instead I just decided to freak out the local shoppers by buying the gayest shit in there.

My conquests:
1. Culture Club’s Colour by Numbers.
2. A white leather bracelet, with the word “PUNK” in pink rhinestones.
3. Rainbow elbow pads.

and my crowning glory…

4. Teenesha Campbell-Jones.

That’s the name I bestowed upon her. I’m working on her backstory, which I’ll post soon.

I told the Good D. that he had to buy at least one thing. He did me proud by buying The Ungame, “the world’s most popular self expression game” where everyone is a winner. Good D. bought the “Christian version” that tacks such bible-riffic questions as “If you could add two new commandments to the Ten Commandments, what would they be?”

Surprisingly, he also bought this:

He said he wanted it for the picture on the front. But I suspect that some day I’m going to come home and find him lounging on the couch, waiting for me with nothing but the body suit, a Princess Leigh wig, and a crooked smile.

In the dollar section, I found the perfect purse to match:

But I ended up passing on it. I just couldn’t bring myself to carry it up the register where the lady with the side-ponytail and pink scrunchie was waiting with judging eyes. Besides, the theme for my purchases was “faggot,” not “drag queen.”

Driving back home we got stuck in Jersey traffic for at least an hour, which only solidified my hatred for the Garden State. But after a fun day of canoeing and thrifting… it was almost worth it.

For those of you wanting to see a picture of the Good D… I’m sorry, but I’ve decided to protect the innocent. Instead, here’s an artist’s rendering of us in a cornfield: