Days 2, 3, and 4: The Chronicles of the Glovebox Gnome

(Remember Real Life Friends: What goes on the blog stays on the blog...or something like that. This is my story, and I'm sticking to it. Besides, this is all coming from the perspective of the Gnome with limited Internet access...whatever that means.)

Day 2: 
Travels got me a bit saddle-sore in my rumpus can: the trip went smoothly enough but there were a few speed bumps. Irate Mage complained about the pokey laptop in her thigh and the Rogue moved it to a better local, along with all the other whatnots and whoozits in the back. He did not do this without complaint, which splintered the Mage. Perhaps her Dwarf friend Kallixta is right: the herbs and other factors caused digestive ills and irritation no amount of grazing bison vignettes would soothe. Too much junk in that trunk if you ask me. But no one did.

Almost to our destination! Could see the glorious glories of nature right there in front of us, and then wouldn't you know it? HUMANS. Many stupid humans, rushing across traffic lanes, causing over an hour back-up to look at what? A collision? A peaceful resolution to peanut butter in chocolate bars?Zombie apocalypse swarm? No. A family of bison: daddy, mommy, and baby, strolling through the lodge pines. Okay so they were adorable, but the Harley riders got their 'staches in a stitch, and the trout fishers flummoxed: only the mini-van mommies seemed happy to witness the tableau, all the while dragging small children across the street, nearly causing many a nurse-maid shoulder injury. Not my problem. As long as they didn't mistake me for one popsicle-stained toddler with a leather jerkin I was safe.

But there is no rest for the wicked, or so they say. The night is dark and full of terrors: CD Rogue was concerned about a noise he heard outside the window, and until he could find out otherwise from Mr. Park Ranger, if the possibility existed it might be a bear, window would stay shut. I just went outside and found a bunch of partying raccoons to pass the night with, I was fine. But knew there'd be hell to pay for the Mage. That witch needs her beauty sleep. Man, do I miss the shaman.

Day 3: 
If I had known that yesterday was to be as glorious as it was and the worst thing I had to complain about was a ruckus in my rumpus, I would have shut my huckleberry pie-hole and considered myself lucky. Well, I'm being melodramatic, and hardly practical, especially for a gnome. Let's just say I'm glad I'm a gnome, and can stealth, and get out of messy domestic situations if need be.

And sweet baby murlocs, we all wished the Irate Mage had stayed at home and they had brought the shaman. Why the shaman stayed home I'll never know. The Mage is high-maintenance, moody, and needs sleep. Uninterrupted sleep. The shaman, though, that girl just throws out a totem or two, does her "oooooommmmm" thing and kisses elks and is right as rain. Kind of mellow, like a druid. One quick flash of heat and thunder and all is forgiven. That mage, man, she holds a grudge. We could have used more druids, I supposed, 'cept there were too many druids in the cave den, and it was getting a bit grousy. Her totems would have fit on top of the car along with every thing else, I'm sure of it! Heck, the Mage didn't even pack a blow dryer. No wonder she couldn't sleep. Ah, who am I kidding? Those totems would have been bouncing down I-90 and lost to the ages, along with that one shoe that's always on the road. Why is it only one shoe?

We all went to see Old Faithful and perhaps something triggered in the Mage, cause after the three-mile trek around the park smelling sulfur and volcanic gasses she had to go. She really had to go right then. It was the end of the walk around the park, and CD Rogue points out a building where the whole group will meet. She mistook the low brown building for the medium brown building, but not the tall brown building, and went in the wrong one. By the time her natural resources were depleted, she corrected course and met with the entourage. CD Rogue, who is a bit of a rule follower, was not pleased. His concern for her well being came out as chastisement, and then the shit really did hit the fan. Poor druid cubs wanted her to be quiet, CD Rogue had reached the end of his insulin rope, and everyone wanted to pretend they were Chevy Chase swimming with Christy Brinkley in a pool. Nothing like sleep deprivation and a twelve hour car ride as a combined combustible. She is a fire mage, after all. I get her, even if no one else does.

Day 4: 
Oh, oh dear. Oh dearie dear dear. The effects of close quarters on such a large bunch has taken its toll. Irate Mage was teary, Young Druid Masters not understanding that sometimes mages just cry because they're right...angry...but right...and the Rogue...poor man, low blood sugars and all, and nary a place or wedge to sleep, all dry, cranky, and somehow...somehow they all got it together. The Mage's eyes were red with exhaustion, as red as her one sunburned right arm, but they all did it. They all managed to get some decent breakfast and she her coffee (if these men would just bring her coffee! I would do it but I didn't bring any pocket change...) and they all hit the road again, and it was an amazing day...she took a lot of pictures but this one is my favorite: Dragon's Mouth Cave (I wanted to go in there and slay Onyxia but she said no...something about acidic, sulfuric boiling hot water and steam or some such nonsense...

Ah, I felt deceptively safe from the mini-van mommies. How foolish. During the jaunt to the waterfall there was a busload of homogeneous looking humans: all blonde or dark straight hair young women, between 21 and 27, either pregnant, or holding a small baby, and multiple tow-headed toddlers literally in tow! Yes, toddlers swarming sharp cliffs, some on leashes or being wrangled by frazzled grannies. Where are the men folk? I see one handsome young father, kissing one blonde-baby-slung-wife in Keds and blue jean peddle-pushers, but where were the other patrons of this brood? Oh, there's one. Okay. So a few young wives, two husbands, 2,341 toddlers, boys all, grabbing sticks and screaming KI-YA....hmmmm....I may have to do some more research into this clan. It was a clan too, because they were all wearing matching T-shirts. I was not safe. The only thing that rescued me before one of them strapped me into a car seat and took me home to convert me was my heroine, Irate Mage! She polymorphed me into penguin, *SHIT!* she exclaimed realizing her mistake...there are no penguins in Wyoming! Correcting her error changed me into a sheep hoping everyone would think I was a mountain sheep ewe...or something...but by then a group of Chinese tourists, at seeing a child turn into a penguin, thought they had heat stroke and paramedics were called.

It was a good day.