Excerpt of actual conversation I had with my friend Ep via Blackberry messenger today:
It started out talking about how Scott and I are trying to make a post-bar exam trip to visit Ep in Curacao, and about how Scott's fam is taking a cruise that will port there for a day in June, but how I have been dying to stay at an all-inclusive place so I could spend more than 8 hours exploring any given place.
Ep: Branson! Problem solved.
Liz: (I explained that we were thinking more Caribbean sun and snorkel, then...) Oh, don't you worry. I get to spend a week in Branson with my mom, sister and nieces this summer. It's my mom's favorite vacation destination.
Ep: (Funny story about his mom suggesting Branson as a romantic get-away spot, then...) Tell the fiddling Asian I said hello.
Liz: Branson is hard to beat for romance! And I happen to love Shoji Tabuchi.
Ep: (Clearly amazed that I knew not just of whom he spoke, but that I also knew the star performer's name.) You always have to one up! I saw the man for something like my eighth birthday. OU lost to Miami. I cried.
Liz: I'm glad someone else has childhood Branson memories. I, unfortunately, have teenage Branson memories too.
Ep: Yikes. Shepherd of the hills, bitches!
Liz: Been there. Oh yeah. Fire in the hole!
Ep: Hell yes!
(Sorry if you don't get the references to Branson's awesomeness. Just know that you're missing out. And that Fire in the Hole is a roller coaster with drunk singing miners pillaging a town that used to make me cry. It's like Pirates of the Caribbean at Disney World, only Ozark-style. Oh YEEEAHH.)
Ep: Going back as an adult...if I prayed, you'd be thought of.
Liz: (Brief exposition on the romance that could be had over fried chicken at the Dolly's Dixie Stampede, then...)
Ep: HO-LY hell! You're way too dangerous not to stay aligned with. What recall!!
Liz: Well, it's not often I realize a friend has the same fondness for Branson that I do. (I fill Ep in on the post-finals-pre-graduation trip to Dollywood in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, complete with a stop at the original Dixie Stampede, that I'm taking with friends.)
Ep: (Suitably impressed.) Get. The. Fuck. Out.
Liz: Why Dollywood, you ask. It's got Dolly, roller coasters, friend food and presumably lots of mountain people.
Ep: Did you ever make it to Dogpatch U.S.A?
Liz: Yes. (As if he needed to ask.) I LOVED that big white thing! I also saw the Rainbow Brite Show at Dogpatch. Do you know, that big white blob that danced around there? I forget what he was called, but I definitely have a stuffed one of him here at my parents' house.
Ep: Been googlin' like mad since first mention...
Liz: My mom tried to get rid of it once and I 'bout had to cut a bitch. I was all "NOOO! I love (insert-name-of-big-white-blob-from-Dogpatch-USA)!!!"
Ep: The schmoo?...Yeah! The Schmoo!
Liz: YES! I kept thinking Moo, but I knew that was wrong. SCHMOO! (If you knew the Schmoo, you'd understand why this excitement is completely appropriate.) I'm sad that if I have kids, they will never meet the real Schmoo.
Ep: He lives in our hearts.
Then I sent Ep this picture:
Liz: I found him! In the top of a closet! I sent you a picture of my Schmoo! I feel like you are my long-lost childhood doppelganger. All this time I had no idea we had so many shared experiences. (Notice the irrational excitement. Irrational because now, in my calm state, I realize that there are hundreds of thousands of children who experienced the wonders of Branson AND Dogpatch U.S.A. But irrational excitement is what happens when you find your Schmoo.)
Ep: Whoa! He's glorious! (Yes. Yes he is.)
Liz: Also, if one didn't know what a Schmoo is, one might think it's a dirty thing to send a picture of.
Ep: Hahahaha. It's still porn to me.
Liz: I think I will dedicate my next blog post to Schmoo.
And here we are. I figure I might as well keep going with the childhood throwback thing. Plus, I really like saying Schmoo! I actually say it out loud every time I type it. Good thing no one was around this morning, or for the last half-hour...
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