Minor Dilemma

I have a minor dilemma here. Either:

1. Nothing has happened in the past five days that would be remotely blog worthy or

2. I do not remember any blog worthy events happening due to my high level of intoxication.

Like seriously folks. I do not go shopping, I do not spend money on CDs or DVDs, I don’t spend any money on material objects. I start Fridays with $200 in my pocket and before you know it it’s Sunday night and I’m down to $26.75. That’s how every weekend goes. I spend my two week allowance in three days on beer and food (oh, and I failed to mention the two or three times the credit card gets swiped). And it’s not even all the much food, maybe two trips to taco bell, some $.25 wings, and $10 worth of steaks. This might explain why I don’t remember anything worth writing about in the last five days.

Or maybe not much has happened lately.

So, today I decided I’d post this story about a little weekend getaway I had in October 2005.

Around a year and a half ago the one month love (San), G the hairdresser and I took a weekend trip north to some small hick town with three other couples. B the neighbor brought his kids so we had 11 people total. San, G and I loaded up the car with beer, vodka, sloppy joes and fishing gear and headed off after work on a Friday. I should have known the weekend was not going to go well after we got lost about 10 miles from the town. We were told they’d have a fire going by the time we got there so we stopped at this huge house with a bonfire in the front yard. The huge house fit the description as we were looking for an old mill. Of course now that I think of it there wasn’t any water near this house so obviously it wasn’t it. G and I rang the doorbell only to find this humongous dog ready to tear our arms off. After the woman opened the door the dog seemed fairly calm and we asked if we were at the right place (not) and if they could give us directions based on the sketchy notes we had. They tried to help and said if we couldn’t find it to bring the cooler of beer back and they’d help us finish it. In hind sight that’s what we should have done. But no, we drove on and found a place that looked like it might be it but we weren’t sure. We decided to go in the bar next door and wait to see if B the neighbor’s minivan showed up or not. At the bar we were informed that the old mill was indeed the place we drove by but we decided to have a couple pitchers anyway.
After the pitchers we wandered over to the mill and the familiar minivan in the driveway so we knew it was the right place. We met everyone else and settled in to the loft above the living room (two beds, San and I on one, G on the other). And then the beer came out. Sitting by the campfire, chugging beers, what could be better? Someone suggested we go over to the bar so the herd marched over. G played the locals for $20 a game in pool (and kicked their asses) while the rest of us sat at a table telling jokes. Pretty quiet night, San and I snuck off early and head back to the mill only to have G walk up the stairs as we’re smacking some ass (I guess technically I was smacking her ass, but whatever). A little while later the rest of the group came over and we all sat around the campfire chugging even more beer. At one point in the evening B asked me to help him with this gigantic cooler, frickin’ huge. I think I made it ten steps before the ground began to spin which sent me crashing to the ground on my shoulder (no, I wasn’t drunk, the ground was really spinning). That was pretty much the Friday night. You think it’s going well so far, eh?
Saturday we wake up to the smell of bacon and eggs (oh thank you!). Well, for me, eggs and beer. Come on, it’s vacation! Around noon the rum comes out of the closet. San got mad at me for taking sips from her drink and headed up to the bar for a while (oh well). G brought out his fishing gear and found a boat to go out on the lake in. One of the couples is a little older, maybe 45, and the wife is a beast. Maybe 5’9” and a good 200 lbs, but solid (just how you want your wife described). She helped G get the boat out in the water and G paddled off with his vodka and water by his side. A little while later San came back and yelled at me a little. We had some sloppy joes and some more beer. An hour later I looked to my right only to see G walking up the bank completely drenched. The story goes he hadn’t had a bite for an hour and then got a decent pull on the rod. As a true fisherman, G stood up in the boat to reel it in and managed to tip the boat over. G fell in the water, the boat filled up to the brim and the paddles were slowly floated away. With the anchor rope wrapped around his leg, G managed to retrieve the paddles and dragged the boat back to the shore. Using his fish cooler he bailed all the water out of the boat and rowed it back to the mill. By the time he got to the front steps everyone was laughing at him and his sopping wet clothes. The women made him strip right on the front porch down to his underwear before they’d let him in. They even pulled out some weeds that were stuck in his ass crack!

The evening started out like Friday with everyone heading back up to the bar. Someone had the great idea of playing games for shots and everyone got pretty lit. Lit to the point where the old lady who was bartending told me to go and get G (who was sitting a little bit away from the rest of us) because the 20 yr old girl who was taking over wouldn’t be able to handle him. Back then he was a sour old man, wait, he still is an old bastard. San and I snuck off a little early and I was treated to a blow job by the campfire. You would think that would be when the fun started, right? No, not even close. While we were fooling around B’s girlfriend got knocked over (we think it was by big woman) and hit her head on the bottom rung of a bar stool on the way down. She instantly went out cold to the horror of everyone standing around her. Fortunately there were some EMT’s in the house, dressed up for Halloween with fake blood if you can believe that. They had a helicopter fly in and whisked them away to the nearest hospital.

G came stumbling home a bit later, only to puke in the loft like a water spout that wouldn’t shut off. We had to haul this 14’ by 20’ rug outside as the whole house stunk. And then the real shit happened. The horse woman had an argument with her husband. Well, maybe like more of a UFC fight than an argument. His left eye was swollen and black and blue; she had a chipped tooth when he couldn’t take it anymore. Somehow he managed to go into hiding and she went on a rampage looking for him. I was sitting at the kitchen table eating a sloppy joe when she walked by my, took a huge bite of my sandwich with meat tumbling out the sides, put it back on my plate and took off outside. I had had just about enough of this and after peering out the window I quietly snuck outside for a beer and cigarette. Well, wouldn’t you know it, she came storming around the corner screaming her husband’s name. She asked me if I knew where he was and not satisfied with my answer punched out the front door window.

Another couple that was with us called the cops. She eventually found her husband in their van. After they were in there rocking the van back and forth (I’m guessing it wasn’t from passionate sex), the cops finally showed up. We showed them the glass and pointed to the van. After 30 minutes of questioning they hauled her off to the station. Now, this was all entertaining and all, but the other innocent people I was with wouldn’t let me have a beer in front of the cops. It’s not like I was driving anywhere, didn’t even have keys for any of the cars in the driveway, but I waited till they were done and finished off two more, you know, just to cap the night off.

Or at least I thought we were capping the night off. After the cops left the others quickly gathered up their things wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible. I finished off my beer, packed up my bag and did the same. G and I slept most of the way home with G still smelling like lake water (or something else that old men smell like).

For months afterward we were still telling stories, though as time went on the stories got a little bigger than they actually were.