It was like the long, long trailer...
David was Lucy, and Russ was Ricky.
Yesterday was as action-packed a day as any that I can quickly recall. It all started around the crack o' 9:30, when I woke up, and had to immediately bolt from the house. That means, I didn't get the chance to primp, preen, or even remember to put my plugs in. So, after fetching some grub from Mc-D's, I sped over to David's house to pick him up. I was already an hour late by this point, and quite sure that Maryjane would eat me like a praying mantis for holding up the works. But, after picking up the ever-elusive Russ and getting to her house, I don't think anyone was really in as good a shape as they wanted to be (at least for leaving the house at such an ungodly hour).
Little did I realize that Torfinn's escapades in utter shit-facedness would be the main source for Team Attack Van's amuzement for our long, long drive up and down the coast. The Oreygone coast is one of the most scenic roadrips I can think of, and I'm sure MJ's australian guest Brad (or mij, if you're nasty) enjoyed the opportunity to soak it all up. However, I spent the majority of the day being openly distracted. Damn, I was sleepy. Once the sun set, and we were on our way back home, the AV started to feel more like a nice, warm bed on wheels. And then I hit a foggy patch of road on 26, nearly 'tub attacked' myself, and drove the rest of the way home like an asian grandma, gripping the steering wheel with iron claws for fear of barreling over some nightmare enbankment and launching my car of cute, sleepy people to their complete and bloody demise. Responsibility for the lives of your passengers is a notion that only comes to mind when my own confidence in my driving ability is compromised; But, I suppose, I was just overreacting. We did, in fact, get home without me rolling the van into a ditch and exploding, so life was peachy enough to watch the most wife-beatingest movie AH hayve evah seen. Some New Zealand-ese-ish movie that Mij/brad had reccomended. All I gleaned from that movie is a new dance to do while waiting for the elevator at work. That, and I now know not to go to New Zealand. I'd most likely get my skinny white ass beat by one OR some of those scary guys wearing road warrior-esque rubber outfits. After that and Finding Nemo were spent, so were we all, and finally we called it a night at one a.m.. Why do I blather? It was a fun day, but also one of the most draining experiences I can remember. The lesson I learned was; Don't drive to the beach when you've succumb to a particularly nasty hangover; Instead, watch Aussie wife-beating movies and employ torfinn to tell you allllll about bloodbarf +1 and TubGirl from the safety of your own living room.
Yesterday was as action-packed a day as any that I can quickly recall. It all started around the crack o' 9:30, when I woke up, and had to immediately bolt from the house. That means, I didn't get the chance to primp, preen, or even remember to put my plugs in. So, after fetching some grub from Mc-D's, I sped over to David's house to pick him up. I was already an hour late by this point, and quite sure that Maryjane would eat me like a praying mantis for holding up the works. But, after picking up the ever-elusive Russ and getting to her house, I don't think anyone was really in as good a shape as they wanted to be (at least for leaving the house at such an ungodly hour).
Little did I realize that Torfinn's escapades in utter shit-facedness would be the main source for Team Attack Van's amuzement for our long, long drive up and down the coast. The Oreygone coast is one of the most scenic roadrips I can think of, and I'm sure MJ's australian guest Brad (or mij, if you're nasty) enjoyed the opportunity to soak it all up. However, I spent the majority of the day being openly distracted. Damn, I was sleepy. Once the sun set, and we were on our way back home, the AV started to feel more like a nice, warm bed on wheels. And then I hit a foggy patch of road on 26, nearly 'tub attacked' myself, and drove the rest of the way home like an asian grandma, gripping the steering wheel with iron claws for fear of barreling over some nightmare enbankment and launching my car of cute, sleepy people to their complete and bloody demise. Responsibility for the lives of your passengers is a notion that only comes to mind when my own confidence in my driving ability is compromised; But, I suppose, I was just overreacting. We did, in fact, get home without me rolling the van into a ditch and exploding, so life was peachy enough to watch the most wife-beatingest movie AH hayve evah seen. Some New Zealand-ese-ish movie that Mij/brad had reccomended. All I gleaned from that movie is a new dance to do while waiting for the elevator at work. That, and I now know not to go to New Zealand. I'd most likely get my skinny white ass beat by one OR some of those scary guys wearing road warrior-esque rubber outfits. After that and Finding Nemo were spent, so were we all, and finally we called it a night at one a.m.. Why do I blather? It was a fun day, but also one of the most draining experiences I can remember. The lesson I learned was; Don't drive to the beach when you've succumb to a particularly nasty hangover; Instead, watch Aussie wife-beating movies and employ torfinn to tell you allllll about bloodbarf +1 and TubGirl from the safety of your own living room.