Breathe, Stretch, Shake, Let it go.
This entry is brought to you by this title (which happens to be a new cut by Mase). The CD hasn't been released yet so I'm not sure what the name of the song is but it became our California Anthem last week as they played the fuck outta this song. Now I don't usually like Mase, actually I think he's a wackass rapper turned wannabe minister turned wackerass rapper again. Yet, this is the cut, someway, somehow this is the cut.
So let's recap here for those of you who aren't in the Know.
Sir Blaine embarked on a journey to the "great state" which is also know as California but for the purpose of this story Sir Blaine will deem it the "great state."
Anyway, we leave Milwaukee early as all fuck on Wednesday morning and we end up getting to Midway at around 4 in the a.m. Our flight doesn't leave until 7 in the a.m. and Luke, Dan and myself have shit to do. Wait! Scratch that, we have two decks of playing cards and a 1.75 of Barcardi. What do you think we did?! That's right fuckers, we started gambling and drinking in the airport concourse. I must say that by the time we actually boarded the flight we were all pretty
ripped, I mean, we had been drinking barcardi and coke for nearly three hours. We were all flush red and feeling pretty good so we decided to keep up the drinking on flight. We finish off the 1.75 of Barcardi and started ordering drinks from the "flight attendants." Dan couldn't get the term down and kept calling them waiters which I think was really starting to piss them off and of course I would continue to apologize (hell, the lady was off the charts hot).
We arrive in San Francisco less a 1.75 of Barcardi, four playing cards, 60 bucks and a throwback Brewers hat (so pissed was I but I have no idea where the fuck it decided to hide on me at). Anyway, now in San Fran and it's 9:15 in the a.m. and Ryan is waiting at the airport all pissed off because he's been there an hour (our flight was delayed, stupid ass standby passanger fucks, but our drunken stupor didn't allow us to remember to call Ryan and let him know). It's early in the morning, Ryan is pissed, we are all drunk and we head for Ryan's player pad in good old Sunnyvale, California (about 40 minutes south of San Fran).
At Ryan's we unpack our bags, check out the pad and decide to rest up for a bit while Ryan went to work (he had to work that Wednesday and Thursday). We all wake with extreme Barcadi hangovers, the shit was wicked man just wicked. We decide to give ourselves the tour again because we were far too shitfaced to remember everything. Upon retouring the house we discover the vast expanse of blue liquid in the back of the house. Alas, a pool! So of course we get on our swimming trunks after checking out the rest of the house (and this house is fucking player man, just player, I'll post pictures later). We stop short of swimming as we realized we were without liquor or food to cook in the gigantic ass bbq pit the player pad had. We jack Zack's Range Rover (another buddy from Wisconsin who gets paid far too much for doing computer programming shit, oh, he also lives with Ryan). After lifting the Range without notifying Zack, we head for the Safeway that Ryan had informed us was "just around the block." Man just around the block my ass. I don't know how the roads work in the residential areas of Sunnyvale but it took us a good ten minutes to get out of the damn neighborhood! We had no clue where we were but we were on our way nevertheless! About five mintues later we finally find El Camino Real and spot the infamous Safeway. We enter with a furious hangover cloud circling above us. We were hot, pissed off, hungover and hungry as all shit.
But 25 minutes and $130.04 later we had our supplies. Back to the player pad we go. (If you hadn't guessed by now, we got just as lost trying to get back and it took us another 25 minutes finally making it back.) By this time our snickers bars were all melted and shit and Zack was at home about to call Sunnyvale's finest because he thought someone jacked his ride, well, we did but it was all good...
...to be continued
So let's recap here for those of you who aren't in the Know.
Sir Blaine embarked on a journey to the "great state" which is also know as California but for the purpose of this story Sir Blaine will deem it the "great state."
Anyway, we leave Milwaukee early as all fuck on Wednesday morning and we end up getting to Midway at around 4 in the a.m. Our flight doesn't leave until 7 in the a.m. and Luke, Dan and myself have shit to do. Wait! Scratch that, we have two decks of playing cards and a 1.75 of Barcardi. What do you think we did?! That's right fuckers, we started gambling and drinking in the airport concourse. I must say that by the time we actually boarded the flight we were all pretty
ripped, I mean, we had been drinking barcardi and coke for nearly three hours. We were all flush red and feeling pretty good so we decided to keep up the drinking on flight. We finish off the 1.75 of Barcardi and started ordering drinks from the "flight attendants." Dan couldn't get the term down and kept calling them waiters which I think was really starting to piss them off and of course I would continue to apologize (hell, the lady was off the charts hot).
We arrive in San Francisco less a 1.75 of Barcardi, four playing cards, 60 bucks and a throwback Brewers hat (so pissed was I but I have no idea where the fuck it decided to hide on me at). Anyway, now in San Fran and it's 9:15 in the a.m. and Ryan is waiting at the airport all pissed off because he's been there an hour (our flight was delayed, stupid ass standby passanger fucks, but our drunken stupor didn't allow us to remember to call Ryan and let him know). It's early in the morning, Ryan is pissed, we are all drunk and we head for Ryan's player pad in good old Sunnyvale, California (about 40 minutes south of San Fran).
At Ryan's we unpack our bags, check out the pad and decide to rest up for a bit while Ryan went to work (he had to work that Wednesday and Thursday). We all wake with extreme Barcadi hangovers, the shit was wicked man just wicked. We decide to give ourselves the tour again because we were far too shitfaced to remember everything. Upon retouring the house we discover the vast expanse of blue liquid in the back of the house. Alas, a pool! So of course we get on our swimming trunks after checking out the rest of the house (and this house is fucking player man, just player, I'll post pictures later). We stop short of swimming as we realized we were without liquor or food to cook in the gigantic ass bbq pit the player pad had. We jack Zack's Range Rover (another buddy from Wisconsin who gets paid far too much for doing computer programming shit, oh, he also lives with Ryan). After lifting the Range without notifying Zack, we head for the Safeway that Ryan had informed us was "just around the block." Man just around the block my ass. I don't know how the roads work in the residential areas of Sunnyvale but it took us a good ten minutes to get out of the damn neighborhood! We had no clue where we were but we were on our way nevertheless! About five mintues later we finally find El Camino Real and spot the infamous Safeway. We enter with a furious hangover cloud circling above us. We were hot, pissed off, hungover and hungry as all shit.
But 25 minutes and $130.04 later we had our supplies. Back to the player pad we go. (If you hadn't guessed by now, we got just as lost trying to get back and it took us another 25 minutes finally making it back.) By this time our snickers bars were all melted and shit and Zack was at home about to call Sunnyvale's finest because he thought someone jacked his ride, well, we did but it was all good...
...to be continued