(no subject)
I spent my most of my day off driving around, exploring more of this area that is so alien to me. I went over to Summit (I can't get enough of this place) racing again to buy some Redline synthetic gear lube for my transmission, in hopes of getting smoother shifts, rather than the "notchy" shifts that trucks have due to their heavier syncros.
Anyways, I decided to take a different route home this time. I was really curious as to see what Virgina City was like; from what my uncle has told me, it's a living ghost town, a step back in history to the gold rush era. It's not the easiest place to get to; coming from Reo, the road up there is windy as hell, and it's all up hill.
Upon my arrival, I thought I was in another world. It's definitely like a step back in time. There's one single road that goes through the center of the town, and everything is smooshed together. I passed by the "Bucket of Blood Saloon" which I had seen a billboard for a few weeks ago, while driving out east on hwy 50. I'd like to have a few drinks there sometime, when I can find someone who's dedicated enough to go all the way out there just to get intoxicated.
So I went to supercuts tonight. The last time I paid to have my haircut I must have been, shit.. 14? Yeah, it's been that long. Originally, I would have like to have gone to this other place that was closer to me called "Cost Cutters" (what a lame name), but there was a large family of mexicans waiting, and there wasn't any way in hell I was going to get my haircut there before they closed. I don't know why in the fuck I went ot supercuts, the lady who cut my hair was old, and probably about as impersonal as a fucking DMV clerk. What really is worse is that I tipped her, a crime, really I shouldn't have. You know what pops into my head when I think about this situation? Mr. Pink in the begining of Resivoir Dogs. It must have taken her about five fucking minutes to cut my hair, and she did a a fairly sloppy job.
Why is it that you tend to think clearer when you are drunk, well, at least I do...
Maybe it's because you don't hold back; your mind releases that plethora of angst that is usually held back by your conscious. Did that make sense? Probably not.
I had a mission tonight, that is, to get drunk off of Night Train, just like I did back home. My second choice was Cisco, but to no avail, I couldn't find any in this fucking town. Out of discouragement (and bordem!!), I drove to the next town, which is ten miles south on hwy 395, Minden it is named. I pulled up to the nearest liquor store, noticing a clean ass lifted Tacoma with a TRD supercharged decal on the back. So I'm shooting the shit with the owner for a bit, telling him about the customtacos.com army. He seemed really interested, and I told him about the upcoming west coast meet in sacremento. Hopefully he'll be there.
On the way back I passed a lowered civc (it had the '93-'00 body style with a fart can (those loud ass mufflers that don't do shit for performance, but make a god damn lot noise pollution). Well, the next light turned red, and I figured this dude might try to show me up. The light turns green and he starts to pull away, flooring it. I pulled away as I usually would, So as his fart can starts to fart, I floor it, hit redline, shift to 2nd, and then we are neck and neck. Approaching an incline in the road, I shift into 3rd passing the ricer and his ricey ass sack of rice.
Now I'm home still trying to update this entry hours later, drunk.
Anyways, I decided to take a different route home this time. I was really curious as to see what Virgina City was like; from what my uncle has told me, it's a living ghost town, a step back in history to the gold rush era. It's not the easiest place to get to; coming from Reo, the road up there is windy as hell, and it's all up hill.
Upon my arrival, I thought I was in another world. It's definitely like a step back in time. There's one single road that goes through the center of the town, and everything is smooshed together. I passed by the "Bucket of Blood Saloon" which I had seen a billboard for a few weeks ago, while driving out east on hwy 50. I'd like to have a few drinks there sometime, when I can find someone who's dedicated enough to go all the way out there just to get intoxicated.
So I went to supercuts tonight. The last time I paid to have my haircut I must have been, shit.. 14? Yeah, it's been that long. Originally, I would have like to have gone to this other place that was closer to me called "Cost Cutters" (what a lame name), but there was a large family of mexicans waiting, and there wasn't any way in hell I was going to get my haircut there before they closed. I don't know why in the fuck I went ot supercuts, the lady who cut my hair was old, and probably about as impersonal as a fucking DMV clerk. What really is worse is that I tipped her, a crime, really I shouldn't have. You know what pops into my head when I think about this situation? Mr. Pink in the begining of Resivoir Dogs. It must have taken her about five fucking minutes to cut my hair, and she did a a fairly sloppy job.
Why is it that you tend to think clearer when you are drunk, well, at least I do...
Maybe it's because you don't hold back; your mind releases that plethora of angst that is usually held back by your conscious. Did that make sense? Probably not.
I had a mission tonight, that is, to get drunk off of Night Train, just like I did back home. My second choice was Cisco, but to no avail, I couldn't find any in this fucking town. Out of discouragement (and bordem!!), I drove to the next town, which is ten miles south on hwy 395, Minden it is named. I pulled up to the nearest liquor store, noticing a clean ass lifted Tacoma with a TRD supercharged decal on the back. So I'm shooting the shit with the owner for a bit, telling him about the customtacos.com army. He seemed really interested, and I told him about the upcoming west coast meet in sacremento. Hopefully he'll be there.
On the way back I passed a lowered civc (it had the '93-'00 body style with a fart can (those loud ass mufflers that don't do shit for performance, but make a god damn lot noise pollution). Well, the next light turned red, and I figured this dude might try to show me up. The light turns green and he starts to pull away, flooring it. I pulled away as I usually would, So as his fart can starts to fart, I floor it, hit redline, shift to 2nd, and then we are neck and neck. Approaching an incline in the road, I shift into 3rd passing the ricer and his ricey ass sack of rice.
Now I'm home still trying to update this entry hours later, drunk.