30 in 30 IV - II - Trip to San Antonio
Goddamn, I'm terrible at this. I'd probably do better if I actually had the internet at home, and didn't have to go to Starbucks or work to do, well, anything. But odds are it'll be a few weeks yet, since I'm a lazy fuck who can shirk responsibility with a nearly athletic vigor. I think one time I broke a sweat putting off a bill.
Last weekend, I helped pbaseball24 move all of his (very heavy) shit from Sang Ang to Dallas. The plan was to head down to Austin on Friday, have a good time, then drive south on Saturday, pack up all his things, and unload them by Saturday night, allowing us to party again. The trip started off well. bretthoerner killed a bottle of wine before the trip, and a significant portion of a bottle of jack during the car ride. He was already drunk - not tipsy, drunk - before we hit Waco. I was feeling pretty good myself, feeding myself on a diet of Gatorade and vodka. We had one bathroom stop at a rest stop that didn't actually have any restrooms, so we had to pee on a fence and wave our penises at passers-by. One woman honked at Brett; I imagine it was a compliment.
The weekend took a significant nosedive when Scott's car started having problems when we pulled in. I can't really remember what happened after that, but we went to a steakhouse to claim delicious steaks in lieu of actual payment for moving his things, and then hit 6th street.
After that, everything is a blur. I know we stopped by to see the twins at Ink (formerly Lava Lounge), and I know we stopped by The Library - I'm not sure which part of "I'd like to go to a bar where the music isn't fucking my ears" was misheard - and ended up, as usual, at Bull McCabe's. I think we went to Whataburger because I woke up with one in my hand. We all woke up with a tremendous hangover, which was what I feared and yet knew to be inevitable. Stoically, we sat around watching TV until around 3 o'clock, when it became clear that Scott's car wouldn't get fixed that day. We borrowed Meyassa's car, and went down to San Antonio, arriving at 5pm. At this point we realized that only an act of god - and a particularly benevolent one at that - would get us back to Dallas that night, and decided that maybe another night in Austin wasn't such a bad thing. I knew of a pretty good party going down, so moods increased.
That was before we moved his INCREDIBLY GODDAMNED HEAVY SHIT DOWN THREE FLIGHTS OF STAIRS. If I had to guess, I'd say that his bed alone is made out of 50% solid lead, 40% more lead, and 10% neutronium. We didn't make it back to ATX until 11:30, and by that point, all we wanted was a shower and some sleep.
Sunday was uneventful. Brett was still hung over, as per his prerogative, and we packed all of Scott's shit into the storage unit, lamenting how $20 worth of steak - that we didn't even clearly remember - was clearly not sufficient compensation. Not to mention, we had serious doubts about the elevator we were using to move all of his stuff to the third floor. At one point, the cart hit the wall, and the emergency phone compartment popped open, and the circuitboard fell out. All plans to move my shit into my new apartment on the same night were quickly abandoned, and instead I went to see Tub Ring in Lewisville. While there I saw many other fantastic things, such as Becca, a former Nazi Crossdresser who's appeared in my LJ before, and one of the most inspirational sights in my life.
Stay tuned, Ladies, & Gentlement & Etc.
(a fair warning: My camera was stolen in Austin many a moon ago, so the only pictures I have are blurry cameraphone snaps instead of wonderful high-quality jpegs. In their stead, I will offer you One (1) Hearty Lol per post, as I used to do in the days of yore.)
Edit & Clarification @ 22:22 - Note that Scott was driving, and he stayed sober. Only Brett, Chris and I got hammered and sickled on the ride down.
Last weekend, I helped pbaseball24 move all of his (very heavy) shit from Sang Ang to Dallas. The plan was to head down to Austin on Friday, have a good time, then drive south on Saturday, pack up all his things, and unload them by Saturday night, allowing us to party again. The trip started off well. bretthoerner killed a bottle of wine before the trip, and a significant portion of a bottle of jack during the car ride. He was already drunk - not tipsy, drunk - before we hit Waco. I was feeling pretty good myself, feeding myself on a diet of Gatorade and vodka. We had one bathroom stop at a rest stop that didn't actually have any restrooms, so we had to pee on a fence and wave our penises at passers-by. One woman honked at Brett; I imagine it was a compliment.
The weekend took a significant nosedive when Scott's car started having problems when we pulled in. I can't really remember what happened after that, but we went to a steakhouse to claim delicious steaks in lieu of actual payment for moving his things, and then hit 6th street.
After that, everything is a blur. I know we stopped by to see the twins at Ink (formerly Lava Lounge), and I know we stopped by The Library - I'm not sure which part of "I'd like to go to a bar where the music isn't fucking my ears" was misheard - and ended up, as usual, at Bull McCabe's. I think we went to Whataburger because I woke up with one in my hand. We all woke up with a tremendous hangover, which was what I feared and yet knew to be inevitable. Stoically, we sat around watching TV until around 3 o'clock, when it became clear that Scott's car wouldn't get fixed that day. We borrowed Meyassa's car, and went down to San Antonio, arriving at 5pm. At this point we realized that only an act of god - and a particularly benevolent one at that - would get us back to Dallas that night, and decided that maybe another night in Austin wasn't such a bad thing. I knew of a pretty good party going down, so moods increased.
That was before we moved his INCREDIBLY GODDAMNED HEAVY SHIT DOWN THREE FLIGHTS OF STAIRS. If I had to guess, I'd say that his bed alone is made out of 50% solid lead, 40% more lead, and 10% neutronium. We didn't make it back to ATX until 11:30, and by that point, all we wanted was a shower and some sleep.
Sunday was uneventful. Brett was still hung over, as per his prerogative, and we packed all of Scott's shit into the storage unit, lamenting how $20 worth of steak - that we didn't even clearly remember - was clearly not sufficient compensation. Not to mention, we had serious doubts about the elevator we were using to move all of his stuff to the third floor. At one point, the cart hit the wall, and the emergency phone compartment popped open, and the circuitboard fell out. All plans to move my shit into my new apartment on the same night were quickly abandoned, and instead I went to see Tub Ring in Lewisville. While there I saw many other fantastic things, such as Becca, a former Nazi Crossdresser who's appeared in my LJ before, and one of the most inspirational sights in my life.
Stay tuned, Ladies, & Gentlement & Etc.
(a fair warning: My camera was stolen in Austin many a moon ago, so the only pictures I have are blurry cameraphone snaps instead of wonderful high-quality jpegs. In their stead, I will offer you One (1) Hearty Lol per post, as I used to do in the days of yore.)
Edit & Clarification @ 22:22 - Note that Scott was driving, and he stayed sober. Only Brett, Chris and I got hammered and sickled on the ride down.