PTSD isn't just for kids anymore
I'm remarkably well-rested for getting only 5 hours of sleep last night. See what a week of genuinely enjoying the presence of the people around you can do for you? Okay, *most* of the people around you. So much happened over the past week that it's hard to organize it enough to splat it down onto bland copy and shit all over the internet with it. I do my best. This is not a comprehensive list, but it should serve the purpose.
The Best
I got to spend an entire week with my girl (you saw this coming, so kindly shush, thankee sai). The short, because I'm keeping the long, juicy details to myself: we pawed at each other a goodly amount, we were insufferable in all the good ways, I can be used to make people jealous and this panders to my ego in evil ways, tickle fights in tents teach me to be careful, dinosaurs are indeed *not* coming out of her ass (I checked), sushi runs are fun indeed, I'm better than a handbag, and I'm most assuredly up on The Game now. It's nice when you can spend an entire week with someone and leave crazier about them than you were when you arrived.
The Good
I spent my first night in New Orleans, seriously sleep-deprived. Though it was only one night, I think important milestones were hit: I walked Bourbon and Decatur Streets, I spent the night in a seedy, 30 buck a room hotel because our original punk whose couch we were to abuse didn't answer his phone until much later at night, I got positively stuffed on sweet things, I had the BEST SHRIMP EVER at Sammy's on Bourbon, I took a cemetary tour (which really turned into a rennie "let's-wander-the-streets-of-NOLA-and-oh-look-there's-a-cemetary" tour), I visited the Hustler store replete with its overly amusing assortment of sex toys, and I drank the water. I would've drunk the alcohol, but by the time we were actually set in New Orleans, I was running on 28 hours of no sleep and a massive amount of traveling and a full work day behind me. One drink would've knocked me right the hell out.
I also got to meet Colleen, who shares my love for making random noises and Invader Zim. She reminds me of an older, hippie-er version of my sister, which while odd does explain my instant affection for her. To sum up the experience, we spouted Zim quotes at each other, made random squeaking noises, and before I left I humped her back Wombat style. No, I don't know either...
Crissy spent many evenings melted across or along various parts of me. Nicole even commented on how odd it was that I can reduce her kitty to a puddle of furry ooze in minutes flat. I have a knack with cats and I, for some reason, really understand Crissy. She makes sense. And smells like kitten.
Louisiana RenFaire is small, but cozy. I'm certain their coffee made me sick to my stomach. Their popcorn, when not sweetened, is incredible. I actually ate little at the Faire proper, which my waistline and digestive tract profusely thank me for. I made up for it in town.
Drive-thru daiquiris are amusing. The banana ones, in particular, are far tastier than I would've initially thought.
Waffle House could only be made better if they served pancakes. They'd put IHOP right the hell out of business.
The Not-So-Good
While I was out of the office, my pay was reduced by 5%. Guess what I'm doing this winter?
I met a few individuals that gave me a head of flies, names omitted to preserve people's feelings. A bit of explanation is in order here, since I can't remember who I've explained this phenomenon to. Depending on the day, I am mildly to severely empathic. There's a much longer debate that can be had over whether empathy is a load of hokum, whether it's simply a quick analysis of visual cues, a link betwixt two people, or a effervescent cloud you can simply walk in to and get slapped across the face by. I believe in it and that's all that matters for my purposes here. Head of flies is exactly what it sounds like: being around someone(s) that grate against your psyche so hard all you can hear is a swarm of flies or other warbling background noise. Nicole witnessed this effect first-hand. I've occasionally been told my mood can swing fairly rapidly in wild directions; in these instances, it is always important to take stock of the mood of the people around me as well. Chances are I'm mirroring something. It's quite irritating. The French Quarter, however, left me chock full of positive vibe. Maybe it's being there with the person you love, or being so tired you can't speak your name coherently. Whatever it is, it's like being 10 feet tall and bulletproof. That said, there are some people that are so bat-shit crazy that I get extremely twitchy being within 10 feet of them. This happened a few times. I apologize for any gruff or uncouth mannerisms I affect while trying to drown out the head of flies.
It was cold. Boo. I was in a concrete floored booth during the coldest day wearing surprisingly little. Hella boo. It was easily made up for that night when I curled up next to Nicole. Yay.
That's really it... it was a good vacation!
The... WTF?!
I was searched 3 times in the NOLA airport. I must've looked like a rennie.
Crissy waits until 10 minutes before I move my bag out of the tent on the last day there to pee on it. I swear, cats can read minds.
Both my plane into NOLA and out of NOLA were late, each on the JFK side. I see a pattern.
Nobody, in fact, kilt checked me. Given the frequency this occurs, its non-happening merits a WTF.
I spent a week with rennies and still have an Oscar Myer Weenie whistle in my jacket pocket. How I did not find an opportune moment to whip that out baffles me.
My best friend is married. His reception will involve bringing your own tent.
I apparently hid my keys up Colleen's ass. This is making me wonder where I hid my phone charger.
Colleen and Jesus were loathe to shout things at Nicole and I mid-coitus. They claimed consideration; we claimed that they have poor timing.
Richie barely frisked me. Though I might be adamantly straight (sorry guys, still haven't switched), my ego most certainly doesn't take sides. Even given that, I'll take the minimal attention as a good thing and move right the hell along.
Shouting you have a cat up your ass in a rennie tent park doesn't even elict a chortle. Boo.
The Best
I got to spend an entire week with my girl (you saw this coming, so kindly shush, thankee sai). The short, because I'm keeping the long, juicy details to myself: we pawed at each other a goodly amount, we were insufferable in all the good ways, I can be used to make people jealous and this panders to my ego in evil ways, tickle fights in tents teach me to be careful, dinosaurs are indeed *not* coming out of her ass (I checked), sushi runs are fun indeed, I'm better than a handbag, and I'm most assuredly up on The Game now. It's nice when you can spend an entire week with someone and leave crazier about them than you were when you arrived.
The Good
I spent my first night in New Orleans, seriously sleep-deprived. Though it was only one night, I think important milestones were hit: I walked Bourbon and Decatur Streets, I spent the night in a seedy, 30 buck a room hotel because our original punk whose couch we were to abuse didn't answer his phone until much later at night, I got positively stuffed on sweet things, I had the BEST SHRIMP EVER at Sammy's on Bourbon, I took a cemetary tour (which really turned into a rennie "let's-wander-the-streets-of-NOLA-and-oh-look-there's-a-cemetary" tour), I visited the Hustler store replete with its overly amusing assortment of sex toys, and I drank the water. I would've drunk the alcohol, but by the time we were actually set in New Orleans, I was running on 28 hours of no sleep and a massive amount of traveling and a full work day behind me. One drink would've knocked me right the hell out.
I also got to meet Colleen, who shares my love for making random noises and Invader Zim. She reminds me of an older, hippie-er version of my sister, which while odd does explain my instant affection for her. To sum up the experience, we spouted Zim quotes at each other, made random squeaking noises, and before I left I humped her back Wombat style. No, I don't know either...
Crissy spent many evenings melted across or along various parts of me. Nicole even commented on how odd it was that I can reduce her kitty to a puddle of furry ooze in minutes flat. I have a knack with cats and I, for some reason, really understand Crissy. She makes sense. And smells like kitten.
Louisiana RenFaire is small, but cozy. I'm certain their coffee made me sick to my stomach. Their popcorn, when not sweetened, is incredible. I actually ate little at the Faire proper, which my waistline and digestive tract profusely thank me for. I made up for it in town.
Drive-thru daiquiris are amusing. The banana ones, in particular, are far tastier than I would've initially thought.
Waffle House could only be made better if they served pancakes. They'd put IHOP right the hell out of business.
The Not-So-Good
While I was out of the office, my pay was reduced by 5%. Guess what I'm doing this winter?
I met a few individuals that gave me a head of flies, names omitted to preserve people's feelings. A bit of explanation is in order here, since I can't remember who I've explained this phenomenon to. Depending on the day, I am mildly to severely empathic. There's a much longer debate that can be had over whether empathy is a load of hokum, whether it's simply a quick analysis of visual cues, a link betwixt two people, or a effervescent cloud you can simply walk in to and get slapped across the face by. I believe in it and that's all that matters for my purposes here. Head of flies is exactly what it sounds like: being around someone(s) that grate against your psyche so hard all you can hear is a swarm of flies or other warbling background noise. Nicole witnessed this effect first-hand. I've occasionally been told my mood can swing fairly rapidly in wild directions; in these instances, it is always important to take stock of the mood of the people around me as well. Chances are I'm mirroring something. It's quite irritating. The French Quarter, however, left me chock full of positive vibe. Maybe it's being there with the person you love, or being so tired you can't speak your name coherently. Whatever it is, it's like being 10 feet tall and bulletproof. That said, there are some people that are so bat-shit crazy that I get extremely twitchy being within 10 feet of them. This happened a few times. I apologize for any gruff or uncouth mannerisms I affect while trying to drown out the head of flies.
It was cold. Boo. I was in a concrete floored booth during the coldest day wearing surprisingly little. Hella boo. It was easily made up for that night when I curled up next to Nicole. Yay.
That's really it... it was a good vacation!
The... WTF?!
I was searched 3 times in the NOLA airport. I must've looked like a rennie.
Crissy waits until 10 minutes before I move my bag out of the tent on the last day there to pee on it. I swear, cats can read minds.
Both my plane into NOLA and out of NOLA were late, each on the JFK side. I see a pattern.
Nobody, in fact, kilt checked me. Given the frequency this occurs, its non-happening merits a WTF.
I spent a week with rennies and still have an Oscar Myer Weenie whistle in my jacket pocket. How I did not find an opportune moment to whip that out baffles me.
My best friend is married. His reception will involve bringing your own tent.
I apparently hid my keys up Colleen's ass. This is making me wonder where I hid my phone charger.
Colleen and Jesus were loathe to shout things at Nicole and I mid-coitus. They claimed consideration; we claimed that they have poor timing.
Richie barely frisked me. Though I might be adamantly straight (sorry guys, still haven't switched), my ego most certainly doesn't take sides. Even given that, I'll take the minimal attention as a good thing and move right the hell along.
Shouting you have a cat up your ass in a rennie tent park doesn't even elict a chortle. Boo.