Killer trapped in Atlanta, and wondering how to get hold of Mist1.
My flight out of Memphis was delayed. This travesty caused me to miss my connection in Atlanta. I was given the option of waiting 28 hours, getting a free 4 star hotel room and a first class ticket to Sacramento, OR I could sit in the airport for the next 24 hours and attempt to get a standby ticket on every flight that sails to Sac town.
I quickly called in sick for work, canceled my Monday appointment with my personal trainer, and headed to Ruby Tuesday before checking in at the Sheraton. After having my first three days off in a month, I figured one more would not kill me.
Apparently there is a "Nor'easter" storm hitting the East Coast, combine that with an apparent strike with European airlines, and there is an abundance of people stranded for several days. This has created some great stories for Killer Rants.
I was waiting in line to rebook my flight. It was a long and winding line, but luckily, I enjoy lines. I love watching people get upset and angered at the innocent ticket agent for events that are obviously out of their control. Everyone is irrational and think if they act upset enough they will get placed on the extra-secret flight that is leaving in ten minutes for their home town. I am a firm believer that Karma is watching and casting judgement for this as needed. Allow me to give you the greatest example EVER: There was a man three people ahead of me, in the monstrosity of a line, he was great to be around in line, he would monitor the line ahead, and behind, and whenever anyone was attempting to butt, he would call them out, loudly and proficiently. "Hey, Hey, Hey, You see all those people? They are not standing in such an orderly fashion for their health. You need to go the end." I was loving this guy, and loving the confrontations in which I was not involved, but secretly hoping for a violent escalation. Once he managed to get in front of the ticket agent it was on. He was shouting, waving his hands and quoting scripture as to why he HAD to be in Philly TONIGHT. After about fifteen minutes he finally realized that NO flight was getting to Philly tonight and he was outraged that he could not get his luggage. "I have very important pills in my luggage!" he shouted. The ticket agent said, "You should not check you medications." He flipped his shit. I was loving it, not just because of his reaction, but because me and Chad had heard this exact same exchange once in Detroit after being stranded there for a night. The best, most AWESOME thing about this whole exchange was mid-way through his tirade I realized that he had one of those paper toilet seat covers sticking out of the back of his pants. It was hanging down perfectly framing his ass. Once I realized this, I was frantic trying to find someone cool around me to point it out to. I was so spastically excited about it, I did not think of taking a picture with my phone until he was walking away. At that time, I whipped my phone out in such a hurry I flung it about five feet away and hit an Asian lady in the tit. Her face at this was so awesomely aghast, I did not apologize, but instead dove down for my phone to take a picture of her expression. I think the high level of excitement made me lose control of my dexterity because I could not pick the phone up and then the line moved along. I was stuck looking at everyone around me with a big stupid grin on my face and no one had seemed to notice any of this. I spent the next couple of hours laughing to myself about the whole ordeal.
The second event that made this night incredibly awesome was on the shuttle bus to the Sheraton. There were a couple of super country old men who were way over stimulated by the airport and the big city. One was 59. I know this because he proudly told everyone that he turns 60 on his next birthday in a couple of weeks, he said this with a proud grin on his face that highlighted both of his teeth. He informed everyone on the bus that he, and his travel companion, were supposed to be going to Ireland to take apart a "machine". The next contribution made to race relations was a question posted to an Asian man sitting across from him, "Are you Chinese or Japanese?" He asked without a hint of malice, it seemed he was genuinely curious. The Asian guy, who was on the phone on the time, speaking with a perfect, non-regional American dialect smiled and replied, "I don't know, what do you think?" The old country guy guffawed, "I don't know, my sister in law used to be Korear." (I don't know exactly what Korear is.) The Asian guy didn't miss a beat, "what is she now?" But, the old country guy had already turned his attention to a couple from London at the back of the bus. "Are ya'll from Ireland?" "No, we are from London." responded the English guy. "Hell, we're supposed to be in Ireland right now, taking apart a 'machine'." At this point I was getting over excited from this exchange. I could not believe me luck, two insane interactions in a one hour period. It was quiet for a second and then the old country guy suddenly asked, "Do you have computers in Ireland?" "We live in London." said the London girl. "Do you have computer's in London?" The London couple exchanged a exasperated glance, "Yes, we have a computer in London." Then the old country guy said, "Well, our church is on the computer every Sunday." He then reached in his pocket and pulled out stack of cards with his church name, email address and website. It listed the live web cast times, and he proceeded to give one to everyone on the bus. I LOVED this guy. I wanted to put him in a big mayonnaise jar, poke some air holes in the top, and take him home with me. There is nothing this couple has experienced in America that will top this exchange on the bus in Atlanta.
This has only affirmed my belief in never travelling alone. Everyone else around me was too wrapped up in their own little worlds to enjoy this stuff. If only I could keep it together long enough to get some pictures of these people. I also can't quit wondering if that Asian lady has a bruise on her tit.
Showing posts with label Travel Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Travel Stories. Show all posts
Monday, April 16, 2007
Friday, March 16, 2007
The Tormenting of Mrs. Clib
The summer before my Senior year in High School I became really good friends with a odd group of people. At it's core was Clib. Clib and I would quickly become best buds, mostly related to our mutual ability to find ANYTHING and EVERYTHING funny.
It was because of Clib I would meet Chad (his brother) and Disco (who grew up across the street from Clib and Chad). It was also Clib's idea to take the first camping trip to the Smokey Mountains that would incite a lifetime of wanderlust.
It is safe to assume my life would be totally different if I had not befriended one guy named Clib.
Considering how important he is in my life, an understandably huge impact was made upon my delicate balance when he announced he was getting married. I had always enjoyed the soon-to-be Mrs. Clib. She never got angry when we farted around her (unlike Liz). She didn't seem to mind much when we laugh manically for long stretches about different ways to have sex with a goat (or similar topics). She even seems to enjoy, and get involved, in our all night religious/political discussions, and NO one else is willing to do that.
All these great things but I still could not help having reservations about my best friend tying the knot. Would he give her access to his vault, with all my dirty secrets and peccadilloes? (Not yet.) Would she put the kibosh on our travelling ways. (Sort of, but understandably so. Would you support an artist and then fund his gallivanting around the world without you?) Would she make him dress better, therefore leaving ME as the worst dressed person we know. (Yes, she did.)
I spent all my time worrying about these issues and did not realize what we were gaining by having her around. Since they got married several years ago, we have had a enthusiastic and innocent person to torment.
A few examples of things we have done to irritate Mrs. Clib:
One time Me and Clib had made a quick beer run and on the way home decided to use frequent finger quotes (use both hands to make quotation marks) while talking to Mrs. Clib. For example:
ME: We just ran to the "store" and got a few "beers".
CLIB: Yeah, "beer". I love "beer".
ME: Let's have some "beer" and watch the "football game".
CLIB: First I want to "eat" a "hotdog".
Mrs. Clib realized something was amiss, but tried to ignore it (often the best plan with us). After about an hour or so of this (we are very dedicated to a joke), she finally responded.
Mrs. Clib: What are you guys doing?
We just laughed and laughed. She looked at us with annoyance while sighing.
Mrs. Clib: You guys are "stupid".
We also frequently tell her we are actually gay lovers and she is just around for a front. Clib does not want to tarnish his reputation in the conservative world of fine art by coming out. She REALLY hates this, especially when she is going to bed early and Clib says something like, "I hope our loud, animalistic, man-on-man lovin' doesn't keep you awake." I will also occasionally call their house, and when she answers say, "Oh God, I am soooo horny. I need you bad." Her response, "What!" Then I say, "Oh, sorry. Can I talk to Clib."
On Mrs. Clib's first, and for some reason only, attempt to go camping with Me, Chad, Disco and Clib, we were enjoying a few alcoholic beverages around the camp fire in Yellowstone, when Clib decided to turn in early. He had wrapped a long day of us giving him shit for having to take her into town for a shower, and stand in line for Diet Coke, etc.
Mrs. Clib, wanting to hang with the big dogs, decided to stay up and toss back a few more libations. Once she did decide to turn in however, we warned her that as an initiation we would have to give her the Brown Eye once she fell asleep. For a lawyer, Mrs. Clib can be pretty gullible, especially after several alcoholic beverages, so she was afraid to go to sleep. Instead, she would stay up for another hour pleading to not get the Brown Eye. Finally she gave in, demanded to be left alone, and crawled into her and Clib's tent. We would soon begin a loud and lively debate over who would get to deliver the Brown Eye, this would later digress to suspicious silence and rummaging outside her tent. When she had taken enough, she woke up Clib to complain, who got mad at her for waking him, and then yelled at us to leave her alone.
Luckily Mrs. Clib has an incredible sense of humor and a LOT of patience. It was probably bad enough that she was about to marry a starving, brilliant artist, she was also marrying a bunch of immature morons to boot.
It was because of Clib I would meet Chad (his brother) and Disco (who grew up across the street from Clib and Chad). It was also Clib's idea to take the first camping trip to the Smokey Mountains that would incite a lifetime of wanderlust.
It is safe to assume my life would be totally different if I had not befriended one guy named Clib.
Considering how important he is in my life, an understandably huge impact was made upon my delicate balance when he announced he was getting married. I had always enjoyed the soon-to-be Mrs. Clib. She never got angry when we farted around her (unlike Liz). She didn't seem to mind much when we laugh manically for long stretches about different ways to have sex with a goat (or similar topics). She even seems to enjoy, and get involved, in our all night religious/political discussions, and NO one else is willing to do that.
All these great things but I still could not help having reservations about my best friend tying the knot. Would he give her access to his vault, with all my dirty secrets and peccadilloes? (Not yet.) Would she put the kibosh on our travelling ways. (Sort of, but understandably so. Would you support an artist and then fund his gallivanting around the world without you?) Would she make him dress better, therefore leaving ME as the worst dressed person we know. (Yes, she did.)
I spent all my time worrying about these issues and did not realize what we were gaining by having her around. Since they got married several years ago, we have had a enthusiastic and innocent person to torment.
A few examples of things we have done to irritate Mrs. Clib:
One time Me and Clib had made a quick beer run and on the way home decided to use frequent finger quotes (use both hands to make quotation marks) while talking to Mrs. Clib. For example:
ME: We just ran to the "store" and got a few "beers".
CLIB: Yeah, "beer". I love "beer".
ME: Let's have some "beer" and watch the "football game".
CLIB: First I want to "eat" a "hotdog".
Mrs. Clib realized something was amiss, but tried to ignore it (often the best plan with us). After about an hour or so of this (we are very dedicated to a joke), she finally responded.
Mrs. Clib: What are you guys doing?
We just laughed and laughed. She looked at us with annoyance while sighing.
Mrs. Clib: You guys are "stupid".
We also frequently tell her we are actually gay lovers and she is just around for a front. Clib does not want to tarnish his reputation in the conservative world of fine art by coming out. She REALLY hates this, especially when she is going to bed early and Clib says something like, "I hope our loud, animalistic, man-on-man lovin' doesn't keep you awake." I will also occasionally call their house, and when she answers say, "Oh God, I am soooo horny. I need you bad." Her response, "What!" Then I say, "Oh, sorry. Can I talk to Clib."
On Mrs. Clib's first, and for some reason only, attempt to go camping with Me, Chad, Disco and Clib, we were enjoying a few alcoholic beverages around the camp fire in Yellowstone, when Clib decided to turn in early. He had wrapped a long day of us giving him shit for having to take her into town for a shower, and stand in line for Diet Coke, etc.
Mrs. Clib, wanting to hang with the big dogs, decided to stay up and toss back a few more libations. Once she did decide to turn in however, we warned her that as an initiation we would have to give her the Brown Eye once she fell asleep. For a lawyer, Mrs. Clib can be pretty gullible, especially after several alcoholic beverages, so she was afraid to go to sleep. Instead, she would stay up for another hour pleading to not get the Brown Eye. Finally she gave in, demanded to be left alone, and crawled into her and Clib's tent. We would soon begin a loud and lively debate over who would get to deliver the Brown Eye, this would later digress to suspicious silence and rummaging outside her tent. When she had taken enough, she woke up Clib to complain, who got mad at her for waking him, and then yelled at us to leave her alone.
Luckily Mrs. Clib has an incredible sense of humor and a LOT of patience. It was probably bad enough that she was about to marry a starving, brilliant artist, she was also marrying a bunch of immature morons to boot.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Idiot Vernacular
Our spending so much time together travelling around, combined with our immaturity, brought about the frequent formation of new words to describe our actions and/or derogatory remarks of one another. It has been said that when myself, Chad, Clib and Disco get together it can be very difficult for an outside person to understand what we are talking, and subsequently, giggling about. Most often this is said by Clib's wife, Mrs. Clib.
Here is a list of some of the words/phrases we use in regular conversation with each other.
Anius: Combo of anus and genius. Refers to a person who has done something stupid, but thinks it was something great.
Cup of Soup: When you fart into your hand, or a hat, and throw it into someone else's face.
Grump: Poop (as in, "I have to grump" or "I'm feeling a bit grumpy")
HUD house: Outhouse/Porta potty/Pit Toilet (as in, "This campground better have a HUD house, I gotta grump."
Couch Monkey: A person who is living on your couch, usually over staying their welcome.
50% of Dick is Dick: When someone offers you a deal, but it is not very good.
Onion: A nice Ass. (as in, "Check that onion.") often said in an exaggerated Coon Ass drawl, Un-Yawn.
Turd Cutter: Also a nice Ass.
Fuck Me in The Goat Ass: A response to something unbelievable.
Crop Dusting: Walking in front of someone and farting.
Disrespecting an Area: A warning to others you just farted. (as in, "I just totally disrespected this 7-eleven.")
Nerts/Juevos/Cajones/Junk/Kibbles n Bits/My Boys/Das Nuts: Testicles
Go Balls Out: Give it all you got.
Sherm: Sex. (as in, "Did you see Sherm?" "Man, it's been so long since I've seen Sherm, I don't even remember what he looks like.")
Craptastic: When something is bad.
2 Cd's for Free: Asking someone if they want to look at your testicles. (as in, "Would you like 2 CD's for Free?...See Deeze Nuts!" at this point you must point to your crotch with both hands)
Brown Eye: Squatting over a sleeping person with your naked ass. (as in, "If you fall asleep, I am going to give you the Brown Eye.")
Zap: Gay. (as in, One time Clib came out wearing cover-alls with no shirt, we thought he looked like a gay, male stripper. Instead of saying that, we all kept saying "zap" to him all day." This is stolen from The Simpsons season 8, when Homer thought Bart was gay, because Bart was walking around with a laser gun saying, "zap".
zero + zero = gay: A way to tell someone they are not dating enough. (as in, "How many girls did you go out with last month?" reply, "none." "How many girls have you gone out with this month?" reply, "none." "Hmmm, zero + zero = gay.") To be fair, gay people could say, "zero+zero= straight"
Corky: Mentally or physically challenged.
Smelling European: Bad body odor. (as in, "Dude, you are smelling mighty European.")
Rick: When you are inconsiderate of your fellow travellers, or become increasingly annoying. (as in, "Quit being a Rick, and let's get out of here.")
2000 Baht: A reference to a hot chick, or a reference to a prostitute. (as in, "I'd give that chick 2000 Baht." or "I bet she charges 2000 Baht.") This is derived from the frequent price given (unsolicited) from Thai whores, while walking down Bangkok streets.
Corbin: A derogatory comment about a city or town. (as in, "This place is almost as bad as Corbin.") On one of our very first trips, we got lost and then the bike rack mysteriously snapped off the back of the van in Corbin, Kentucky, forever making it the worst town in the world. On a side note: Corbin is the birth place of KFC.
I am going to pound your prostate: A term of endearment, sort of like, I love you.
Do you and your friends have any special words or phrases?
Here is a list of some of the words/phrases we use in regular conversation with each other.
Anius: Combo of anus and genius. Refers to a person who has done something stupid, but thinks it was something great.
Cup of Soup: When you fart into your hand, or a hat, and throw it into someone else's face.
Grump: Poop (as in, "I have to grump" or "I'm feeling a bit grumpy")
HUD house: Outhouse/Porta potty/Pit Toilet (as in, "This campground better have a HUD house, I gotta grump."
Couch Monkey: A person who is living on your couch, usually over staying their welcome.
50% of Dick is Dick: When someone offers you a deal, but it is not very good.
Onion: A nice Ass. (as in, "Check that onion.") often said in an exaggerated Coon Ass drawl, Un-Yawn.
Turd Cutter: Also a nice Ass.
Fuck Me in The Goat Ass: A response to something unbelievable.
Crop Dusting: Walking in front of someone and farting.
Disrespecting an Area: A warning to others you just farted. (as in, "I just totally disrespected this 7-eleven.")
Nerts/Juevos/Cajones/Junk/Kibbles n Bits/My Boys/Das Nuts: Testicles
Go Balls Out: Give it all you got.
Sherm: Sex. (as in, "Did you see Sherm?" "Man, it's been so long since I've seen Sherm, I don't even remember what he looks like.")
Craptastic: When something is bad.
2 Cd's for Free: Asking someone if they want to look at your testicles. (as in, "Would you like 2 CD's for Free?...See Deeze Nuts!" at this point you must point to your crotch with both hands)
Brown Eye: Squatting over a sleeping person with your naked ass. (as in, "If you fall asleep, I am going to give you the Brown Eye.")
Zap: Gay. (as in, One time Clib came out wearing cover-alls with no shirt, we thought he looked like a gay, male stripper. Instead of saying that, we all kept saying "zap" to him all day." This is stolen from The Simpsons season 8, when Homer thought Bart was gay, because Bart was walking around with a laser gun saying, "zap".
zero + zero = gay: A way to tell someone they are not dating enough. (as in, "How many girls did you go out with last month?" reply, "none." "How many girls have you gone out with this month?" reply, "none." "Hmmm, zero + zero = gay.") To be fair, gay people could say, "zero+zero= straight"
Corky: Mentally or physically challenged.
Smelling European: Bad body odor. (as in, "Dude, you are smelling mighty European.")
Rick: When you are inconsiderate of your fellow travellers, or become increasingly annoying. (as in, "Quit being a Rick, and let's get out of here.")
2000 Baht: A reference to a hot chick, or a reference to a prostitute. (as in, "I'd give that chick 2000 Baht." or "I bet she charges 2000 Baht.") This is derived from the frequent price given (unsolicited) from Thai whores, while walking down Bangkok streets.
Corbin: A derogatory comment about a city or town. (as in, "This place is almost as bad as Corbin.") On one of our very first trips, we got lost and then the bike rack mysteriously snapped off the back of the van in Corbin, Kentucky, forever making it the worst town in the world. On a side note: Corbin is the birth place of KFC.
I am going to pound your prostate: A term of endearment, sort of like, I love you.
Do you and your friends have any special words or phrases?
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Arkansas Coon Peggin'
About 1998 or so, we decided to take a short weekend camping trip to the Ozark Mountains in Arkansas. It was mostly a chance for Chad to include his youngest brother, Matt. Matt was probably 15 at the time, so an opportunity to go camping with his big brother, and his incredibly awesome pals, must have seemed like the chance of a lifetime. This trip included myself, Chad, Disco, and Matt.
We set up camp in a fairly empty campground. I guess it was still a little cool for the average outdoorsman. After cooking a gourmet camp meal we started hearing something rustling in the bushes right next to the camp. We were concerned about bears so it was a bit tense. Then we heard more rustling on the other side. We were surrounded by what could be large, ravenous carnivores. In order to secure our campsite and the booze, we sent Matt into the bushes with a flashlight and a stick.
Matt retreated quickly, but not from a bear. We were infested with raccoons. The raccoons were soon venturing closer and closer to our campsite looking for food. We shooed them away, picked up our trash, and sent Matt off to clean the dirty pots and pans.
Once we felt positive our gear was raccoon proof we broke out the cards and got serious about the drinking. Not Matt, however, he was not really interested in drinking at that time, and Chad had promised his Mom we would not morally corrupt him. (And she reads this blog)
Once the booze started flowing we realized Matt needed a nickname, all cool people have nicknames. After a brief discussion we decided on "Manius". A combination of Matt and Anius (Anius is a term our group had coined several years earlier. It is a combo of Anus and Genius, and it refers to someone who has done something stupid, but think they did something great.) To be fair, we gave him the option of Manius or Fucknut. He chose Manius with great enthusiasm.
Manius did much more than wash pots and check for bears, he was also an excellent bartender. he would retrieve beer from the cooler and mix drinks for Chad and Disco
Soon we realized the raccoons were still milling about in great numbers on a quest for loose food. Manius grabbed a rock and hurled it into the bushes. He was rewarded with a very satisfying thump, followed by an angry squeal. This was found to be very entertaining, so after sending Manius on a mission to collect more rocks, we all began to take aim at the local fauna.
Quickly it was realized that they would come closer if we turned off the lantern and sat in the dark. We would go pitch black and completely silent, until we could hear them in the campsite. Then, armed with a handful rocks, we would flip on the light and start coon peggin'.
It got hard to guess where they were going to be when the light came on so we opened a can of beans and dumped them at the edge of the campsite. Now, when we turned the lantern on, there was a large congregated swarm at the bean pile, thus making peggin' much easier.
Eventually I would get tired of of rock throwing, so I had found a eight foot stick and was holding it perfectly still next to the bean pile, and when the light came on, I would attempt to poke one before the all ran away. After about an hour, I had managed to poke one. He felt really soft.
I learned a lot about raccoons that night. For starters, when they become over populated, they are very daring in their pursuit of grub. Second, raccoons love beans. Third, getting hit with a rock is not much of a deterrent for hungry raccoons. Finally, if you hit a raccoon just right he will do a flip, but he won't spit out his mouthful of beans.
Later that night, when we were all snuggled inside our sleeping bags, I had a vivid dream we were attacked by an angry mob of rabid raccoons, but it was justified by karma, so I accepted my fate.
We set up camp in a fairly empty campground. I guess it was still a little cool for the average outdoorsman. After cooking a gourmet camp meal we started hearing something rustling in the bushes right next to the camp. We were concerned about bears so it was a bit tense. Then we heard more rustling on the other side. We were surrounded by what could be large, ravenous carnivores. In order to secure our campsite and the booze, we sent Matt into the bushes with a flashlight and a stick.
Matt retreated quickly, but not from a bear. We were infested with raccoons. The raccoons were soon venturing closer and closer to our campsite looking for food. We shooed them away, picked up our trash, and sent Matt off to clean the dirty pots and pans.
Once we felt positive our gear was raccoon proof we broke out the cards and got serious about the drinking. Not Matt, however, he was not really interested in drinking at that time, and Chad had promised his Mom we would not morally corrupt him. (And she reads this blog)
Once the booze started flowing we realized Matt needed a nickname, all cool people have nicknames. After a brief discussion we decided on "Manius". A combination of Matt and Anius (Anius is a term our group had coined several years earlier. It is a combo of Anus and Genius, and it refers to someone who has done something stupid, but think they did something great.) To be fair, we gave him the option of Manius or Fucknut. He chose Manius with great enthusiasm.
Manius did much more than wash pots and check for bears, he was also an excellent bartender. he would retrieve beer from the cooler and mix drinks for Chad and Disco
Soon we realized the raccoons were still milling about in great numbers on a quest for loose food. Manius grabbed a rock and hurled it into the bushes. He was rewarded with a very satisfying thump, followed by an angry squeal. This was found to be very entertaining, so after sending Manius on a mission to collect more rocks, we all began to take aim at the local fauna.
Quickly it was realized that they would come closer if we turned off the lantern and sat in the dark. We would go pitch black and completely silent, until we could hear them in the campsite. Then, armed with a handful rocks, we would flip on the light and start coon peggin'.
It got hard to guess where they were going to be when the light came on so we opened a can of beans and dumped them at the edge of the campsite. Now, when we turned the lantern on, there was a large congregated swarm at the bean pile, thus making peggin' much easier.
Eventually I would get tired of of rock throwing, so I had found a eight foot stick and was holding it perfectly still next to the bean pile, and when the light came on, I would attempt to poke one before the all ran away. After about an hour, I had managed to poke one. He felt really soft.
I learned a lot about raccoons that night. For starters, when they become over populated, they are very daring in their pursuit of grub. Second, raccoons love beans. Third, getting hit with a rock is not much of a deterrent for hungry raccoons. Finally, if you hit a raccoon just right he will do a flip, but he won't spit out his mouthful of beans.
Later that night, when we were all snuggled inside our sleeping bags, I had a vivid dream we were attacked by an angry mob of rabid raccoons, but it was justified by karma, so I accepted my fate.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
There is a reason I sleep alone
I have a sleeping problem. Not so much a problem for me, but a dangerous problem for people sleeping in close proximity of me. Not flatulence, that is unpleasant, but not really a dangerous problem.
I will be having a dream and sort of jump up and act on that dream in a half awake/half asleep state. When I was young it would not be uncommon for me to wake up in my room, but my blanket and/or pillow would be in the dining room.
I frequently will have a dream someone is attacking me, so I will leap up in bed, punch my pillow several times and then fling it across the room. I'll usually wake up at that point and take several moments to convince myself it is only a dream. These events go innocently unnoticed, except to my pillow, because there are no witnesses, but when I started travelling with my friends, there were others to see my nocturnal fits of rage.
On our very first trip we went to the Smokey Mountain National Park in Tennessee. We spent the inaugural day hiking and exploring the region, returning to camp thoroughly exhausted. My night frights are more frequent when I am really tired.
We cooked up a hearty meal and tucked ourselves in our sleeping bags with plans of an early start in the morning. At some point, in the middle of the night, I was having a dream that someone was outside the tent shaking it, or trying to push it over. Apparently I had started muttering in my sleep, because Chad and Clib were both awake in time to see me leap from my sleeping bag in one smooth motion, unzip the tent in lightning speed, and charge out into the cool mountain air yelling, "FUCKERS!" They were quite aghast since this was really the first time we had slept around each other. I slowly realized that no one was outside, so I tucked my tail between my legs and reentered the tent. I didn't say anything and just crawled back in my bag. I think they were too startled to laugh, but they have more than made up for that by laughing about it constantly since.
In 1999 we took the Grand Daddy of all cross country journeys. 5 weeks to drive from Mississippi over to California, up the coast to Seattle and the through Canada to Alaska. We added two more guys, so the trip consisted of myself, Chad, Clib, Disco, and Biggie. More people to behold my problem.
We were camping out in Northern California, at Redwood National Park, and our campsite was a giant sink hole. It was about twenty feet deep and about forty feet in diameter. It was quite cool actually. We had spent the day hiking and trying to smuggle mutant pine cones out, and when it got dark we all piled into the tent. I fell asleep right away, and started dreaming someone was about to push a giant boulder into the hole on top of our tent. I jumped out of my sleeping bag and started yelling, "Get out! Everybody get out!" Clib and Biggie awoke with a start and looked around, frightened but confused. Chad, however, shot out of his sleeping bag, fumbled with the zipper, and was half way out before Disco, who had been awake the entire time reading, casually told everyone to relax, nothing was going on. Once again, I didn't say a word, but just slunk back into my bag, secretly wishing a boulder would fall on the tent to vindicate me. Maybe a small one.
And My Favorite
This one took place in High School, before my travelling days, but it is still pretty funny. One night I was sleeping in my bed, alone since I was not very suave, even in High School. I was having a bizarre dream that a giant Amoeba had enveloped a close friend. I was fighting ferociously with the Amoeba trying to rip it open so my friend could breath. I could see his face inside as he was suffocating. Finally I managed to tear it open and save the day. I woke up the next morning and my entire room was coated in small, dirty grey feathers. I had ripped my pillow open and beat it to death. It took me days to clean up all those damn feathers. That was my favorite pillow to boot.
I will be having a dream and sort of jump up and act on that dream in a half awake/half asleep state. When I was young it would not be uncommon for me to wake up in my room, but my blanket and/or pillow would be in the dining room.
I frequently will have a dream someone is attacking me, so I will leap up in bed, punch my pillow several times and then fling it across the room. I'll usually wake up at that point and take several moments to convince myself it is only a dream. These events go innocently unnoticed, except to my pillow, because there are no witnesses, but when I started travelling with my friends, there were others to see my nocturnal fits of rage.
On our very first trip we went to the Smokey Mountain National Park in Tennessee. We spent the inaugural day hiking and exploring the region, returning to camp thoroughly exhausted. My night frights are more frequent when I am really tired.
We cooked up a hearty meal and tucked ourselves in our sleeping bags with plans of an early start in the morning. At some point, in the middle of the night, I was having a dream that someone was outside the tent shaking it, or trying to push it over. Apparently I had started muttering in my sleep, because Chad and Clib were both awake in time to see me leap from my sleeping bag in one smooth motion, unzip the tent in lightning speed, and charge out into the cool mountain air yelling, "FUCKERS!" They were quite aghast since this was really the first time we had slept around each other. I slowly realized that no one was outside, so I tucked my tail between my legs and reentered the tent. I didn't say anything and just crawled back in my bag. I think they were too startled to laugh, but they have more than made up for that by laughing about it constantly since.
In 1999 we took the Grand Daddy of all cross country journeys. 5 weeks to drive from Mississippi over to California, up the coast to Seattle and the through Canada to Alaska. We added two more guys, so the trip consisted of myself, Chad, Clib, Disco, and Biggie. More people to behold my problem.
We were camping out in Northern California, at Redwood National Park, and our campsite was a giant sink hole. It was about twenty feet deep and about forty feet in diameter. It was quite cool actually. We had spent the day hiking and trying to smuggle mutant pine cones out, and when it got dark we all piled into the tent. I fell asleep right away, and started dreaming someone was about to push a giant boulder into the hole on top of our tent. I jumped out of my sleeping bag and started yelling, "Get out! Everybody get out!" Clib and Biggie awoke with a start and looked around, frightened but confused. Chad, however, shot out of his sleeping bag, fumbled with the zipper, and was half way out before Disco, who had been awake the entire time reading, casually told everyone to relax, nothing was going on. Once again, I didn't say a word, but just slunk back into my bag, secretly wishing a boulder would fall on the tent to vindicate me. Maybe a small one.
And My Favorite
This one took place in High School, before my travelling days, but it is still pretty funny. One night I was sleeping in my bed, alone since I was not very suave, even in High School. I was having a bizarre dream that a giant Amoeba had enveloped a close friend. I was fighting ferociously with the Amoeba trying to rip it open so my friend could breath. I could see his face inside as he was suffocating. Finally I managed to tear it open and save the day. I woke up the next morning and my entire room was coated in small, dirty grey feathers. I had ripped my pillow open and beat it to death. It took me days to clean up all those damn feathers. That was my favorite pillow to boot.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Carlsbad Caverns, New Mexico
My first four years of college were mostly an excuse to keep travelling around the U.S. with two of my best friends, Chad and Clib. At least 3-4 times a year we would hop in my parents VW van and head to a different national park or monument. With these two guys by my side, I would eventually hit all fifty states, Canada, and Mexico.
I am going to dedicate a few posts to some of my favorite travel adventures.
I believe the year was 1995 and we were making a return trip to Big Bend National Park in Southern Texas. We had decided to expand this trip to include Carlsbad Caverns in White City, New Mexico.
White City is a very small town that is basically owned and operated by the White family, who's patriarch had discovered Carlsbad Caverns many years ago. White City consisted of a gas station, a gift shop, a campground, a motel, and a small restaurant with a really small attached bar.
On our day of arrival we headed straight to the caves, and after a long day of cave exploring we drove to the campground, set up our tent, and decided to splurge by going to the bar/restaurant in order to enjoy some local libations.
The first thing we noticed upon arrival to the bar is that no one else was there, and it was already 6pm. Then we were informed that the bar had a strict 3 drink MAXIMUM. It seemed the Whites did not want a bunch of drunks in their quiet town. The bartender told us the way to cheat the system was to have three, go eat in the restaurant and return for three more. We did just that.
After our 2nd three drink maximum we did not want to leave, but rules are rules. The bar had finally started to get a crowd of two other guys. As we were leaving I noticed one of the guys was wearing a "Louisville Rugby" jacket. I, having played a little rugby, struck up a conversation. We talked for about fifteen minutes, and they offered to buy us a round, but the bartender informed them that we had already exceeded our maximum allotted beverages. They both pulled out a wad of bills and started tossing them onto the bar saying, "come on, one more." Finally the bartender relented. It is safe to say this is where she lost control of the situation.
The five of us started cheering as she gave us five new beers. The rugby guys convinced her a round of shots was required to celebrate this occasion. Twenty minutes later we were singing rugby songs and toasting our bartenders lenient attitude.
After about another hour, and several more beers, a group of four arrived, two guys and two girls. It was shared that one of the guys had won an all expense paid trip to Carlsbad Caverns from a L.A. radio station. Enjoying our ribaldry behavior, he offered to buy us a round. The bartender informed him that we were all well over our three drink maximum limit. The Rugby guys and the L.A. guy now pulled out more money and began to bribe the bartender, who could not really start enforcing the rules properly at this point. More beers were passed around to raucous jubilation, quickly followed by more shots of tequila.
I believe it was around this time I noticed Clib drinking a mixture of beer and tequila out of a rugby guy's shoe. (a hallowed rugby tradition, called "shoot the boot") He would soon follow that up with stripping to his underwear and sprawling across the bar in an attempt to imitate the burlesque painting that was hanging behind the bar.
This scene, combined with the loud singing, motivated the restaurant manager to walk in, give the bartender an evil glare and close the doors which connected the bar and restaurant. It suddenly got eerily quiet, and everyone felt like we were all underage drinkers who had just got busted by a parent. After a few moments the bartender told us the manager was her roommate, so it would be okay. Everyone cheered and more drinks were ordered.
Clib vomited on the floor, either from athletes foot or alcohol poisoning, regardless we moved our table to cover it. One of the L.A. guys was walking around with a tray full of tequila shots, which me and Chad would take back to the bartender and trade for beer, she then would turn around and sell the shot back to L.A. guy.
By now the restaurant was empty and the manager and entire wait staff were watching the action through the door. One of the rugby guys stripped and ran through the bar naked, which is a universal sign for, "time to wrap it up."
I walked around with a glass carafe and got everyone to give as much money as they had to the bartender, by the end it was so much I was packing it in with a steak knife. We presented it to our new best friend, wished her luck on the new job search, and left the other guys to sort out the bill.
Luckily our campground was right across the street from the restaurant/bar. We stumbled to our tent and passed out almost immediately.
We woke up at sunrise to begin our long, quiet, and painful drive back to Mississippi.
I am going to dedicate a few posts to some of my favorite travel adventures.
I believe the year was 1995 and we were making a return trip to Big Bend National Park in Southern Texas. We had decided to expand this trip to include Carlsbad Caverns in White City, New Mexico.
White City is a very small town that is basically owned and operated by the White family, who's patriarch had discovered Carlsbad Caverns many years ago. White City consisted of a gas station, a gift shop, a campground, a motel, and a small restaurant with a really small attached bar.
On our day of arrival we headed straight to the caves, and after a long day of cave exploring we drove to the campground, set up our tent, and decided to splurge by going to the bar/restaurant in order to enjoy some local libations.
The first thing we noticed upon arrival to the bar is that no one else was there, and it was already 6pm. Then we were informed that the bar had a strict 3 drink MAXIMUM. It seemed the Whites did not want a bunch of drunks in their quiet town. The bartender told us the way to cheat the system was to have three, go eat in the restaurant and return for three more. We did just that.
After our 2nd three drink maximum we did not want to leave, but rules are rules. The bar had finally started to get a crowd of two other guys. As we were leaving I noticed one of the guys was wearing a "Louisville Rugby" jacket. I, having played a little rugby, struck up a conversation. We talked for about fifteen minutes, and they offered to buy us a round, but the bartender informed them that we had already exceeded our maximum allotted beverages. They both pulled out a wad of bills and started tossing them onto the bar saying, "come on, one more." Finally the bartender relented. It is safe to say this is where she lost control of the situation.
The five of us started cheering as she gave us five new beers. The rugby guys convinced her a round of shots was required to celebrate this occasion. Twenty minutes later we were singing rugby songs and toasting our bartenders lenient attitude.
After about another hour, and several more beers, a group of four arrived, two guys and two girls. It was shared that one of the guys had won an all expense paid trip to Carlsbad Caverns from a L.A. radio station. Enjoying our ribaldry behavior, he offered to buy us a round. The bartender informed him that we were all well over our three drink maximum limit. The Rugby guys and the L.A. guy now pulled out more money and began to bribe the bartender, who could not really start enforcing the rules properly at this point. More beers were passed around to raucous jubilation, quickly followed by more shots of tequila.
I believe it was around this time I noticed Clib drinking a mixture of beer and tequila out of a rugby guy's shoe. (a hallowed rugby tradition, called "shoot the boot") He would soon follow that up with stripping to his underwear and sprawling across the bar in an attempt to imitate the burlesque painting that was hanging behind the bar.
This scene, combined with the loud singing, motivated the restaurant manager to walk in, give the bartender an evil glare and close the doors which connected the bar and restaurant. It suddenly got eerily quiet, and everyone felt like we were all underage drinkers who had just got busted by a parent. After a few moments the bartender told us the manager was her roommate, so it would be okay. Everyone cheered and more drinks were ordered.
Clib vomited on the floor, either from athletes foot or alcohol poisoning, regardless we moved our table to cover it. One of the L.A. guys was walking around with a tray full of tequila shots, which me and Chad would take back to the bartender and trade for beer, she then would turn around and sell the shot back to L.A. guy.
By now the restaurant was empty and the manager and entire wait staff were watching the action through the door. One of the rugby guys stripped and ran through the bar naked, which is a universal sign for, "time to wrap it up."
I walked around with a glass carafe and got everyone to give as much money as they had to the bartender, by the end it was so much I was packing it in with a steak knife. We presented it to our new best friend, wished her luck on the new job search, and left the other guys to sort out the bill.
Luckily our campground was right across the street from the restaurant/bar. We stumbled to our tent and passed out almost immediately.
We woke up at sunrise to begin our long, quiet, and painful drive back to Mississippi.
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