The Disclaimers

1. A little late is better than never, right Earl.  Earl?  Earl?  Where are you?

2. What you are about to read are the disjointed, fuzzy memories of a 31-year old brain trying to remember a trip that was quite an unforgettable weekend.  If it sounds a little off and incoherent, it should.  It was.

 

On with the story...

 

Ladies and Gentleman, Boys and Girls, Children of all Ages

 

I have to admit, I shouldn’t have done it.  I should know better than to subject myself to this trip every year.  Especially this year.   Alone.   

 

I even have my reservations about most of what I am going to write.  Somehow, after getting to know the men we call SVELTs for an entire year since we last traveled down the road to ruin in Savannah, I feel more compelled to actually keep my mouth shut about the things I witnessed.   Last year I made the trip to kill my first proverbial deer and drink of its blood.  This year, I suddenly became the grizzled, weary-eyed hunter who sat back and watched others drink for the first time.   Don’t worry, eventually, I will share all of the photos.  Notice I said eventually….it will all come in due time. 

 

 

You Lookin’ at Me?

Wednesday

 

In retrospect, the ride down was mild.  Actually living through it seemed to be a lot more interesting at the time.  Why?  I don’t know…I can’t read.   We made it down to Wusville, Virginia for our first night’s rest without much trouble, and we finally managed to get everyone situated in a room to catch some Z’s.   We hit the road early Thursday, after watching Bodean thrill the older patrons of the motel to his mostly naked body at 7 in the morning eating the free continental breakfast.   The only thing any of us can say to this is “been there, done that.”

 

Thursday

 

  The trouble started that morning on our way south.  Or was that north?  No, south.  Yes, we definitely wanted to go south.   Too bad we didn’t go south, but we managed to fix that little error by turning around rather quickly on the highway.  Is that legal in Virginia, Tim?  I know, I know, ignorance is no excuse….

 

What does Everybody Want?

 

(Editors Note:  The Premise:  First van, 6 guys.  Lots of beer.  Second van, 3 guys, 3 girls.  Mamosas.  It’s not a particularly proud moment for the sanctity of Road Trips.)

 

All I can say is thank god for beer.  Still, if we in the second van had been drinking beer, our van would have had to stop several times on the way down.  Since they were drinking much more in the first van, they were always the ones to cave first and make it over to a BP to buy candy, porn and, well, more beer. Maybe it was the porn, but for the sake of argument we’ll say it’s the beer.  The girls could argue that we could have made the entire trip without stopping once, and the guys would never have known any better.  

 

 

 

What Ya Gonna Do?

 

We arrived with hardly a scratch and the smells of blood and beer mingled in the air.  Life would have been good if we didn’t have to check into that hotel.  I don’t even want to start about the hotel.  Heaven knows, no one else wants me to either.  This is the last time I let someone make reservations and then back out of the trip.  Last time.  Period.  Especially when it’s my husband.

 

After some words of wisdom from some of Road Trip’s most experienced hunters, I calmed down and we were ready to hit River Street.  It was a much needed break by all after what seemed to be the longest car ride in history.

 

That first night on River Street saw the smash hit group the “Lollipop Guild,” as well as the introduction of the “Boa Constrictors.”  I’d go into detail, but it would be too painful.   At least Savannah still serves grain alcohol.  That’ll take the edge off of anything.  Or varnish for that matter.

 

It’s True, It’s True

 

One detail I will mention is more of a lesson.   No matter HOW long the line is for the bathroom, drunk women should not crouch down in the corner of a room and try to piss in a plastic cup.  Sober women shouldn’t try this either, but I hope I don’t have to state that fact.  It’s not like our aim is that good…it’s not.   Not even close. 

 

 

I managed to get my hands on a cigar and more grain and spent the rest of the evening watching my fellow travelers dancing the night away and generally forcing themselves upon unsuspecting females like deer caught in headlights.  I watched and learned.  Basically, it was a very good night.

 

I don’t remember actually getting back to the hotel (I really don’t), but somewhere along the way, I lost my roommate.  Apparently, Tim took advantage of the spare room we had that evening and read the Bible with a fair young thing he picked up on the street.  Who’s ex-husband was a cop.  The trip’s first confirmed kill. 

 

Friday

 

What’s the irony of this, anyway….Tim, after dropping off his “friend” who happened to have a cop as an ex-husband (did I mention that yet?), gets stopped by the cops for speeding.  Tisk, tisk.  It’s that big karmic circle coming around to bite you in the ass in the end.  There’s the philosophy lesson of the day.

 

Highlights of the day:  finally seeing the Scooby Doo Boxer Shorts that I had been promised for a year, watching “Ice Angel” (possibly the worst movie EVER), learning that  “Fuck You” is an international phrase, not getting kicked out of the lesbian bar and discovering that they serve White Russians in 12 oz glasses.  Maybe that’s not a highlight, but it will explain why my memories of the day end here.  Maybe Earl will remember more.  Earl??

 

 

Saturday

 

It’s just one of those days when you don’t want to wake up….

 

Especially when you’re drunk.  Waking up.   Call me a sissy, call me a lightweight.  I have never, EVER, woken up drunk before.  And now I know why, oh God, do I know why.  It sucks.  It sucks even worse when your team has an 8 a.m. game (for the SECOND YEAR IN A ROW I might add) and one of the guys calls at 7 in the morning for someone to pick him up from downtown.  Not mentioning any names, Chuck.

 

“You gotta come get me.  I’m down on River Street.”

“I’m still drunk.”

“Then put Tim on the phone.”

 

The team forfeits the first game.  I think everyone showed up, but not all at the same time.  This is the black mark on their playing record for the trip.

 

What’s the irony of this, anyway….Saturday night our lost soul actually finds his way back to the room, and his roommate won’t let him in cause he’s too busy, um, knocking heads.  Or knocking something…I hope I don’t need to spell that out for you.

 

Pimpin’ Aint Easy

 

Of course, it seems that everyone’s sexual exploits pale in comparison to the weekend had by Dan “Sexy Mother Fucker” McQuig.  So did that threesome finally come to be?  This is something I do not have photos of.

 

Most of Saturday wasn’t pretty.  I think my conscience has blocked most of it from my memory.  I’m sure you’re not missing much here.   I know there was a second game, and the SVELTs won.  That’s about it.

Saturday night was spent hanging around the island, hanging out at Doc’s….the OSU girls followed the team down to the bar, but never seemed to make it in the door.  Guess they never figured they’d make it past the “If you look like you’re under 65, we will card you” sign. 

 

Sunday

 

Sunday I stopped taking notes.  Guess being the Boss started to take its toll on me as well as some of my traveling companions.  At least the hangover was gone.  Finally.

 

 

Don’t take this Ass-Whippin’ Personally

 

The SVELTS played quite well considering the amount of alcohol consumed in the past few days, and even the social member Jim dressed and made it out on the field.   I don’t think he touched the ball, but he made it through the game without breaking anything.  Way to go, Jim!

 

The SVELTS walked away with Fourth Place.  If they’d ever play that 8 a.m. game on Saturday with a full side, I’d bet they’d have a chance of winning the whole thing.  As for this year, the trophy now proudly resides in my basement as my proverbial deer.  For what I went through, I’m not giving it up, either. 

 

The big fun was had before the game, however.  I think enough time has passed that I can talk about it without getting a little misty-eyed, but my better senses tell me that whatever I write may still end up being subpoenaed, so regretfully the details will have to remain word-of-mouth only.  All I can say is, Thank You, Sparky, for being you.  Watching you “perform” that morning was the perfect end to a not-so-perfect trip.  There’s a special seat reserved at the big buffet in the sky for you now.  You showed us what it meant to be a true hunter and we’re proud of you.  Besides, it made a great photo opportunity

 

Have a Nice Day

 

Driving home in one stretch was long & tiring.  Thank God for those noisy little things they put along the side of the road.  I always wondered why they were there.    Mental note:  “Next year, fly.”   Of course, several months later my cleared brain is telling me “Stay Home!  Save the brain cells you have left.”  But I know when March rolls around it will be a different story.  Once you kill, it gets in your blood.  Like the grease from breakfast, it stays with you long after the memories fade.  And next year, it will taste sweeter…at least that’s what I can tell myself now.