I'm in Cleveland, BITCH - NYE 2010

It was 3:00 A.M. many hours ago and I should have been sleeping but I was smitten with creativity at the most uncanny hour. With sentences reeling in my head, I know I can’t possibly preserve all this material till tomorrow, despite it being just a few short hours away, I must write now! If I sleep, I’ll lose something, I'll lose everything and essentially, all will be gone--a series of indecipherable sentences lost on one another in sleep. You know how it goes. Fortunately, classes (of which I technically have none this semester) don’t start for another week, so I’m at liberty to come and go as I please in terms of work. I fancy sleeping in tomorrow, it is after all already today.

It began with a comment this afternoon as I toiled away at work, “So I heard you were the LIFE of the party on New Year’s Eve?” I don’t generally cater to stroking my own ego but I’ll tell you it’s not the first time I’ve heard this statement uttered nor do I expect it to be the last. And so with some words of encouragement from a friend of a friend earlier to day, I felt compelled to blog about NYE and my time in Cleveland, because it reminded me of how much my writing brings joy to other people. I begin...

In light of recent experiences in my place(s) of employment, I’ve tried to establish a balance between work and play, friend and coworker. No doubt as I’m sure you’ve experienced in your life, those boundaries ultimately cross by force or accident. It might take shape in the form of your Christmas holiday party or someone’s recommendation of dollar beers at happy hour one afternoon. That said, I generally try and keep it reserved. I can get pretty wild when I party and as such I try to keep the partying with co-workers to a minimum, there’s less opportunity for judgment that way. When sitting in a meeting, a co-worker will be less likely to refute a brilliant idea you might suggest had they not seen you down a handle of Captain, proceed to vomit and/or piss yourself the night prior. They also might be less inclined to pass judgment if they notice you stumble into work in the same apparel you were regaled in the previous night when you all left said place of employment. Those may or may not be hypothetical statements but the gist is this, I like to get down and dirty in my free time and I tend to enjoy that without the company of my coworkers, it just keeps things on an even keel and speaks to the adage that what you do in your time, really is your business.

I’ve had a string of insane New Year’s Eve parties, there’s no denying that. I mean, a quick recollection of NYE’s past would include almost getting arrested by Chicago’s finest after sitting around waiting for cabs which wouldn’t come (hello, it’s new year’s eve), settling for an el ride instead with the added benefit of drinking more en route downtown, disembarking with alcohol in tow so friends could urinate in public, running into a pair of drug dealers and then getting busted by the cops…almost (they let us go but arrested the two black dudes, who sadly were carrying drugs).

But no, that wouldn’t be my favorite NYE memory though I will say it does rank high, surely a top-five nominee, recounting the many memories which surrounded that entire weekend (I’m born on the 30th of December, do the math). But it’s not my favorite. That is reserved for a night completely unto itself, a night which has failed to replicate due to a variety of factors. Namely that you only turn 21 once.

My FAVORITE NYE in fact occurred the night after my 21st birthday at the Birchwood Apartments. I mean, you’re normal so you’re probably thinking (logically I might add), that since I’ve just turned 21, drank with retard-type strength, done the whole 21+ shots bit that I’ve completely exhausted the ability to consume any more alcohol. WRONG. Once I was told an ice luge was promised at said party I knew I had to be a part of it. After fully embodying the term puke and rally, retrieving my pea coat, passport and keys from the only bar I managed to drink at the night prior, it was a swift detox and regroup process to prepare for said party. Basically I hit the grease trucks up (google that), drank some water, consumed multiple pain killers and took an extended nap en route to a speedy recovery.

After the night I had, any normal person might resolve to spend NYE quietly, calmly reflecting on the previous night’s activities, one of which included falling down A step (ONE, SINGULAR) on multiple occasions and humping (yes, HUMPING) a video game in the bar while quietly ushering in 2005--likely contemplating sweeping changes for the new year. Then again, I never claimed to be normal and so it came to pass that I, with my liver in tow—kicking and screaming less than 24 hours since the alcohol poisoning-level binge fest incurred from my 21st, would attend a NYE party at the Birchwood apartments.

In the early goings of the night, hearing of my triumph from the night before, a friend suggested I consume Chaser—a widely popular anti-hangover pill. In other news, I’ve yet to find someone other than the sketchy people on television endorse the pill, myself included. The party was mostly a blur—as it should have been but from what I recall I took to that ice luge like an old friend catching up for lost time. I was incredulously drunk, splitting time between the upstairs and downstairs apartments, smoking cigarettes outside an apartment which did not belong to me but held such fond memories for me. It was the first place I came to party upon touching down in America following a transcontinental flight back from London, who, in their 20’s after all has time for jetlag? (This is life baby, and we’re moving on with or without you!)

It was a place I painted my first beer pong table, played beer pong on said table and passed out in a barren room save a few cables I used for a pillow. It was the place I witnessed the most ridiculous display of gay-on-gay hate crime unfold and the place where I witnessed the most ridiculous game of truth or dare take place the end which resulted in an apparent unfair use of a roommate's bicycle which till this day, I cannot understand (I mean, would you care if you came home and found your roommates playing truth or dare, and discovered that a dare was to sit on your bike? Irrational people I tell you).

When the ball officially dropped on 2005, it was the porch where I was, no thanks to that chaser pill, spewing forth all the alcohol I’d consumed in the past 48 hours, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. The place held memories for me and for that sole reason, the party was worth attending, whether I lived or died that night wouldn’t have mattered (i'm sure it would have on some scale spoken volumes to the inappropriate alcohol abuse in college and thus 'mattered' if i had). I did it for the company. I did it for the night. Which is typically the reason I do most of the things I do in life, what will come of this experience? I don’t know, but I guess together we’ll find out, what could be worse than hearing second hand? From that Birchwood Apartment, many a relationship blossomed and continue to grow till this very day. But now I must progress to present time, rather present past.

So it came to pass, I was presented with this juxtaposition of spending NYE with a co-worker, knowing fully well what my potential and propensity for endless ridiculousness whenever I plan on ringing in the new year with some effort. She invited me to this party in Cleveland because she needed moral support. Having been recently dumped by a boyfriend who between you and I, was likely unaware they were even dating, she needed someone, a wingman of sorts to set her straight. Being sort of skanky, said coworker had already begun cozying up to a young 23-year old (pre-“breakup”) who shared a particularly nice loft in Cleveland (with a distant relative? I know it’s already too weird). Said guy apparently dropped out of school to pursue dreams (which had yet to materialize), had zero ambition outside of working at a restaurant (something he hated), smoking weed and playing xbox.

Now please, before you work yourself into a fuss over what I just said, realize that these are all things I can certainly support, as I myself recently survived my own variation of the QLC (quarter-life crisis) but my coworker on the other hand is a woman on the verge of turning 31, like literally in a few days. She certainly can’t find the same traits appealing or even endearing, it’s like hello, you’re 31 (almost), you’ve SOOO been there and done that, aren’t you about ready for marriage? Not to appear anti-feminist or anything but this is the Midwest and someone in our office at the ripe age of 23 just got married two weeks ago. I’m not saying that the newlyweds aren’t destined for a hellacious divorce circa 6-10 years from now, but I’m trying to put some perspective on the situation. Which is to say at 31, you shouldn’t find these ‘loser’ characteristics appealing in anyone, especially not a future mate you should instead find them incredibly alarming and ask yourself why you are even PURSUING this. With proper and adequate reflection, you’ll find the problem nestled deep within yourself (it’s called dignity or confidence, find some). Just saying.

With all these factors, I found it in my best interest to attend the party. Not because I was suddenly out of plans for the night, I actually had plans but it seemed like this avenue was worth exploring a bit more, I mean, at the night’s end we could be toe-to-toe on flaws against one another, knowing that my antics might surface at my place of employment was a small drawback considering whatever happened and however it happened would have to be explained by a senior coworker who would ultimately be judged and questioned for how she herself came to fall into said situation. I was liking my chances so I rolled the dice and decided to ring in 2010 in CLEVELAND bitch.

The first problem incurred was alcohol, not for homegirl who apparently likes to travel with a variety of wine selections in her trunk, but for me, who doesn’t enjoy drinking wine excessively in lieu of the bitch of a hangover that follows the morning after. I was thereby instructed to utilize the Tom-Tom (clearly a Christmas gift) to find the nearest liquor store so that I COULD buy beer. She was pushy, I hadn’t noticed this at work as I don’t work DIRECTLY with her (note to self, bossy bitch, and not in a good way). Our second problem follows shortly after since Tom-Tom isn’t that bloody smart because he doesn’t tell you whether or not these places are open. After two failed attempts I suggested going to a GAS station, namely one of the two visible ones we drove by looking for closed liquor stores. Success albeit at a cost because they don’t sell Stella so I settle for a domestic fall back in Bud Light (not even lime). Now, on to the party!!

We arrive and it’s clear that I am obviously the more age appropriate member of the dynamic duo entering. Something else is painfully clear as neither of us are dressed the part with most of the young twenty-something girls pissing about in black party dresses, you know the kind, skin tight, always showing too much of something—breast or arse, worse yet both. Since that sort of garb can be found exactly no where in my wardrobe, I felt pretty comfortable in my outfit consisting of Clarks, jeans and a sweater. My 30-year old SELF CONSCIOUS companion? Not so much. She immediately picked up on the fact that everyone was A. younger—wait, significantly younger than her. B. Hate to say it, but hotter, and much better dressed and that C. This young ‘boy toy’ who I’d yet to meet was probably much more into type A and B girls than what she had to offer which now that I think about it was probably just money—she was clearly paying for dinner dates in this situation.

So we walk in and I quickly introduce myself as a drunk Asian girl proceeds to hand me a shot, this is quickly turning into my sort of party but I remember, I’m here for someone else, I should really take her into consideration only thing is she’s a whiney woman. If there’s something I can’t stand about people, especially at parties, it’s whining. I mean we’ve just shown up when she presents the option of leaving:

Coworker: “Umm, do you get the vibe that we don’t belong?”
Me: “Definitely absolutely NOT. Nope sorry, not getting that vibe at ALL”
Coworker: “Would you be pissed if I wanted to leave before midnight?”
Me: “Absolutely, I canceled other plans (debaucherous plans I might add) to be here, no fucking way am I leaving before midnight, nope.”
Coworker: “FINE, I just really don’t think I’ll have a good time…”

I let that mindless drone fade into the distance and continued to assuage her concerns allowing a few minutes to elapse before instructing her to pull herself together. For fucksake this is a party, not just any party, it’s NYE, have a drink and relax I said with ease by now progressing to my third beer. As they say…WHEN IN ROME. And by god, with a game of Kings, asshole and a version of up the river down the river taking place simultaneously, there was no time like the present to fall in line. The beauty of it is this, NYE is like a special holiday for adults, its one of the few nights a year you can get absolutely tossed and not care because chances are, everyone else around you, everyone you know and like is doing the exact same thing, no matter where they are. You likely don’t even have to work the next day (for most of you with stable salaried positions).

I will say now that the crowd wasn’t my cup of tea at first but like a true expert in the field, you must learn to adapt to your surroundings. There were CPAs who had a taste for hip hop, mostly Biggie and Bone Thugs which they seemingly felt content rapping until I inserted myself in the mix, filling the TBG (token black girl) quota for the evening. The “N” word was subsequently repealed from all songs thereafter until someone finally requested that we bring the party into the new decade, leave off the Warren G and Nate Dogg Collabo, put down Dr. Dre’s Chronic (the original, not 2000) and play some top 40 or music from more fucking recent times. In as many words, that was my request and it was complicit. People were catching on, they were picking up what I was throwing down.

On occasion, I’ve known to command virtually any situation for entertainment, attention, both or any reason really. I literally wasn’t doing it for any of these reasons but literally because I couldn’t stand to see another CPA bopping his head, muttering, “ohhh dammmn, this is my jam, this is my JAM!” Imagine Seth Green’s character from Can’t Hardly Wait, only now, many years later. It was unacceptable and so as the music changed so did the mood in the room.

This Asian girl continued handing me shots as my coworker slowly faded into the background, drinking straight Smirnoff vodka isn’t really my thing to be honest. We had a few shots before she finally understood what I meant (she was drunk, not from the mainland) so she decided to dilute it with whatever her hands touched next at which point I retreated. A shot of Smirnoff, Seagram’s and Kahluha were not my idea of mixers and not what I had in mind when I said I need it diluted. Knowing my limit I switched to frat juice, knowing my personal rule that once grain alcohol is incorporated on a more serious level, beer is futile.

At some point I spy my coworker talking to this fellow in the corner. She’s trying to be coy but failing miserably as one wearing a bright green turtleneck in a sea of black dresses often might. I walk over, and immediately notice that not only has this young many got an enormous and obnoxious belt buckle which is equipped with a bottle opener but that something suggesting you should take it off and find out what really pops off is inscribed upon it. Um, I’m not going to claim I’m good at advanced calculus, but basic algebra, hell basic MATHEMATICS equates that this guy is a loser. To be fair, this guy is 23 and a YOUNG 23 at that. So I guess at that age, things of this nature are forgivable until he disappears downstairs to get high and in the process just alerts the entire party upstairs as to what’s going on.

My coworker comes up and immediately tries to put my mind to rest by saying, “Don’t worry, nothing happened, I didn’t smoke any”. Interrupting a conversation I’m having about Washington DC with a nice Indian guy—not fresh of the boat Indian but American born (and not native) Indian, who goes to grad school at George Washington. I don’t care, tell her such and she fucks off. The world really is that small when you find out exactly how much you might have in common with a random stranger. We traded stories and mostly shared our likes for the Nation’s Capital as the party continued.

Outside of the down to earth Indian kid and one or two of his friends, the general clientele at the party is pretty snooty, this area of Cleveland roughly equates to what one girl imagined to be the “Lincoln Park” (Chicago, Jersey folk—read “Hoboken”) of Cleveland. There are lots of nice bars and restaurants, no shortage of well-to-do young people and while the general city of Cleveland has a poor and dangerous reputation, this is likely the safest part of town, nestled amongst the Lexus and Toyota Hybrid owners. Some of them definitely had the yuppie part down but ultimately lacked the full class required to wield the title gracefully. So I demoted them to the entitled ones—they found themselves entitled to things of which they had no real grasp or concept. They got the picture but didn’t see it in full view or find their own image emblazoned on a larger scale.

Most were stable and held competent jobs, functional educations, the ususal. I met five communications majors, none of whom were athletes and none of whom exactly knew how they intended on applying those degrees. All had jobs and knew they were doing something and going somewhere. If all else fails I hear the world is in search of more designers, etc. Outside of the common banter, the girls were demanding, crying for attention from guys way too young to be balding--again most were college students or recent grads. I’ll say all of us were united by our love of blackberries or disdain for Iphones or vice versa. While I couldn’t stand a few of the girls it isn’t to say they couldn’t stand me. Quite the contrary actually as my accent, lack of regard, wit and quick tongue bought points with all in attendance. The girls see, were not the only pretentious members in attendance. When this guy walked in with a smoker’s jacket and bottle of Korbel champagne, I knew I had reached my limit. This guy irked me so badly I broke off my conversation mid-sentence with the Indian guy, saying, “Prey sir, where EXACTLY are you coming from and where the HELL are you going to? Did you get lost on your way to the playboy mansion?” While mocking complete strangers, in a party you technically weren’t invited to could seriously have its drawbacks, my thoughts and sentiments were warmly received by most of the people in the room, smoker jacket boy being the lone exception, obviously. I mean enough was enough. At some point there comes a time where you just have to call ‘bullshit’. I won.

As my conversation with Indian kid shifted continents we talked about London and his time spent studying abroad there, my life there and now here, his working across the pond at a bar as an illegal immigrant (what a funny concept) and the fact that Indian and Chinese takeaway (carryout) is far superior to what any alternative American inception has attempted to offer us thus far. We were still talking when I noticed that my coworker was trying to build up steam among a group of the girls at the party. The discussion was music related and since GOD forbid anyone leave home with out an ipod or electronic device capable of playing music, she decided she needed to go to her car to retrieve her ipod to settle the debate. I knew what was coming next, I told her to let it go and let the party and the top-40 music countdown continue but she insisted, why I was involved was beyond me but it presented an opportunity to get some air and thus smoke a cigarette (social smoking I’m told is bad but it’s really not an EVERY day thing so fuck off).

She became bossy demanding I walk out with her then and there, because my conversation with Indian guy had grown to include a few more people I found it RUDE that she was interrupting. As the oldest member present, she should’ve known better, where were her manners? Not sure but a few off us broke out to have a cigarette while I chaperoned her safe walk across the street to a gated parking lot while she retrieved her ipod. Smoking a cigarette presented me with the opportunity to meet two classy individuals from next door. A woman was wearing men’s shoes while the man whom they clearly belonged to stood barefoot as lake effect snow flaked down around us. Well HELLO conversation starter. Two minutes into the discussion I had an invitation to join them upstairs, in THEIR loft with older people, equally overdressed to continue NYE celebrations. I decided against it but assumed we’d cross paths later in the night….we would once more over another cigarette but the story ends there with a hot lady trying to impersonate an English accent and bring me upstairs…not in the sleep with you sense but in the look at this gem we found on the side of the street sense, isn’t she a doll? A real charm? Alas, I let the moment pass me by.

As my turtleneck attention seeking coworker returned with her ipod and obviously stood awkwardly observing the remainder of my conversation with the two individuals I just met I finally bid them farewell so the awkward and unnecessary single white female tension could diffuse itself. Before reentering the apartment, I assured her this ‘my ipod library’s better than yours’ argument couldn’t end well and urged her to pack it in while she was still ahead. So far as I could tell, young boy was vaguely interested as most of the other girls were accounted for or already terribly drunk (and you KNOW how that goes), I was off the table in a manner of speaking and that increased her chances of locking down hombre for the evening. Still she insisted, inserting her ipod and taking control of music she felt appropriate from here moving forward for a group people far too superior for her musical tastes. After “Blame it” by Jaime Foxx, it was pretty much down hill, some Sugarland played, Taylor Swift (?) maybe Usher’s “yeah”? Basically she struck gold with Jaime Foxx but failed to repeat with another hit, crashing and burning in epic failure type proportions. This isn’t to say older people can’t have good taste in music, I know loads who do but this coworker of mine was dying so painfully to fit in at all costs and it was failing miserably. Surely it would’ve been different if she had ANY taste in music but what your 12 year old niece thinks is “hot” and what twenty somethings find musically appealing are on opposite ends of the spectrum, so she discovered the hard way.

I don’t mean to toot my horn because I feel like this is turning into a superhero complex where I fix things but I did. Once again, I stepped in to save the day, thereby making her look good, again, for bringing such a capable and engaging stranger to the party. I always keep 70-80 songs on my blackberry just in case my ipod dies on an away trip with a team or as a fall back should my ipod decide to croak (it wouldn’t be the first time). It’s pretty much a snippet of my most played/recently added playlists so essentially my favorite songs. It turned out to be her saving grace as I calmly removed the earphone attachment from her ipod and inserted it into my blackberry. She immediately lost cool points not realizing a blackberry was capable of literally holding music. The room didn’t stop in pause of what she’d said but a small piece of me died for her as I caught a pair of girls rolling their eyes in disbelief. With Empire of the Sun, Phoenix, MGMT, Drake, Lil’ Wayne, Wale and of course Lady Gaga charting the course, we were back on track. Romaromamama, want your bad romance (it NEVER fails and it NEVER gets old, free bitches)!

Some time later, an hour and a half away from 2010 someone suggested a happy hour. Now unless you have a happy hour CD or playlist it’s pretty much pointless because once people get drunk and attempt to continue the game, the time keeper loses track of the minutes and you just find yourself randomly drinking to nothing. Cue smoker jacket boy’s friend. He had a blackberry. His was armed with a happy hour playlist. Now I don’t know if one purposely puts something like that on specifically when heading to a party in the off chance that someone randomly shouts out an hour of power is about to begin but bless his heart for the thought of it. Happy hour would take place with almost everyone deciding to play. It was more of a casual game where everyone drank freely which is to say, we continued drinking, only now for a consecutive hour regulated by minute intervals.

We traded phones which enabled me to get back to tweeting more viciously as the new year approached and all was well. By now I’d acclimated with some of the less pretentious people at the party figuring I could perhaps hang out with one or two again after this evening but I didn’t quite understand what my coworker was doing. Here I was exacting situations for her to step into but she was content playing in the background in that sad puppy dog role. Which is to say she was posted up next to the fridge sipping wine inactively participating in conversations by simply looking on.

She brought me here. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s people who cannot self sustain in social settings. For fucks sake, you’ve got 30 years of life on earth, the last DECADE of which you’ve spent in social settings such as this one for a variety of reasons but here, on the eve of 2010 you want to sulk with a glass of wine? Fine by me, I like to abide by the phrase, “keep on keepin’ on’ which means you do you, and I’ll certainly do me and by no means, NO means will I stop this train so you can contemplate whether or not you'd like to get back on board and start having fun again. We’re past that point. We crossed that threshold when we walked through the door and I fully committed to enjoying my new year’s eve.

Debbie Downer wouldn’t end there, after the ball dropped and we’d exacted just about all the beer, champagne and liquor--save their top shelf items there was to be had, a motion to go to the bar began. Um, yes please? My coworker’s boy toy outdid himself, as most 23 year olds do on new years and was on the verge of puking. I and another party goer were engaged in a Guitar Hero battle while those from Cleveland decided where to go. Naturally, I was kicking ass when Coworker saw an opportunity to nurse homeboy back to health. You don’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure out if a boy drinks way too much and then pukes or (needs to puke), he isn’t trying to have sex with you. Especially not when a house full of his like-aged peers are present and more sober than him to recount the entire fiasco which will likely be summed up in 160 characters or less on “Texts from Last Night” and/or Twitter (which we all know limit users to 140). He brushed her off, walking to his bathroom as I continued my domination in Guitar Hero waiting to find out where we were headed to next. As an aside, what my homeboy failed to realize that on any night, mary jane, alcohol and beer can be a deadly combination when they are attacked without rhyme or reason but I guess that’s just another growing pain he’ll have to suffer through.

The coworker soon began sensing what was going on with her hombre and decided to TELL me we were now going home. I could have easily made a scene, and in previous years, I probably would have. Knowing that it was now 2010, I’d just rung it in with Fergie, the Black Eyed Peas and a bunch of strangers. I also knew that you just shouldn’t start the new year off on the wrong foot, I relented. She was defeated and obviously needed to sleep in her own bed perhaps with a plush pillow or animal as she reflected on the night’s activities. As an added benefit she'd likely nursed a glass of wine or two all night while I was proper toasty and now a consenting passenger with door-to-door service.

Nearly forgetting her ipod, we turned back to the apartment where I decided it was best I urinate before the trek back to the AK. I’ve had many a negative situation evolve from failing to “pee before you leave” the most dangerous of which resulted in me falling down an embankment off the Pennsylvania turnpike, pants down and all. I also utilized the time to eat as many mini croissants as I could while I waited for her to decipher which mp3 was actually hers. With the snow falling I returned to my apartment safe and soundly, content that my NYE was successful. There were no fights, there was no puking, no walk of shame and there would be no awkward morning conversations or scenarios in sight as I’d be falling asleep in the comfort of my own bed to the lull of my own snores.

I resolved a year of greatness in 2010, I resolved to leave the past behind me no matter how far back it stretches but mostly I committed to do things I love in this new year. Which might explain why it’s 5:50 and I’m still writing sharing a story about how I still bring life to parties and how that word still spreads, near and far. Brita James, it’s an experience, I’ll let you know when the show's coming to a town near you!

Welcome to 2010!

The future's officially here...well not really but 2010--twenty-ten, sounds pretty futuristic if you ask me. New Year's was pretty eventful as I ushered in 2010 with a couple of friends and a handful of pretentious strangers in Cleveland--it was glooorious! Outside of a rowdy New Year's Eve, I've spent the last few weeks in a complete state of much needed rest and relaxation.

In an attempt to breakaway from traditions past, I decided not to make a list of resolutions i'll fail to keep but have instead committed myself to a significantly more healthy style of life in the upcoming months. I already eliminated beer, soda and junk food from my diet for the most part so 2010 is about hitting the gym...HARD. Despite the fact that I hate waking up early, especially during winter in the Midwest, I've decided to do exactly that and dial up the alarm clock an hour to hit the gym. I'll hate myself the first two weeks while my body endures both the shock of the frigid winter morning and the return to strenuous activity but in the long run I imagine i'll be grateful. We've also got a gang of ex-basketball players and/or enthusiasts excited about playing pickup ball a few times a week so I guess i'm looking forward to Monday??

2010 officially marks the end of my time in the AK. I'm done with grad school in a few short months so i'll be delving into the job market with great fervor in an attempt to land the some sort of job in the real world when i'm finished here. Don't worry, i'm still writing...a lot actually. I just find that two thirds of everything I write is mostly traded via email as opposed to being posted on my blog. Not to worry, with my lightest course load yet in my final semester, I think i'll find just a few more hours a week to dedicate to my blog and the random experiences i've incurred whilst in Akron.

I don't have much else to say except that I wish you and yours all the best in 2010. I hope you get the new year started on the right foot as I certainly intend to begin mine. Deuces!

Random Musings from the desk of Brita...

well technically from my lap, but same difference you get the idea. Good tidings to you all, the holidays are finally here....yay! (for you and yours or whoever is celebrating christmas this year). From the intonation of that sentence, you've gathered I won't be. Though i'm sure the mass text messages i'll receive multiple times throughout the day will suffice in appreciation. Enough rambling about the holidays though. I've got three main topics to discuss....MTV, specifically the Jersey Shore show no one can seem to stop talking about. Lady Gaga, the woman whom no one can seem to stop talking about. I know, I know. I'm a fan. I'm a monster but there is some relevant transcribing below so read on friends (or don't). And finally, Tiger Woods, perhaps the biggest media whore right now, who probably wishes people would stop talking about him.

MTV - Jersey Shore.
As an individual from New Jersey, someone familiar with the Jersey Shore and a considerable amount of things "Guido", tuning into watch the show was a natural reaction. Unlike most it seems, I knew what I was getting myself into as I settled in for the long haul and endured the two-hour season premiere. Per MTV tradition, it was designed to lure watchers with as much drama and hype crammed into the episode as humanly possible. It was there, it delivered and it failed to disappoint. The cast members--four guys and four girls all of Italian decent are picked to live in a house, down the Jersey Shore. Sound eerily familiar? Good, it should. Keeping pace with the Real World segment which follows the unique formula of selecting eight hand picked strangers to live in a house in a different segment of the world or country, which will without fail NOT get along is what has made MTV reality programming famous. It's their bread and butter, and ultimately entirely predictable. It shouldn't come across as THAT shocking, pick your jaws up already.

Take for instance the Real World: Washington D.C. set to premiere on Dec. 30 (my birthday fyi). From what I’ve gathered in limited clips on television, filmed in the weeks leading up to Obama's election (when I still lived in the Capitol), eight cast members from both the republican and democratic parties are picked to live and work with one another (gee, conflict much?) in a dope loft or house in the District. The cast is comprised of from what I can tell, an insecure blonde obsessed with working out thanks in large part to her mother's thoughts and feelings about her body image, a bisexual guy, who you know doesn't want to discuss it (for the first night in the house) and then your typical MTV filler cast members--token black guy/girl, frat boy who likely comes from an extremely prestigious university, a prude girl and probably a few sexually expressive guys and girls. Again, this is all my apprehension, but in familiarity with a show I’ve watched on and off since Ruthie from Rutgers made Hawaii memorable in 1997 (?), I've picked up what MTV is throwing down.

Shock culture. Ratings. These are things MTV executives think when they invite the nation to open casting calls then carefully select the most 'interesting' eight to make the final cut. What would MTV's Real World be without gays and Mormon’s feuding? What would MTV's Real World look like if it was book worm vs. book worm, debating the benefit of reading Chaucer over Shakespeare (or whatever)? It would be BORING. No one wants to watch good things happen on reality TV; no one wants to see a reality TV show in which the main character is focused on bettering themselves or helping society. Hello, that's what AE's Intervention is for! MTV has kept it pretty consistent with the brand of Reality TV show they produce, it's geared at being edgy and luring young viewers into watching a few weeks worth of embattled teens or young adults as it now seems (Hills, The City, etc.) deal with 'real life' situations, fueled and powered by drama. O-mi-GOD, like did Heidi even say that? Home girl, you have a REAL alcohol problem, we're your friends and we drink slightly less than you do so we know how to spot the signs. You blacked out three times; we only did once this month. Ever notice how The Hills and shows like it end with cliff hangers? Oh no, what will Justin Bobby do next season, outside of flipping hair out of his eyes while he speaks? I don't know, nor do I care, but I continue with my point, MTV 'reality' programming is predictable.

SO it came as no surprise to me that half the nation would find the Jersey Shore rude, offensive and idiotic. Me? No, not me, I expected all of what I saw and then some. What with the "Guido speak", the degradation of women--self imposed or otherwise and drunken debauchery? It was right on par with my expectations. First and foremost, the Jersey Shore (the real thing) is heavily populated by an Italian-American community in the summer. Ever wonder where MTV got the idea from? Watch an MTV True Life episode from a few years back about a group of idiots living down the shore in a house (hmmm, sound FAMILIAR?). You'll have the entire season of Jersey Shore summed up nicely in about 50 minutes of programming.

Eight guys and girls talking about how much attention they need and expect when they go out. How good they look? How tight their clothes are? How much they drink and how the only goal of the night is to interact with 'chicks' that they'll later bring back to the house to 'smash'. It's not shocking. This is what MTV wanted. MTV wanted to give you a glimpse into the inhabitants of Staten Island, parts of New York and apparently Rhode Island and show you a sample of Italian-Americans and how they spend their summer. I imagine it'd be the exact same if and when MTV decides to pick eight Irish-Americans and plant them in a home in Boston to see how things turn out. SHOCK culture! Wow, they got drunk? Oh my god? They fought? They broke stuff and got arrested? Now I didn't see ANY of that coming! Come on gang, they want a rise, it makes for more television. Have you seen these clowns on the late night show circuit, promoting the show? Oh god, it's hilarious. Snooki, on Conan a few nights ago was promoting her own spinoff! Love with Snooki? Seriously!!

Back to the point...Are all Italian-American girls sluts? I'd imagine not. Do they all put their hair up in 'poofs' without the use of a bump-it? Probably not. Do all Italian-American guys have blowouts and beat up the beat on the dance floor? Do they all wear tight Ed Hardy and Smet shirts?? Are they all chauvinistic dicks? Probably not. But again, what MTV is doing is manipulating all these factors to produce what they imagine is dramatic television. Ever notice how the MTV houses are always chock full of liquor before the cast even arrives? Add five gallons of alcohol to increase social lubrication, roll camera and let the fun begin! If you watched, you saw how atrociously drunk Snooki got on the first night and the heavy roll alcohol plays in the show every night there forth.

Alcohol seems to be a big part of any MTV show (RW/RR Challenge, Real World, etc.) and is especially true of this cast so it came as no surprise that the testosterone and estrogen levels starting skyrocketing and fights erupted left and right, duh the cameras are here. How is a guy gonna let some other guy hit his boy in the face and not retaliate? Do you see this camera behind me? Do you understand that in about five months, the show will air and my 'real boys' will think less of me if I don't react and just walk away like an adult? The whole thing is an act. While drunken people fight down the shore, they don't get this ridiculous! MTV deciding not to air Snooki getting popped in the face was a complete COP out. Like really? Yes, it sucked for Snooki to get hit and I’m not a fan of abuse against women but take it from me, as someone who's been punched in the face, albeit not down the shore, it's a lasting memory and per the rules of reality television, I think it's one that Snooki deserved to live in infamy for, for the rest of her life! Do you know how many gag reels it didn't make? So sad. Still, this is what they signed up for. These are the lasting memories she elected to sign up for as they are broadcast to the world.

The Jersey Shore follows the same format as Real World in that the cast hardly works and plays harder. The gig? Slinging customizable apparel and t-shirts down the shore, reallllly challenging guys. Still this cast makes it seem impossible when pesky hangovers and hurt feelings prevent them from showing up to do the job. The similarities are there people, draw the CONCLUSION!

Enough rambling about the show. You either have seen it or haven't, either hate it or love it. But by god if you haven't seen it or have zero opinion about it, lemme tell you there's an army of Italian-Americans who are definitely against it. See, they didn't have the privileged and scientific formula I’ve just shared with you, so they reacted in the wrong way. People as famous as Alyssa Milano have spoken out publically against the show. But you know, a ton of people were also upset about the negative image The Sopranos cast of Italian-Americans as well, and we all know for a fact the Mob is real so I guess it wasn't that far of a stretch and people eventually calmed down. I imagine the same will be true of Jersey Shore.

What I have to say to those OUTRAGED by the show, demanding that it's pulled from the air is this, relax. These eight people do indeed represent a select number of the Italian-Americans in this country. A select MINORITY. MTV airing that for all to see is just MTV doing what it does best. It's the same way they gave celebrity status to fame-mongers Heidi and Spencer and air a bunch of spoiled rich kids living in California each week. The only difference is the Jersey Shore cast is likely worse off financially. Do you think all the other rich and less famous kids in California are disturbed that Speidi's out there giving them a bad name? Probably. Difference? Too fucking busy to care. It's life. MTV's been subjecting various groups for public consumption since the dawn of time, they aren't going to stop now because they're pushing a minority sect of Italian-Americans widely known and popularly accepted as Guidos. If you think they're just eight in this world, you're severely demented and need to book a flight into Newark, LaGuardia or JFK airport and get a taste first hand. It won't take long for you to find this hidden sect everyone's got their arms up about. My advice to you? Flip the channel or move the fuck on. Pompous in-your-face-tongue-in-cheek reality programming from MTV is here to stay.

Lady Gaga.
You either love her or hate her. Personally I'm a lover. I won't even begin to lie, I purchased The Fame last year, but outside of listening and enjoying the music, I didn't know much. Poker Face, Startstruck, Paparazzi, Love Games. All solid tracks, I liked the music. But after watching things develop and evolve in her camp over the past year, I've caught on. I get it.

I get it because it seeps deeper than just the music or a record. It's about freedom of expression to the fullest and being who you want to be. It's about a dream or a thought and following through, no matter how long it takes you. It's about not caring about what people think, what people say or how they react and just doing it. It's about LIVING life to the fullest and holding no regrets. And those are all concepts I think a lot of young people right now can accept, appreciate and relate to. Whether it’s saying ‘fuck school I want something more for my life’ or ‘screw this, I'm gay and okay with it’. It's a fucking stream of consciousness and I can definitely appreciate that.

It takes a lot for a musical artist to impress me. In these tough economic times, it takes even more to impress me enough to get me to BUY a record. So after purchasing The Fame Monster, listening to both cds on repeat for a few days, I was sold on the notion of Gaga and Monsterism. The eight tracks on the second CD on The Fame Monster, I have a new found appreciation for. In both lyrics and in the music, this lady's talented. It's like, you may not get Lady Gaga (and I by no means am purporting to do so) or her crazy sense of fashion as designed by the Haus but there's something in every song for someone. "So Happy I Could Die" officially my song of the moment, for so many different reasons touches me. And when thinking why it was I wanted to write about Lady GaGa in this post, I remembered. I can't tell you the last time a song did that to me. It's been too long.

Since really boarding the GaGa bandwagon, one thing's clear, she's dedicated to her fans. And outside of making really great music, I think that's what separates her from the pack. So many musical artists are full of shit, they act like they care about their fans but in actuality, it's about the money and whatever else. Hear about Lil' Wayne's little fiasco recently? Well I guess he wanted to get weed or smoke before a show and got arrested, never made it there. Never even called. No one knew he wasn't showing up. Now that's a dick move and sadly, it's something that is becoming increasingly common so I think for GaGa to stand apart and embrace her eclectic fan base and appreciate them is huge in the music business today. Embracing the gay community whole-heartedly is perhaps even more moving.

It's not just the fact that she makes incredible and popular music--which she indeed does. But something much, much bigger than that, bigger than her even. It's the concept and artistic control aspect. It's the lack of regard for critics or people that don't get her as an artist, as a brand-which is steadily growing. It's a notion and an idea. It's about having the balls to call your record 'The Fame (Monster)' but not giving two shits about the ideology associated or imposed with fame. For all these reasons, I do wholeheartedly believe Lady GaGa deserved to win MTV's Woman of the Year award, sit down and chat with Barbara Walters as one of the "10 most fascinating people of the year" because she is. Love her or hate her, home girl is on the move, with or without you!

Tiger Woods. (Cue Brittany Spears Womanizer please.)
Unless you live under a rock or suffer from some abnormality which prevents you from reading print media, watching television or hearing in general, you've heard about the Tiger Woods scenario. It began with a peculiar late-night one-car accident; from there it's morphed into a story of gargantuan proportions with more twists than an M. Night Shyamalan movie.

A fall from grace isn't something anyone in the public eye, let alone professional sports, appreciates. Ask Charles Barkley, ask Kobe Bryant, ask Michael Phelps. Now Tiger Woods can join that club--following a fall from his elite and pristine pedestal. In fact, it's yet to fully die down. I am pleased to report he finally stopped trending on twitter, still media networks and outlets continue to follow the story relentlessly. Recent reports suggest Tiger's marriage was a sham, something to bolster his public rating while his led his double life which included banging as many white chicks as he possoibly could. Good for his wife, she wised up and has filed for divorce. Hope those prenuptials were signed Tiger!

But really, let's look at it. This is Tiger Woods. The most prolific golfer perhaps in the modern era and in the blink of an eye, he's becoming more renowned for his play off the course. Really? Homeboy had 13 different mistresses? Incredible, a number Wilt Chamberlain (former pro basketball player and womanizer) would scoff at but with immaculate Tiger Woods in the picture, has half the nation in a tizzy. This after all is Tiger Woods. A Stanford educated man, he should KNOW better. In a day where entire cable channels and television programs are dedicated to exploring and exploiting celebrities' lives, this is the nature of the beast. He should definitely have KNOWN better for digital and cell phone cameras and pestering paparazzi did not exist in Chamberlain's era as they do now.
His squeaky image is tarnished but what he and his lady friends did really didn't affect how well he tees off or swings a nine-iron. That's just reality. Still the ripple effect the negative press has had on Tiger's image extends beyond what his abilities afford him on the golf course. Sponsorship dollars bitch! So far, Accenture and Tag Heuer have dropped him while Gillette has scaled back his role in their marketing campaigns. For now only Nike is standing behind the man with many women and well, simply put, how can they not? Phil Knight knows he's got way too much invested in Tiger to piss this away over a couple of women, okay more than a dozen women, but the storm will weather, it always does.

Companies don't rely on what a man does in the bedroom or off the course to move products. While a stellar reputation does help in branding and merchandising, it mostly buckles down to performance. Regardless of how many women the man transgressed his wife for, the guy can golf. His skills and abilities on the golf course are what sell their brands. When tiger walks down the fairway in a distinct red polo shirt with the Nike Swoosh on his chest, hat and pants--that's what people are seeing, that's the image they remember when they're next in Dicks or Sports Authority. Not whether or not he was doggy-styling mistress no. 9.
Are his extramarital affairs awful, sure but they're nothing we haven't seen before. Gosh, remember that guy, Bill Clinton? Yeah, he was a president at the time his philandering surfaced. The nation was shocked, felt sucker punched by an alleged stand-up guy, paid to hold the highest office in US Government but we moved on. Jokes were made, laughs were had and years later the whole thing was forgotten--for the most part.

The fact that professional athletes are disloyal or cheat isn't new, at least not to professional athletes. Men spend countless days on the road in different city each night, groupies coasting, things happen. Some men are single, some are not. While all married men and professional athletes do not step outside their marriages, a significant number of them do. It's a part of the game. So what do we say? "That's on you Tiger, you got caught?" There are rules--albeit unwritten, to the game of cheating. Or so it now seems. Tiger, for someone as smart as he is, sure played this hand stupid. Like DUDE, 13 women for one, is way too much to keep up. Like how did he keep them straight? Regardless, doesn't matter, but just on sheer magnitude alone, he had to know it'd catch up with him. It has.

Tiger will bounce back, recently the Associated Press named him Athlete of the Decade. It might not seem like it just yet due to the microscope he's pinned under, but just you wait, some one else in the near future is bound to do something dumb in sports and that small window of opportunity is all Tiger needs to crawl through to start rebuilding his image. The guy is one of the greatest golfers alive; it's gonna take more than 13 women, a failed phony marriage and a few lost sponsors to keep him down. I just wish Dave Chappelle was still making comedy right now to parody this entire fiasco, SNL just isn't doing it justice.

Talk soon friends. It's been far too long and i've missed you.

Belief

I wasn't going to write tonight but after four cups of coffee (varying in size) and maybe a few sips of a diet cherry coke, fine, an entire diet cherry coke, I'm too wired not to.

What happens in life when something you believed in falls so far short? I'm not talking about the system, politics or government here, but what happens when people fail you? That's like, life failure. It's the greatest let down of all. Maybe I'm used to it but being used to it doesn't in any way, shape or form mean I'll continue to settle for it.

Belief, according to Merriam-Webster is defined as a state or habit of mind in which trust or confidence is placed in some person or thing.

So what happens when that confidence or trust is broken? What next? Well, that's exactly what i asked, what next? Let's face it, people and things we believe in fail us all the time, ask all those Catholics in Delaware whose Diocese had to file for bankruptcy due to all the out-of-court lawsuit settlements. Ask them, what happens next? Do they give up their religion? I don't know but what i do know is that peoples' individual beliefs will define how they respond to those sorts of situations. Adversity will test your character, beliefs and ultimately some how shape your future-directly or indirectly.

That's what my beliefs do, anyway. They chart the course. Have they changed in time? Certainly. But in my short time on this earth, I've learned that belief isn't something you can be taught, it's something inertly based within you, you're in charge thus you learn by experience and adjust as necessary. Sure, people can TELL you what to believe or what to believe in (read:religion, presidents, people in general) but at the end of the day, what you decide is entirely up to you. It's what makes us unique, it's what gives us and builds character. Choice. No matter what it's for or what it stands for.

I posted two quotes on my twitter account today and I'll re-post them here because they are ultimately relevant:

“The secret of a good life is to have the right loyalties and hold them in the right scale of values.” - Norman Thomas

"Let us not be content to wait and see what will happen, but give us the determination to make the right things happen." - Horace Mann

Keeping everything in perspective while holding your beliefs and values in line, at the end of the day defines and drives us towards success.

Food for thought.

Road Trippin’ – Part Three

So this brings the installment to a close. I should be studying for an exam right now but i'm wired and frightful i might forget all the crazy stuff that went on Saturday night before recounting Sunday for you. Enjoy. It truly was a magical weekend. I can't begin to thank everyone involved enough.


Saturday Evening - Don't be tardy for the party...
Saturday has been an eventful day. We’ve had drinks, watched softball, seen bits of the town and visited a local mainstay. Now, it’s time for the real deal. It’s our last night in town and we’ve been invited to a party. Technically, Bberry and Sprinter were invited to a party but informed the hosts that four visitors would be tagging along and thus we’re heading off to their friends’ house.

After the puppies were returned safely to their porch, Sprinter and Louise have earned nice hot showers and extremely cold beers. Bberry does her best two step in the kitchen while Wrangler finishes dressing and I desperately search for my brown argyle socks. My outfit calls for significant amounts of brown, including shoes and wearing black socks with it just doesn’t seem right to me. Turns out, I never packed them, and after serious Bberry convincing, I just put the black ones on anyway. She's good like that-at diffusing unnecessary crises.

After pulling teeth, getting six women dressed in under two hours is somewhat miraculous. I myself am super low maintenance but I distinctly recall, the entire party piling into the car as Louise continued blow drying her hair while searching for her shoes. We’re off in black beauty with BB’s owner in the trunk with the booze, three in the back seat, myself riding shotgun and Sprinter, driving.

Now, I’ll go on record and state that if you have a gps in Blacksburg, going to an address may pose a problem for you. The GPS doesn’t necessarily pick up juts in the road and new developments which haven’t been added yet. Looking for this house was presenting a challenge. Perhaps because I was too busy singing with Jamie Foxx about blaming things on the ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-alcohol but also admiring the disparity in homes ranging from trailer park to million dollar mansions, all in the blink of an eye.

We’ve missed it. We have to turn around. And to make a long story short, the house is located at the top of a tiny alleyway off the main road, easily becoming one of the nicest hidden homes I’ve ever had the privilege of driving up to. The cars parked in the vicinity are enough to make you trade your four years of collegiate athletics and make a prompt swift and change for something different, something, warmer. I jest, everyone loves their jobs, its just fun to play a clean game of what if? If the exterior was anything to go by, things are about to get a lot worse in a good way when we walk in. The finished basement is adorned with multiple big screen tvs, a professional pool table (including professional sticks as highlighted by Louise) and a very nice bar stocked with top shelf booze.

We enter. Say our hellos and meet the nice people, some of reside in this lovely abode. Spade and Louise had the good sense to purchase an extra copy of the ESPN Body Magazine for the party hosts. This was immediately presented upon entering. I think we may or may not have monopolized the issue before leaving it to them to enjoy once we’d left. As always, it's a brilliant conversation starter, like, "hey did you see this naked woman with one leg?" or "Page 62 is amazing, well you just have to see it, no seriously, just LOOK at this" and so on and so forth.

These people are spirited southerners, again, we get to appreciate some fine accents, though these are clearly decipherable and formally educated. I’m not sure how but in an instant, I’m taking a shot of crown royal with another party goer. My life circle shrinks a little tighter, when I learn I have two people in my immediate life who have been affiliated with nearly half the room!! SMALL world, right? Needless to say the discussions give me a few bargaining chips for the future.

Shots give way to the longest game of pool in the world. No joke, I walked away from this game MULTIPLE times, assuming it had ended only to return and find it still operating! I finally sink the eight ball and win the game with one of our hosts, though all of us agree it was the absolute WORST game we'd ever played in our lives, like ever. Our host has a keen ear for music as she puts on the new Jay-Z album, apologizing for the fact that it isn’t the edited version. Little does she know, my mouth occasionally rivals that of a sailor and it takes a lot to offend me. I proceed to rap a spot of Jay-Z to keep some of the folks entertained. Bberry makes me take my sweater off even though I don’t want to. We do a second shot of crown royal. The room is getting even hotter. There’s a decision to play guitar hero. I lose playing right handed because the controls are reversed and I’m drunk. The loss is only worsened by the fact that my opponent is almost old enough to have birthed me. I should also note that said woman has been pouring me cranberry-vodkas with a seriously heavy hand all night long. So, she is partially to blame for my downfall.

We've been watching the football game which now ends, our team loses, and they should have won. So now anyone who supports college football on the trip is in the same boat because their team has lost. The gloating can officially end for Bberry who politely rubbed my Scarlet Knights’ loss to Pitt on Friday in my face (:)). It’s time to go home. We load the cooler back into the vehicle, pile in and ride home. More beverages are consumed, I think. I fall asleep in a recliner before Louise wakes me up to pull out the couch. I look up grunt and fall back asleep and wake up in the middle of the living room the following morning.

Sunday Bloody Sunday…
Bberry is awake getting Gatorade, a smart choice, however every footstep she takes reverberates within my head. To say I’m hungover is a severe understatement. Generally when I go on a 24 hour bender as I had the day before, I sleep in till noon and order Chinese takeout unless i'm able to get to Wally Waffle before noon then that too is a viable option for curing me. Since we’re on vacation and since it’s our last day in town, neither of these are an option. We are given 15 minutes to get ready for the day ahead. I feel like I’m living in a surreal reality tv program. And at this point I’m not sure that I’m speaking English and my head is pounding out of its skull.

Spade walks downstairs in unusually high spirits. She stopped drinking at a decent hour apparently. Me? Not soo much. Most of us are living and we shortly learn that Wrangler will be heading home directly from breakfast. We head to Famous Anthony’s for our final group meal. Tear.

Louise, digging through Sprinter’s music collection finds the U2 Singles album. I don’t know if you know this about me, but I love U2 so it’s only fitting I get to play with the setlist as we navigate towards our destination, with zero hiccups. We sit down to eat breakfast just after 8:15 am which is impressive by all standards, considering my condition upon waking up. I’m contemplating what I should eat because after talking a big-BIG game about my ability to shrug off hangovers, I’m immediately put to the test. This won’t be easy. The menu is overwhelming me so I decide to wing my order and select three things I know will HAVE to be on some sort of combination meal: toast, bacon and eggs, thankfully they come with homefries.

I’m not sure if I’m having a language barrier but I order a water with my meal as well as a coke. Turns out they don’t have coke so I have to settle for pepsi. The waitress for some reason wants to give me a sweet tea, I correct her and say I’d like a water, she CONTINUES to write down sweet tea before Bberry has to tell her I just want a simple water, in plain American English.

I think everyone except Sprinter goes with omelettes, who opts for sausage gravy and biscuits. The meal takes me back to my all too distant past where I recall consuming amazing gravy and biscuits on fairer occasions. When the waitress returns with our drink orders, she has most certainly brought me a sweet tea, despite repeated memos that I didn’t want that beverage, she missed the boat. Since Wrangler didn’t want a water but received one anyway, I get hers and the unwanted-unordered sweet tea is returned to the kitchen.

As we sit around chatting, briefly recapping the night the post-early church going crowd starts rolling in. Louise and I who have been on a steady-southern-accent search since arriving, both widen our eyes as we see a group seated behind us. I think we’re eating at this juncture when an elderly man, named Leonard (pronounced Liiinard) pays their table a visit. Something is wrong with Liiiinard’s hand. Cue elderly woman: “Oh Linnnard, what hipppend to your hiiind?? (read: Oh Leonard, what happened to your hand?). I about die while Louise ponders whether or not the group will record a blackberry voice message in their southern accent for her phone. We decide it probably isn’t the best idea and that while we all find these accents highly amusing, the people have had them their entire lives and probably wouldn’t like being made fun of for it.

Bberry is off to work again and we’re deciding what we can do post breakfast. Sprinter needs gas, as does Wrangler who we say goodbye to upon paying our checks only to say hello then goodbye at the gas station moments later. She’s lucky to have a two hour drive ahead of her, in comparison to our six hours later in the day. Wrangler was fun, and as you have hopefully gathered by now, she drives a fun Jeep Wrangler, token lesbian-mobile (nothing but love behind that statement, besides, you know it's true. Quickly, count how many of your gay friends drive jeep wranglers. Exactly what i thought.)

Sprinter is my favorite plan coordinator. She is amazing at this job and upon getting gas, decides we can not only tour the campus, head home for a quick cat nap, pack up and get coffee but also visit the bookstore and go watch some more softball before heading home. She's good at her job :). At this point in the morning, my brain was still wrapping itself around the fact that I had kept breakfast down but Sprinter was 10 chess moves ahead, as she was all weekend long, hats off to Sprinter. I am content in the front seat, commanding the U2 album.

We take care of the tour, getting an in-depth look at all of the facilities and buildings, in addition to Sprinter’s office, a converted dorm which brings her back to freshman year on a daily basis. The highlight of the tour occurs when we stop and check out the memorial for the 32 members of the Tech community who lost their lives in 2007. PS: I bought a book on the VT tragedy and have been seriously moved by what I learned about that day, the individuals involved and how the community rallied around one another and still do to this day. It was truly incredible. We get to see the memorial for those lost, appreciate the enormous drill field and take in a bit more of the campus on our way back home.

After a quick pit stop at the house which involves watching an episode of Glee, we load up the car and Sprinter proceeds to pack us care packages including cookies and beer before tragedy strikes, our gift coozies are MIA!! We scratch our heads but thankfully my hazy memory recalls that they have to be in the back of black beauty, we’ll have to check once we get there.

On our ride to the softball field, our first goal is to get coffee but upon parking, we realize the bookstore is open so we’ll get gear first and coffee later! I love campus bookstores, this one especially since all the gear is a mix of Nike and Under Armour which is wicked comfy and sweet-looking. Entering the store, Spade vows to drop $200-$300 dollars, a figure completely unfamiliar to me, a poor graduate student, since that dollar amount roughly translates to paying rent!! We waltz in and I immediately want everything in sight but settle for a hoodie, a sweet Columbia beanie and a couple of t-shirts. After making my first payment, I realize I want a key chain and two books so I have to go back for a second purchase but keep my total feasible. Standing around with Wrangler, we note that the Snuggy (please search my blog on this henious invention) has invaded college campuses across the nation. Now instead of buying a blanket with your school colors, you can get a snuggy with them instead! Barf! Spade, who tried on a significant amount of gear, including shorts I may or may not have yanked from a wall because she couldn't reach at some point, came away with most of the store, hitting her target price on the head. In all fairness to her, she was buying for two.

Starbucks is next on the agenda when Louise realizes there’s a Cabo Fish Taco in town and immediately sufferes a case of FOMO (fear of missing out) to boot after learning that we were supposed to meet there on Friday night. You know, before we decided to detour, driving into North Carolina limits!! We get to the game and I promptly decide to change into my new purchases because I like to gobble. I look the part, sort of. And we enjoy another softball game, shortened due to awesomeness!

Somewhere in the contest, a foul ball appears to be sailing directly at me…while I’ve flinched the entire weekend, there is now legitimate cause to start panicking and/or throwing people out of the way to avoid getting hit. Thankfully, the ball sails north of me and I’m safe without spilling a drop of my hot chocolate. Louise makes a valid point that had alcoholic beverages been involved, to the extent they were the day prior, she would’ve been soaked through with my drink due to a failure in depth perception. The moment none of us want is nearing as time for goodbyes rapidly approaches. The game ends and a group of ladies turn to ask me, specifically, if the concession stands are open today. Not being from the university or familiar with what’s going on, I admit, I’m just a poser, and impostor for the weekend who has absolutely no clue about what they’re asking. I’m dressed the part but factually cannot provide them with any guidance. I steer them in the direction of individuals who may or may not be better able to address their concerns.

We head down to meet Bberry before we depart because Sprinter has scheduled a photo op involving all of us for a frame they’ll definitely place in their home. We hug and say goodbye. Spade notes that this goodbye, unlike the one that happened months prior at the Big Fish will be tear-free, mostly because alcohol has instead been replaced with hot chocolate or coffee. Christmas morning has officially come and gone, sadly it’s time to head back to reality.

All good things must come to an end…
The journey ends almost the same way it began, with us getting lost! Less than a minute we’ve been separated and we’re already taking a detour through campus instead of getting on the highway. Thankfully, Sprinter, following in the rear picks up on this fact too, calls us and rights our path. We hit RT-406 and the rest is smooth sailing. For quite some time, we are very quiet. I’m in the back reading. Quietly recounting the weekend while Spade drives and Louise rides shotgun.

We chat, Louise snoozes, we recount the tales of southerners past, including Liiiinard and the gas station attendant and we laugh, reveling in all the moments-big and small, that made the weekend magical. The final hilarious moment of the journey occurs when determining where Louise lives. She keeps saying “Brewster” however all the signs on the road say “Wooster”. I ask for clarification, stating that it’s really weird way to pronounce the town, specifically saying, "where I come from, things that start with the letters W O O, are pronounced WOO", at which point I’m told, “Wooster” and “Brewster” are two separate towns. The car erupts one last time before pulling up to Louise's house.

The trio is reduced to a tandem as Spade drives me back to my place but not before we get on the highway, going the wrong direction. How could we possibly end the trip without one last wrong turn or adventure? Louise swears she used her hiiind to indicate which way we should go but neither of us saw it.

The weekend was nothing short of amazing. Our hostesses rocked and were incredibly accommodating. There aren’t enough words to adequately describe the weekend and all that went on. After all, what words would adequately describe a reunion with some of your favorites?? No combination of sentences could possibly do the weekend justice, however, hopefully, just hopefully these blogs might have served a purpose by giving you a wee glimpse into how fantastic the whole experience really was for us.

Thank you Sprinter. Thank you Bberry. Thank you Louise, Spade and Wrangler. Thanks to all the people, including Leonard, who we encountered last weekend that helped make the journey a complete and utterly memorable experience. I think we all needed it. Now, I ask you all, what’s next??

Road Trippin’ – Part Two

Here’s part two in the three-part series blog detailing our amazing road trip. It spans most of Saturday’s daytime activities.

Saturday
Saturday morning comes quicker than I imagined. After a brief cat nap, I’m awoken by a combination of puppy greeting me in my face with kisses and Louise and Spade shouting at me to get up. The entire gang is together for once, and awake to converse. We’re camped out in the living room and I pick up where I left off with petting the puppies. I’d scared the younger pup off the night before so I wanted to make amends, I desperately seek approval from peoples’ dogs, and it’s something I’ll never be able to explain. Thankfully, she forgot my previous derelictions and shows me lots of love.

The puppies are interesting, they are Siberian Huskies and thus like the cold, and they literally sit outside on a cold porch (their porch) for hours on end and LOVE it! I’m completely mesmerized by this act and the fact that they like to come in, say hello and dart back out to their porch. They are QUICK, QUICK animals. Duh, they’re used to pulling really heavy people and stuff through lots of snow but don’t let the fact that they’re not pulling anything these days fool you, it’s in their genes.

Wrangler joins us and informs us that she is indeed the reason there are no bud light limes left. Sprinter and Bberry inform us that we may or may not have been slightly loud in our World Peace talks the night before as we may or may not have expected.

We’re planning out the day when it becomes apparent that Spade is the high maintenance contingency on the trip. Whilst making plans for the day ahead, an element of which included breakfast, Spade required a pregame to breakfast (she eats six meals a day). Add excessive drinking to the equation and well, she simply couldn’t wait. Bberry kindly makes her a Thomas English Muffin and we sit around the tube talking and appreciating the fact that the reunion is in full effect.

Starbucks is in order so Sprinter and Wrangler depart to pick up everyone’s drink order. Louise, to this day is annoyed by the fact that a Starbucks drink order can define a person? Don’t you think?? It doesn’t matter what you think because I just told you! White Chocolate Mocha, baby, mmmm, mmmm, mmmm!

After viewing some Sports Center with the gang, Bberry sods off to work. The day is cold and to get through chilly conditions at the games, two things are required: beer and layers. Once reunited with Sprinter and Wrangler, the plan quickly progresses to putting the plan in action. All at once everyone is dressed, ready to go and we’re off in Sprinter’s vehicle with Tegan and Sara supplying the day’s soundtrack. The wonderfully eclectic sounds of The Con send us on our way.

Breakfast
We are taken to an awesome hole in the wall type breakfast spot called Lefties. Lefties, I later discover, garnered its named from the famous clientele that adorn the walls of the establishment, myself excluded, who are left-handed. We’re special and we include the likes of Bill Clinton, Ronald Reagan, Arnold Palmer and well, Michael Vick. But unless you plan on invoking a mini riot, addressing the state of affairs regarding animal rights and how you may or may not have just offended every lesbian dog owner (perhaps including your gracious hosts) don’t celebrate the fact that Vick is on the list or on the bloody wall! It’ll just incite unnecessary pseudo-drama which will take several minutes to diffuse.

Breakfast starts off on a high note with the fact that there is a brand-spanking new waitress handling our table. The owner sends over an order of breakfast-like hush puppies covered in powdered sugar and syrup. My mouth just started watering, recounting their funnel cake-like consistency, melting all warm and gooey in my mouth. Ummm, party with my taste buds!!

The menu at Lefties is fantabulous, Wrangler settled on a breakfast sandwich and immediately catches my attention when she orders her egg fried over-hard, and I personally, cannot STAND runny eggs. It’s just not for me, or her apparently, and I can get behind that. Moving counterclockwise, Sprinter, the only person who’s ever been here before has been raving about their pancakes with cinnamon sugar butter which is just to die for, she orders them. Spade, Louise and I all custom order omelettes.

As we continue talking amongst ourselves, a lovely young mother enters the establishment with her cute son decked in a mix of Polo and North Face; I imagine she drives a BMW or Mercedes Benz cross over vehicle just to get the young man around safely. You know, like Brody from the BMW commercials?? Within minutes, I’ve mentally envisioned her back story and the life which she leads. They sit down and the boy appears wise beyond his years as he’s asking for his normal waiter, whom he addresses by name multiple times. He reminds me of a well-behaved Grayer from the Nanny Diaries.

The food is in the preparation stages when Spade’s demands continue. She must have Tabasco sauce with her meal…We MUST find a Barnes and Nobles because she desperately needs a copy the ESPN Body Issue (if you’ve got it, turn to page 62, it’s a hot topic of interest shortly). Looking at our tight schedule ahead, we all decide to shoot the Barnes and Nobles idea down, primarily because once I’m inside one, like a good one night stand and unlike a gold star lesbian, it’s hard to pull me out and reunite me with the land of the living. Also, time isn’t really permitting for such activities. We’ve got a tight agenda which allots for a brief stop at Kroger to purchase beer before the games, that’s it!

The food is amazing but home girl, our waitress isn’t the brightest of bulbs. She immediately starts showing signs of being new on the job. Namely, when she brings someone’s meal out without homefries that should come with the meal, or when she doesn’t know the answer to something, like whether or not the establishment serves cinnamon butter, so she just says no (when they really do); or when she doesn’t check the condiments before seating groups in the restaurant!! All things aside, the food is delicious, we’re all stuffed and waiting for the check when, SWIPE! Louise picks up the tab! Crazy amazing, we’re all slightly infuriated but completely appreciative.

We bid adieu to the amazing mother-son moving-Ralph-Lauren photo op, who we also deduce is related to the ownership as they don’t pay a bill or leave a tip, but simply waltz out as they came. We follow their lead but not before I’m forced to insert my foot in my mouth after slightly acknowledging the presence of Michael Vick on the wall.

Next door, Kroger’s alcohol aisle has no idea what’s about to happen. Wrangler notes the fact that we need a buggy, also known as a shopping cart in other areas of the country, is sort of unacceptable for what’s about to transpire. Some of us proceed to the beer aisle while two members dart off in search of the magazine section because Louise, “feels like this grocery store has a good magazine section” to look for the ESPN Body magazine issue.

In the beer aisle Sprinter, Wrangler and I move quickly and efficiently, amassing a collection of Bud Light, Bud Light Lime, Stella Artois, Sparks, and Michelob Ultra (regular and with lime) in less than a five minute time frame. As we finish the selections, the ESPN Body magazine is flying towards us, actually, three of them are moving rapidly in our direction.

Page 62 was some how magically opened and as such, we stood there gawking at a mostly naked Natasha Kai (US Women’s National Soccer Team, pictured below), her tattoos and what not. I need not mention what everyone’s internal dialogue sounds like but I can guarantee you, it included words like damn, wow and please God, let me have that, even just a slight fraction of that one day. After what seems like an eternity, we catch a glimpse of the softball page and pretty much all I have to say is, Oh heyy Under Armor, heyyy Wilson, you go ahead and get your sponsorship dollars out of this photo op! If you don’t know what I’m talking about, Google Cat Osterman and ESPN Body Mag. You’ll get the idea.


As the group is ushered towards the self-checkout aisle, normal families conducting regularly scheduled shopping trips likely look on in a mix of confusion. We pay for the goods but not before Johnny ID checker personally scans or verifies everyone’s age. Wrangler who also carries a rather southern accent, originally hailing from Southern Georgia, asks for ice in a way that I myself wasn’t too clear with so Sprinter, who doesn’t hail from the south and has called Blacksburg home for quite some time goes ahead and purchases it with zero confusion. The group has beer and ESPN Body to stare at so we’re just about set for a day of softball.

It takes roughly two minutes to situate the cooler in the back of Sprinter’s vehicle and I realize she’s officially a pro at this. This isn’t her first rodeo. In fact, this cooler may or MAY not have seen time in Akron this summer, during a series in which I may or may not have broken several rules to gain several individuals admission to our newly created beer garden aka the leftfield bleachers.

The drive to the softball field serves as a mini tour of the campus. We get a peek at the bookstore and the Starbucks we’ll eventually drop dollars in, we get to stare at the football Stadium and appreciate the signature brickwork before finally reaching the softball field. It’s cold as balls, but with the contents in the trunk, socks for gloves and multiple layers, most of us are ready.

Softball
Few things rival drinking beer at softball games, no matter what the temperature. Drinking at great softball games makes it THAT much more fun because you truly get to appreciate the caliber of the game. Seeing as how it’s fall, you’re not expecting the greatest of the great but you can assume there will be home runs, great pitches, maybe the ump will get hit in the nuts, maybe Brita will flinch at every foul ball-near or far, net or no net, and there will be a general excitement because I’m watching one of my favorite sports with some of my favorite people!

The game is underway, our team is well ahead in the bottom of the second and much in the same as Friday evening, Louise and I begin our day with Sparks, it’s only fitting. It’s cold, it’s beyond cold but the general idea is that if we drink enough, the coldness will drift away, becoming a figment of our imaginations. I take this to heart. We are a hodgepodge of fans with each of us sporting different apparel but all of us supporting the same team. After several individual trips to the car for refills, Louise comes up with the brilliant idea of donkey-ing beverages back into the park. The general concept is that whoever needs to pee next when the bag is empty, must go to the vehicle and replenish what has been consumed. I take my turn and handle the responsibility diligently, stocking the bag to capacity, like no prior Donkey had done before me.

A significant amount of beer is consumed in the doubleheader which produces several homeruns, several fist pumps and stool-to-player hi-fives. Some of Sprinter’s work friends come by and we quickly establish a post-game plan which includes going to a local eatery to continue alcohol and food consumption.

Bberry is done with her job for the day and can now officially play, she shall meet us there so the original group, plus three, head to the Cellar. The Cellar is exactly what you expect of a local college town eatery, good food, and cheap beer which is equally as good and just a good energy-which we mostly supply. We order, and the fun begins. Initially no one’s really around, the place is somewhat quiet, but that’s about to change. Ohio State, Spade’s favorite team is losing to Purdue. Purdue is not very good at football. Ohio State is ranked seventh in the nation (at the time). They lose. I make the point loudly as the bar quiets to a whisper and some people celebrate the situation not knowing a similar fate awaits their very own football team later that evening.

At some point Bberry shows up. YAY!! Excitement! Reunited and it FEEELS so GOOOD! We’ve all been eating, drinking and chatting, having a grand old time. Bberry officially earns her name at this juncture. For those of you unfamiliar, the Blackberry is capable of handling several applications, including twitterberry which most of us use in conjunction with our crackberries to get through the day. Bberry until this moment in time had limited tweets to once a week, typically on a Monday, and only from the internet. Introducing her to Twitterberry enabled her to tweet right then and there at the restaurant! Small miracles people, small miracles!! It is our hope that with twitterberry in her life, she might tweet more often (hint, HINT).

Sprinter, sad that she is without a blackberry, and unfamiliar with mobile twitter capabilities via mobile text, earns the amazing moment of the hour when she wanders away. We’re not sure where she’s gone but I assume it’s to utilize the facilities. It’s NOT. She utilizes the establishment’s computer to post a tweet regarding her lack of a blackberry! Amazing! Style points for creativity and wittiness!! Sprint and Bberry’s friend Kandy is attempting to convince me that her ancient Zack Morris mobile is better than my crackberry. It’s got about 90 pounds of armor which she removes as we begin a battle of transformers in the middle of the restaurant. Cell phones begin stripping down to their bear minimums as we duke it out to see whose phone really is the shit. I win, not because of my phone (which would’ve won anyway due to superiority) but because of my transformer like sound effects which completely kick arse!

Someone is screaming profanity at the table and our server comes over to hush us a few times. Eventually we’re told we’ll have to leave if we don’t get our act together which is FINE because we’ve got a PARTY to go to anyway! We pay a group bill individually, with a single file line which goes a lot smoother than I’d anticipated. And we’re off again. I get to ride home in the beautiful black beauty with Bberry and Wrangler riding shotgun. A quick discussion and we’re back at the mainstay.

The idea is to get changed, get ready and get off to a party within an hour. There are six individuals who must shower and dress in an hour time frame. Wrangler and Bberry get first dibs in this process as I sit waiting my turn. Vehicle number two commanded by Sprinter returns and before I can realize what happens, the two puppies, get out. Remember how I said they were quick? Well these two sprint and before I even hit the door, they are down the street and round a bend! Sprinter, gains her name as she immediately understands the graveness of the situation and darts off running, her form rivaled Flo Jo aka Griffith Joyner aka Sprinter which is where her name comes from. Louise follows shortly after while I, the least likely member of the travel party capable of long distance sprinting, period, let alone after quick and nimble dogs, stand guard at the door, constantly calling after both animals. It sort of works! The older dog starts bounding towards me and quickly enters the house, half way there. Somewhere down the street, Sprinter tackles the second puppy, mid poop, securing her by the festive Halloween collar to bring her home. The activities for the day are complete. Only after both dogs are safe and sound inside do we understand the magnitude of what could have been, the dogs once got out for like a three-day stint before being reeled in!! Talk about a small miracle.

The Bose sound system is cranking and we’re drinking while others get ready. We’re about to discover we’ve all entered the wrong profession and that we probably should have rethought our game plan as far as sport selection. There’s a party in the making but you won’t get to read about it tonight. It’ll make for a nice opening to our final day in VA. Saturday is almost two thirds complete but don’t be tardy for the party, it promises to be spectacular!

Road Trippin’ – Day One

Generally speaking, nothing is more exciting than a three-day weekend slash reunion with some of the greatest people ever! When you throw in copious amounts of alcohol, softball, impromptu dinner outings and parties, well, that’s just icing on the cake. That said, we embarked on a trip to Virginia this past Friday to do some much needed catching up or ‘visiting’ as they say here in the States.

This is the first in a three-part series which serves to recap the madness that was the trip and all its glory, southern hospitality, scenery and just SOUTHERN-ness in general. Some highlights included major detouring, ipod glorification, guitar hero, touring the campus and much, much more. For now, you’ll get the first day. Per the usual, all the names of people mentioned or referenced in this blog have been changed.

Friday
The journey before the official journey down to VA began at 4 p.m. on Friday afternoon. The week, which crawled by for others, flew by for me and the hour finally arrived. I liken the entire experience of the road trip to anticipating Christmas morning. Now matter how old you get, you’re still giddy, sick with anticipation and excited for whatever you may or may not receive!

Spade called me and said she was downstairs in front of my house, only she really wasn’t. She was actually five streets away. Once the problem was remedied we were back on the road to meet Laquisha aka LOUISE to mark the real departure, only one major problem arose: MAJOR ACCIDENT. Fast-forward and we get to Louise’s residence, do a quick drive by walk through to see how she’s living, switch cars and keep it moving. We’re officially off…ONLY an hour later than initially anticipated.

Our gracious host, Bberry is on the other end, awaiting our arrival and texting or bbming to determine where we are. We aren’t even close. We technically haven’t even left Ohio so in retrospect at the time, we were being pseudo-cryptic on accident. The journey is moving along and our first major stop was in Marietta, Ohio just outside the West Virginia state line. We use the stop to get gas, drinks, some highly debatable snacks before continuing the voyage.

The drive down gets interesting when we actually get into West Virginia. Not only do the roads rival a formula-1 race course but we’re looking for a RT-406 it’s supposed to surface somewhere but we’re not exactly sure where. Since I’m not behind the wheel or in charge of directions, I assume everything is on task. Besides, I’m in the back seat trying to make my blackberry modem work so I can actually ‘work’. I’ve been to this part of Virginia once prior in my life, spending a week in Roanoke with a RUSB player. I’m not sure about many things but I’m aware that Roanoke and Blacksburg are fairly close since the last time I visited.

A mini dispute arises when two members of the travel party, Spade and myself debate whether or not to take 81 towards Roanoke. We are quickly shot down as Louise tells us 406 is ahead. On we go!! The music is flowing, energy and team morale are high in the car and then we notice the mile marker…32 miles to go. 32 miles to where? Translation, 32 miles left in the state! Translation 32 bloody miles to the North Carolina border!

Panic mode ensues as we all mentally compute how far backtracking will even further delay us. We know our hosts are tired from long days themselves and from waiting up for us so the burden is heavy. Coincidentally as I reprogram my GPS, it finally dawns on me that in this day and age with a group of well versed travelers in this vehicle, that the fact a hard copy of directions to the location isn’t on board, is unacceptable.

By this point, communicating with Bberry becomes even more critical. Our timing has been off all night, and now we’re WELL out of our way. The GPS directs us to turn around so to be sure we stop at a gas station for clarification. This is perhaps the best turning point in the whole evening. We should have been in Blacksburg an hour and a half before now. Instead of going inside with Louise and Spade, I stay inside and get some concrete directions from Bberry to get to her house.

As soon as I receive the coordinates the dynamic duo returns, Louise has a bag. “Brita, do you want the good news or the bad news?” before I can answer she continues, “WELL the bad news is that we’re still an hour and a half away, according to the gas station attendant BUT the good news is we got SPARKS!” For those of you unaware, Sparks is an adult beverage, think Red Bull meets orange-y alcohol awesomeness! (Don’t judge me or us!)

To tell a story within a story, when the two women entered the gas station they were super pissed about the detour, cursing and what have you so the lady knew they were obviously driving, before Louise decided to pick up four cans of Sparks in one purchase and then two cups in a separate purchase cause they weren’t free. The lady, sensing there might be some drinking and driving going on (not knowing a third person was in the car) said, and I quote, in the thickest southern accent, “Ya’ll be careful now, they patrol it heaavvvy” translating to, don’t be stupid and drink and drive tonight, the cops are out. This is officially the first southern phrase of the weekend which will garner heavy use. I’m sure you’ll read it again.

Despite the poor news, the attitude in the car is immediately improved now that there is an actual address we are working toward. We tell Bberry and Sprinter (all in due time) to go to bed and not wait up as we’ll be there shortly. The music selection is adjusted as the mile markers tick down. Time is moving much more quickly and I’m not sure whether it’s sheer excitement, sparks or cabin fever getting the best of us. In all likelihood, a combination of all three is to blame.

We hit the exit and dial Bberry to coordinate as the GPS takes us so far and no further when cabin fever kicks into full gear. Driving through the quaint town we see a cat cross the street, someone yells, “P-word for a cat”, laughter erupts; there’s a mini stop sign in the middle of the road, as Spade drives past it, she cries out, “wait, am I suppose to stop at those?”, laughter erupts; we’re driving down a dark road with small street signs, we nearly crash, laughter erupts; we reach the residence in one piece and the greetings begin!

We visit momentarily, meet the puppies, say hello to Wrangler who passed out hours earlier, after consuming six bud light limes. Sprinter bought us Tech coozies for the following day as much drinking was planned. After a quick tour, a looking at pictures and evaluating a dvd collection we say goodnight to our delightful hostesses.

As we all sat there prepared for bed it dawned on me that I still had work to finish due to the issues I suffered with my WACKberry modem on the ride down, we put our sleep deprivation and buck up with a mini celebration of our feat. Naturally, one beer turned into a few as the most philosophical lesbian discussions ensued. “Define hook up for lesbians”, “Should lesbians marry?”, “Where is my life going?”, “Have you met ‘THE ONE’ yet?” and other such discussions kept us talking well into the morning.

Christmas morning has arrived. Sleep comes easy.

Stay tuned for segment two, detailing the events which unfold on Saturday. It’s a jam-packed day from sun up to sun down, literally. And I know you can’t wait to find out.