Well Good Morning

I hate to say it, but my step father is rapidly becoming one of my favorite blog subjects. I guess, in a way, that’s what I have to do. I have to laugh at the situation. It’s a coping mechanism. And don’t get me wrong, so often I did laugh, but when I look back now… after all the years of craziness that we went through with him, it’s hard to remember the funny times. And when the funny times are when his drunkenness made us laugh, I’m not sure how funny that really is anyway, ya know? But alas, whatever gets you through. Sometimes you just have to have a sense of humor. And that… I have.

This story is about a legendary Fourth of July camping trip. Some of you are already laughing.

This story takes place not this past Fourth of July but the one previous. Around April of that year MacTen and Raps told me that they would be coming to visit for Fourth of July and of course Burny and I could think of only one thing to do: Camp. Mac and Raps are not necessarily campers. Or at least they had not been camping all that many times before this particular trip, so we thought that that would be the perfect thing for us to do.

As it turned out, we had a pretty good group that decided to join us. Nineteen at one point! And Burny and I could think of no better place to go but Icehouse… which is on the way up to Tahoe from the valley. My family had been going camping at Icehouse on Fourth of July since I was around twelve years old, and Burny and I had enjoyed coming together the year before. It was secluded, it was on a lake, but it was still a camp ground so we really had the best of both worlds. There were showers (that you had to insert quarters into) but the toilets were vial. It was a real camping experience without feeling too ‘in the middle of nowhere’. Perfect for Mac and Raps. Perfect for this story…

Well of course, as was the case any other year, my mother and step father went as well. They, along with my aunt and uncle and a few other family friends, were about three camping spots down the hill from us. Close but not too close. We couldn’t see or hear them, which was just perfect because I in no way wanted to share my trip with my step father. About half of the group were familiar with my step dad and his antics and the other half had certainly heard the stories. Of course whenever he is nearby, the stories come up and it never fails that someone says, ‘he can’t be that bad.’ This statement sets off the more unpleasant list of stories and so needless to say, my step dad was a hard topic to avoid. Especially when he was present.

As a matter of fact, at one point early in the weekend, someone made a joke that it wouldn’t be all too shocking if my step dad were to die on the camping trip. The half that knew him laughed, the half that had not yet had the pleasure thought that that might be a little bit over the top. Well, as it turned out, my step dad tried to go kayaking drunk, immediately tipped the thing over and couldn’t free himself. Yes, he nearly drowned. In no way do I think that that was the power of suggestion. That was the power of vodka.

Anyway, the camping spot we picked just so happened to be the furthest from the road. It was great for keeping our party private but it was a nightmare for loading and unloading the car. But either way, you couldn’t see our tent set up (which I must point out was around six tents) from the road. Well, not unless you were looking.

Well, Saturday morning, my lovely step father came looking…

Most of us had just stumbled out of our tents at this point and if I had to guess, I would say that it was around 10am. It was late enough that all 19 of us were awake, sitting around the fire and enjoying our breakfast. Well, enjoying it until he stumbled up.

I saw him down on the road right away. I have a special radar for him. And Burny pointed him out to the rest of the group. My step dad was still in his sweats and was clearly drunk. Even from that far there was no mistaking his stumble. And I knew exactly what he was after. He was looking for our campsite. Why? I had no idea. But I was in no hurry to find out. The group of us enjoyed making fun of him as he walked past, turned and came back, walked past for a thrid time, and then finally just started up the hill hoping to come across us.

Once he saw our group, and could plainly see (or so I can only assume) that we had seen him, he began to collect small twigs on his way up the hill. By the time he reached us, he had collected maybe 4 foot long twigs. And as he approached, a hush fell over the crowd. I am already embarrassed at this point, some of the group is already laughing and the rest are just waiting to see if all that has been said is true. Let me tell you… my step dad always delivers.

He opens up the conversation to the group of us with:

“I brought you some firewood.”

And then he throws his four sticks on our firewood pile. Ah yes… he thought ahead. He knew he would need a reason for coming up the hill… firewood. Brilliant! So at this point, I more or less have my back to him so I get to see the entire group, who is all staring at my step father. Burny is the one to talk. He asks my step father what we can do for him. My step dad, who can hardly stand, looks around and says,

“Do you have my pipe wrench?”

Most of the group bursts out laughing. Myself included. I mean, what on earth? It was as if everyone was anticipating something so ridiculous that it didn’t matter what he actually said, it was going to be funny. Don’t worry. The fact that everyone was laughing did not offend my step father. As a matter of fact, I don’t think he even noticed. But Burny didn’t miss a beat.

“Your pipe wrench? No, we don’t have your pipe wrench.”

“I let you barrow it,” my step dad said.

More laughter. Clearly we have had no immediate need for a pipe wrench. And why on earth would we have assumed that anyone would have brought one camping?

“Nope, we don’t have it. What do you need?” Burny asks.

“Oh no, I just need my pipe wrench.” My step dad has this weird habbit of opening every single sentence with ‘Oh no,” or “No.” For example: “No, no, you’re right.” or “No, I agree with you.” “No, I put the milk in the fridge.” It’s weird!

“Do you need a hammer? We have a hammer if you need that,” Burny offered.

At this point I can’t help but notice that everyone in the group is nearly in tears. Some of the guys have actually stood up to walk away they were laughing so hard. My step dad is funny, don’t get me wrong, and the conversation is retarded, but I couldn’t help but feel that I was missing something. I mean these guys were literally in tears.

“No, no… I know where my hammer is. It’s at home in the garage,” My step dad said. Clearly he misunderstood the question. Or maybe we have misunderstood everything. Anything is possible with him. And certainly, as I have said before, he will deny any of this having ever happened.

“Well, we don’t have your pipe wrench.”

Just as my step dad is starting to catch on to the fact that everyone is literally laughing at him, I overhear someone say something about a boner…

I turn around to examine my step father further. And sure enough… I kid you not… the man is at half mast!

In sweats.

Possibly no underwear.

I mean it was the morning…

I can literally feel my face get red and I too, have no other option but to cry with laughter. And as if this is a scripted event, Burny asks my step father one final question:

“What do you need a pipe wrench for?”

My step dad is right there to answer back with:

“I need to go pound something.”

WHAT!??!

He has a boner…

He needs a pipe wrench…

and he literally says “I need to go pound something.”

And at that moment he turns and heads back down the hill, as if nothing out of the ordinary has occured. The man does not get further than five feet away before the entire group of 19 people explode in laughter. Laughter that goes on and on. Laughter that is intermixed with words like ‘pound something’ and ‘boner’.

This is not a joke. God, do I wish it was. But alas, it is not. This actually happened.

Needless to say, the few people in the group that had not yet met my step father, or had not been introduced to his ways, asked us no further questions about our stories and our offhanded comments. There was just nothing else to say. My step dad and certainly said it all!

Horsing Around

I was once invited to witness a horse collection.

If you are like me, and are unfamiliar with that term, let me just give you some advice. If someone asks you to come along on a horse collection… SAY NO. Or else prepare yourself to be traumatized. This is an experience I will not likely forget.

I was in San Luis Obispo of all places, at a wedding of all things. Because SLO was so far from our house, my redneck family decided to toe the trailer along and sleep in the bride/grooms horse pasture for the weekend. Yes, it’s true. Welcome to my life.

So we got there on a Thursday I believe, the wedding was planned for Saturday and we were leaving Sunday. I nice little weekend. Or so I thought.

(If you are a follower of my blog, this just so happens to be the same weekend that JayHans wrote me the first note asking me to be his girlfriend)

Friday morning, the bride- and to tell the whole story, this pair was renewing their vows, not first timers- was heading out to the barn and passed by my mother and myself on the way. She asked us if we wanted to go with her to collect the horse. I had my 6 year old cousin with me and I thought, ‘Sure… why not. All little girls like horses right? Maybe my cousin will really get a kick out of seeing Angela (the bride) go get the horse.’ Because that’s what collecting a horse means to me: getting the horse. Right? I mean, I knew they were using a horse drawn carriage in the ceremony…

Now, the bride and groom are horse breeders. I knew this going into it. But what does that really mean to a 14 year old? Not much, I assure you. A 14 year old doesn’t really put much thought into how horses come to be on this earth. And if I had thought about it, I would have never imagined it would be like this…

Angela takes us into this open area of the barn. In the middle of this open area, there is a fake horse. And what I mean by that is literally, that; A padded cylinder, which is meant to be the body, and a plastic horse head. I am still not catching on to what is about to happen. And don’t forget, I have my 6 year old cousin perched on my hip.

So Angela leaves and returns with a horse. Easy as that. She went and collected her horse and now the story is over. Ha! Fat chance.

My mother, cousin and I all pet the horse and we are ooing and awing over the guy, while Angela is explaining that this horse is a male and is ready to mate and blah blah blah. I wasn’t really paying attention. And that is entirely my fault. I will never forgive myself for that.

After a few minutes, another ranch hand comes in with another horse. And as soon as this other horse comes in, our friend the male horse starts to get crazy. Angela tells us to get back, but of course the horse had already made that pretty clear to us. So we go and get behind a gate and watch as this male horse starts to literally lose his head over what I could only assume at that point, was a female horse. I have to tell you that I thought men were horny… men are calm, subdued little sloths compared to a horse that has spotted what he wants.

As the female horse is being paraded around the male horse, I can’t help but notice that- I warn you, this is alarming- her vagina is waving at him. I am talking opening and closing and pulsing and yea. No joke. Angela was explaining to us that the female was letting off a smell that only he could detect, and I was thinking ‘No shit!’

So as you can imagine, by lap two of the female’s parade of champions, the male horse had… extended. And by extended I mean… EXTENDED. And now my cousin is starting to cry because the dude horse is making all kinds of crazy sounds and jumping around and like I said, all around losing his mind. I’m trying to shield her eyes from what I am sure is about to happen when the male horse jumps up on the FAKE horse.

As soon as he does this, Angela gives the sign for the ranch hand to take the female out of the ring and I could immediately see why. This horse started beating this fake horse like I have never seen. Obviously, he was humping it, but his front hooves, which were on top of the fake horse, were beating down as if he were trying to kill the thing- thus the padding. I am not kidding you, this horse was screaming and humping and ramming and pounding down on the poor thing so hard, that I was looking for cover myself. So much so that the metal rods holding the fake horse up were swaying so badly I thought this was going to be the last rodeo for both horses. I remember thinking ‘how do horses survive this in nature.’ There was no way that that female would have left that ring in one piece had we left them up to their own devices.

But this is not the strangest part.

While this horse was going nuts, Angela- fearless renewed bride to be- jumped under the horse with what can only be described as a wiener vacuum and started ‘collecting’ him. And it’s not just like she put the thing on and got out of the way, oh no. She had to somewhat manually gather what she came to gather (no pun intended).

But this part is the same with both men and male horses. Once he got excited, it was over pretty quick, and once he was done, he was done. He got down and walked out as if he deserved a pat on the back.

I can’t say that Angela got out of there ‘clean’, but she didn’t die, which was a very real possibility. My mom laughed, my cousin cried and I was shocked. How could I have come so completely unprepared for such a thing? Well I can promise you this, I haven’t attended any horse collections since, and it will be a cold day in hell before I do again.

Sleeper dart

On Tuesday I posted a story about my wonderful step dad. Don’t worry, I’m not going to get serious on you right now because it’s always funny on Fridays, but I am going to take a piece of that story to start out this one:

Ambien.

Like I said, if you have never tried Ambien or seen someone take Ambien, well… I think it’s probably something you need to experience/witness in your life because it is amazing. I can’t believe it’s legal, and quite frankly, I’m not so sure that it should be.

I have insomnia. I have it pretty bad. There have been periods in my life when I haven’t really slept for months at a time. But even I don’t have insomnia so bad that I need a perscription of Ambien. That stuff is serious. But my mom takes it every night. I don’t think she would be able to sleep ever again if she got off of it, because it’s so unlike natural sleep that I’m sure her body wouldn’t have a clue how to adjust. I’m not sure I would know how to adjust to my mother NOT taking Ambien either. I mean, we are talking about a woman who went outside in the middle of the night in her pj’s and washed her car without remembering it. The only reason she pieced it together in the morning is because well, her car was really clean, and a hose and bucket were out. My lovely step father confirmed the story. (I’m sure he was probably hoping she would do his car too, so he didn’t stop her). But that is neither here nor there.

I have taken Ambien a hand full of times (or more) and let me just tell you a few of the things I can expect when taking Ambian:

hallucinations. I usually Hallucinate that there are more people in the room than there actually are, although they manage to stay only in my peripheral vision. And I do almost always hallucinate midget doctors running around my room. I can only see the top of their heads skimming the end of my bed, or a flash of a white doctors coat as they run away.

-I also see demons. Now, this goes a little deeper than the Ambien I am sure, because I am what you would call a ‘Hyper Sensitive’ or in other words, someone more susceptible to seeing ghosts or being possessed or having paranormal experiences. (These are all stories I will tell you in time). So when I say I see demons, I really do. My husbands face once turned into a demon when I was talking to him on Ambien. This upset him. It did not upset me, however, because Ambien makes me very calm and nothing really is scary about any of this when I’m on it.

-I also eat. That is the most common side affect for most people, says the commercial. You eat without remembering it. And it’s true. This is a very common occurence with my mother. She once left a telltale trail of crumbs from the kitchen to the living room where she often sucame to the drug. We have also been known to leave a trail of candy wrappers, or food out on the counter like ice cream, or even finishing something off entirely.

-And I can pretty much count on having to be taken to bed. If I don’t make it to my bed within 15 mins of taking the meds… well… good luck to whoever is around me.

So these are a few of the things to expect if you or someone you know takes Ambien. And now that you know a little back ground, I’m going to move on to the story for the day.

My story begins at the end of my relationship with SinkinShip, the boy I was dating when I went to Europe in an earlier blog. Our relationship did not end favorably. I had to move out of his house quickly and painfully, shortly after returning from said trip to Europe. So this story takes place within a month of my return.

I had moved in with two girlfriends, both of whom were not home on this fateful night. I was upset at the end of my relationship, as well as dealing with being back from such a life changing trip. (If you’ve ever been abroad, you can relate the the fact that it is hard to readjust back to life without that kind of amazement everyday). So to distract myself from crying, I was reading Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Great book. My favorite of the series. And of course I got to the party where Cedric kicks the bucket and so the water works started again and my head was just pounding so I decided to take an IB Profin.

I thought I took an IB Profin, but really I took an Ambien. Let this be a lesson to you: DO NOT CARRY AMBIEN WITH ANY OTHER MEDICATION. You never know when you might be upset and exhausted and not careful.

So thinking I had taken an IB Profin (thank God I only took one), I sat back down to read. 20 minutes passed (this drug hits you quick), and the pages were getting blurred. I figured that it was probably because I had been crying and trying to focus too hard, so I set the book down and headed for the couch to watch some tv. I remember stumbling a little and feeling light headed and being concerned that I couldn’t walk.

That’s the last thing I remember clearly.

The next thing I know, I wake up face down in a pile of Triskets in my living room and my friend, JumpSki, is shaking me awake. Now, at the time, I didn’t find this odd at all but I WAS overwhelmed by a crazy strong craving for orange juice.

“I want orange juice,” I told JumpSki, before he could even ask me for an explanation.

“I know,” he told me and held up a bag with two jugs of orange juice. What an amazing coincidence I thought! Of all the things he could have brought, he brought orange juice. I didn’t know why he was there, or why he was so concerned, but he had OJ and that was okay by me.

As the story goes, apparently I called him sometime after I realized I was having trouble walking and requested that he come over quick and bring orange juice. From what he said, he could hardly understand me and could tell that I was upset, so he came a-running. Bless his heart.

So JumpSki cleaned up the Triskets and put me to bed, which is where the midget doctors came into play. I can only assume that he either figured out what I had accidently taken, or he just thought I was weird enough to be acting that way. But whatever the case, he stayed around until I fell asleep and the doctors went away.

So yea, Ambian is no joke. I don’t recommend taking it alone. Although, if you do take it with someone else, make sure you have a video camera because Raps, MacTen and I have been known to do that too. We got ourselves stranded on a mattress in the dinning room and grew old, very old, together before escaping Ambien’s grasp.

Good times.

The big 2-4!

Welcome to the first post of: It’s always funny on Fridays!

This blog is rated R due to mature conduct, so watch yourselves.

Today I would like to go back a few years and tell you the amazing story of my friend, Raps, 24th birthday. She is only days away from her 27th birthday, so you can kind of get the timing of this event.

Her parents graciously offered to purchase a suite at a beach side hotel down in San Diego for the entire weekend. Now as one of her best friends, this was a gift for me as well! So MacTen and I, her roommates at the time, were thinking that this weekend was going to be epic!

That it was readers, that it was!

The following is my somewhat blurred recollection…

The weekend began much like today, on a Friday. The main event was scheduled to take place the following day starting around 2pm for a barbecue and then of course on to the bars down the street around 8pm. We had been looking forward to this for months, as you can imagine, and when the weekend began we were more than ready to cut loose.

Friday night in the hotel was to be a girls night only. No boys, no bars and no tears. Understand that when girls get some alcohol in them, we are 87% more likely to cry. But that was not allowed.

The night started like any other girls night; making and eating mass amounts of pickle bread (a delicacy for which I have become famous), chatting and of course, drinking wine. And as the night progressed in this absolutely ginormous hotel room, the ‘silly factor’ began to rise.

The hotel suite was separate from the rest of the hotel which meant we could be as loud as we wanted, and it was the entire length of the hotel which meant we could engage in a cart-wheel competition down the hall if the opportunity arose.

It arose.

Challenges were flying and after a few somersault trips down the wide hallway, with the number of somersaults nearing five or six, we decided that the next step was of course cartwheels.

Wine+cartwheels down hall=MacTen receiving a massive bruise to the ankle. Apparently, although there was plenty of room, it only works if you can get your cartwheels straight. And we learned that alcohol not only impairs your ability to drive, but also your ability to cartwheel.

Shortly after we ended this botched competition, I slipped into the restroom to ‘break the seal’ so to speak. I add this into the story because what happened in there has been burned into my memory for life.

Raps comes in and without cause, grabs the soap dish, fills it with water and throws the water at poor me, committed to the toilet. And then she does it again. And again and again. And then a few more times. All the while I am screaming for MacTen to come and rescue me, but the massiveness of the hotel prevents the rescue call from going through.

All I can do is try to block the onslaught of water, unsuccessfully I might add, and hope for the water to run out. It never does. By the time I figure out that I need to finish up and save myself, the toilet paper is absolutely saturated.

I have to say that the look on Raps face is probably the scariest and most scaring part of all of this. She did not laugh. She did not scream. She simply had the most focused look on her face, as if insuring that every refill hit it’s mark. Pretty nuts.

SO the rest of the evening was a lot more ridiculousness, but the next day is really where the story takes a hilarious turn.

We wake up the next morning sometime around 10am. Raps parents come bringing more gifts. FOOD! And of course more alcohol, but at that point, alcohol was not necessarily a high priority.

That quickly changed.

The guests were supposed to begin arriving around 2 for the barbeque I mentioned before. Well, around noon, the girls and I figured that we could get a little jump start on the drinking. We just wanted to have some snacks and maybe drink a few beers. No big deal.

Well that was the plan anyway.

For some reason, I started drinking at noon like I was on some sort of mission to catch up to the rest of my drunken friends… however, no such mission existed. We all started drinking to get drunk. And get drunk we certainly did.

This is, of course, is where things get a little blurry… so again, I am going to have to tell you the events of this afternoon/evening in a sort of bullet point fashion and I can not be sure of the order at all, so try to work with me.

-People begin to arrive and more alcohol is consumed.

-At some point, a wrestling match breaks out with MacTen and I against two boys from MacTen’s high school. I can’t be sure who won, but I know I put up a valiant effort.

-Flip cup is played. Beer pong is played. We are becoming very popular to the passers by on the beach below.

-My ex boyfriend, LemonBass (same guy from Guess what story) shows up, we chat, and  he tells me he will be back later when we go to the bars.

-MacTen and I have a discussion about how we have forgotten to go to the bars and begin trying to get the group ready to leave the hotel. We realize it’s only about 4:30pm.

-MacTen and I may or may not have exchanged body shots. If we DID, the shot from her belly bottom might have ended up in her eye washing out her contact and burning like all hell. But this is the stuff of legends.

-I must have attempted a revenge water dousing of Raps, because a second retaliation comes my way around night fall completely soaking me and my one outfit for the bars.

-I throw together another outfit that quite frankly doesn’t match and I don’t notice.

-At some point, our friend shows up to find us all over served, and accepts the mission that is now present of catching up to us by way of magnum bottle of wine. This does not go well. MacTen, LOdown and I take turns holding her hair back and calling her boyfriend to come pick her up. He has hardly made it home from dropping her off. It was just that quick.

-FINALLY the time comes for us to go to the bars. As far as I am concerned several days have passed at this point.

-We jointly decide to make a run for it, and that is exactly what happens. People take off in all directions with the same bar in their sights. I grab a ride with a friend. Some people share cabs. Some walk. And Raps decides that the quickest way is on the handlebars of a homeless man’s bike.  Needless to say, we all arrive at the SandBar in San Diego’s Mission Beach.

Side note: I love this bar. It is excellent and if you have never been, do check it out.

-We take over the upstairs area which is closed off once at capacity. Our party nearly puts it at capacity. More drinking ensues. At this point, I can safely say that I did not need any more b-minus, but no one likes a quitter.

-A very attractive friend of MacTen and Raps decides to serenade me with a Justin Timberlake song- which works every time- before going in for a kiss. Little did I know, he had already kissed MacTen that night. What ya don’t know won’t hurt ya.

-Moments later, he is holding a curved wire in front of me and waving it around, laughing. I can’t be sure what this wire is or where on earth he would have gotten it. Well, as it turns out, it is the underwire of my bra. I had no idea this young man was a magician! This was pure magic. I felt nothing. I have to say that I was very impressed and to this day, can not quite figure out exactly what happened there…

-A few hours into the bar (yes, this night was never going to end), I decided to call LemonBass and yell at him for bailing on the party. He tells me that he has just left the bar and that he was there for about an hour talking to me. Of course I don’t believe him, but he is able to tell me the name and description of the guy who I have kissed, as well as the fact that he removed the underwire of my bra. Well, touche. Paint me embarrassed. There is just no pulling that one out of nowhere. So I apologize and ask him what we talked about. He tells me that he spent the whole hour trying to get my attention and allegedly I would only look at him as if I had no idea of who he was and then go back to my business. Keep in mind we dated for 3 years.

-As the night is coming to an end, I head downstairs to close out my tab- which is remarkable that I even remember to do at all- and I run into a guy whom I have never met, but who my mom’s best friend has been trying to hook me up with. Even in my drunken state, I recognize his picture from our MySpace chats and of course he recognizes me as well. What a first impression I must have made…We never speak again.

-After closing my tab, I realize that I have been abandoned by my friends. Everyone has left the bar and I am wasted and alone. The only thing I can think to do is call MacTen who had left the bar about an hour earlier with her boyfriend. I knew she was very likely asleep, but I also knew that she would find a way to get to me.

-She tells me later that while I am on the phone with her, a friend from the hotel asks me if I am coming with them back to the hotel and I tell him that no, my friends have left me. He tries to tell me that no, they are right on the corner, but I just repeat that I have been left behind and MacTen will be picking me up. Bless her heart for not calling me an idiot right there on the spot.

-MacTen and her boyfriend at the time pull up and notice that the entire group of our friends are standing no more than 5 yards away from me on the corner of the street. I, of course, get into the truck complaining about how I have been left and no one cares about me. I insist on them taking me back to my apartment instead of the hotel, which is way out of the way, but they drop me off happily.

-The next morning I wake up… Super Bowl Sunday… worst hang over ever in life. I call my roommate and tell her to bring home ‘Bubbles and Grease.’ There is no other come back from a night like that… it has to be bubbles and grease.

So be sure when you turn 24 that you keep your underwire safely inside your bra at all times and buckle your safety belt. Thank you, and enjoy the ride.