Camping is for losers

Instead of being a lame ass this past weekend I actually went out with friends Saturday night for drinks. Somehow (God only knows how) the conversation got around to this awesome breakfast place in Marysville. After we had been discussing it for a few minutes Tits McGee turned to me and said, “Wait a minute, didn’t you throw up there?” To which I replied, “Of course – what restaurant haven’t I thrown up in?” No, no, not really…there’s still a few I need to leave my mark on. Tits McGee followed that up with another stellar question: “Why were you throwing up anyways?” At this point I had to ask, “Has it been that long since we’ve hung out? BOOZE, of course. What else could it possibly be?!”

Anyway, the point of this is it lead to a round of nostalgia as to why I will never EVER go camping EVER AGAIN. NEVER. I used to go camping every year with my friends on an Annual Camping Trip dubbed the ACT (we’re very witty people) and I think like most twenty somethings this was really just an excuse to get good and wasted for a whole weekend.

One particular weekend we didn’t have enough tents for everyone so I, extremely wasted at the time, offered to sleep outside. I think I had some romantic notion that it would be nice to sleep under the stars. I was sooo naïve.

The problem with sleeping outside in the oh so wonderful Pacific Northwest is that it rains occasionally, but, no worries, because we had erected a blue tarp to protect us from the dreaded drizzle.

However, we were not prepared for when it rained so hard a puddle formed in the middle of the tarp forcing it to collapse and bring down a bucketful of rain water on my head at 3 o’crotch in the morning. I assure you not the best way to wake a girl with a hangover and at this point I thought to myself, “I don’t fucking give a shit if there’s no room in the goddamn tent they are MAKING room for me.” So I barged in there waking everyone up and pushed everybody over so I could sleep and promptly lay down in a puddle. IN A PUDDLE! A freakin’ puddle had formed on the side of the tent and I flippin’ went for a swim in it.

That was the point at which I stood up and let loose a stream of swear words and sat in the back of Tits McGee’s car until we left to get a greasy breakfast at the restaurant that I threw up in. That, my friends, is why I will NEVER go camping again. NEVER.

Lunch with a side of anti-semitism

I haven’t had anything of interest to say lately except that I’m feeling a tad burned out, but I sure as hell don’t want to hear me whine so I am pretty sure nobody else does too.

However, I was reminded today of a choice conversation I overheard last week that I would be remiss in keeping to myself. The other day at lunch I was lucky enough to be sitting next to a pair of older ladies and instead of reading my book I stared at it as if it was telling me something extremely important in the hopes that they wouldn’t catch on to the fact that I was listening to their conversation.

Now before you get all Judgy McJudgerson on my ass I assure you that you would have been listening in too. Really the conversation consisted of woman ranting about the state of the world while the other woman nodded and threw in a few “You’re telling me”s for good measure.

Basically, for a good fifteen minutes this woman went on and on about those damn Mexicans and, really, when it comes right down to it, they are the ones that ruined the economy. While we’re on the subject of the economy what is with Prez Obama and flying everywhere on Air Force One? Can you believe how much fuel that costs?

Between him and the damn Mexicans it’s a miracle the economy isn’t completely in the dumps! Oh, and did you see who he hired to be the head of Homeland Security? A JEW!

Yep. At this point it was fairly obvious that I wasn’t reading my book and they left soon after so I didn’t get any more pearls of wisdom to share. My guess is they want on a tour of all the local wineries and then drove home drunk.

On a completely unrelated note, despite his hate for the blogosphere Chuckles is tweeting for his company (@Wilmerco) and everybody should follow him because he really does live up to his name. In fact, I just have to share my favorite one: “Kate's been mistakenly complaining about hot flashes this afternoon. What she means to say is flare-ups.” Sorry, Kate… Also, my friend, Maria, started a blog and she is quite the funny gal so you should check it out.

I don't want to grow up

Do you know what I really miss about being twenty two years old? Drinking games. Sure, I miss going out and dancing, but really I could still go out if I really wanted to…I just don’t have any friends anymore who want to join me.

Drinking games on the other hand seem immature once you reach a certain age and being a girl who loves her games this distresses me. I mean is there anything better than games that involve drinking – besides donuts of course (that’s a given).

I love making up silly rules and embarrassing people and anybody who’s ever played with me can tell you how much I enjoy yelling at people when they’re playing incorrectly and then forcing them to down their drink immediately.

So I have decided that I want to celebrate my next birthday (Yes, I am already planning it…this year’s was just such a disappointment) by playing multiple rounds of asshole, kings, red/black, really I could go on and on here. I think this will be an apt way of celebrating the beginning of my upper twenties. I know I said that twenty seven is upper twenties, but I was wrong – I’m still in my mid-twenties. Thank God!

Unfortunately, after the last game of Asshole played with my friends ended with Tits McGee storming out because I kept yelling at her to, “Pay attention for god sake!! It is your TURN. Is your drink empty?! WTF?!”

Soooo…I hope people will be willing to give me a second chance, but I’m not making any promises of good behavior. I guess I’m just hoping people will be willing to overlook my competitive nature and my tendency towards verbal assaults when losing and indulge my love for getting crazy drunk while playing cards. At least I’m giving people nine months to mentally prepare.