Vacation Hard!: Part 10 - An Adventurous Venture for the Venturless Adventurer

First a gentle reminder. If you experience any of the following:
Easily hurt and/or compromised feelings
Extreme religious and/or political opinions and mentality
Diarrhea of the mouth while suffering the above afflictions
Please do not read my blog.

If you have an aversion to cursing, violence, sex, destruction of property, having a sense of humor, or Article 19 of The Universal Declaration of Human Rights please do not read my blog.

If you dislike or have difficulty understanding satire/sarcasm, just don't even bother. Nobody likes you anyway.

Awesome blog reading discretion has been advised. Don't be mad, Boo.

We all get loaded up on the flight and I wasn't the last person to be sat next to and it was kinda nice. And the lady who sat next to me was tiny, so much the better. The flight to Maryland was pretty uneventful and we land, grab our stuff and catch a ride to D.C. from Baltimore on one of those shuttles which we shared with some interesting folks from Australia and Thailand, and after seeing them I felt much less "touristy".

We get to the L'Enfant plaza hotel, where Ellie had strategically booked us. That hotel is the perfect distance to the National Mall, which was where all the really cool things to see and do in D.C. are, not to mention that it's situated right on top of the subway and also the perfect price: cheap. After settling in the room, we decide to get moving to see the sights.

We get outside and it's overcast......there have been overcast skies ever since I left Oregon. I haven't seen the fucking sun for more than five minutes the whole time I've been on vacation. And the humidity in D.C. is actually worse than it was in Texas that day.

Being awesome in front of the hotel

  But off we went down the block to the Smithsonian Castle. As we walked down there was a slightly obscured view of the Capital Building.....to which my Dad says to Irma, "Look, honey.....it's the White House."



  That stopped me in my tracks. This man used to grill me about everything from history to geography (knowing the capitals and cultures of different countries was a huge deal in my house) and it was hard for me not to be a total dick and correct him at the top of my lungs. So I just let it go.....for now.

 

 

We're just about to get to the cross walk to the castle and we see this thing:

"What the fuck is that?" Dad and I ask almost in unison. It didn't answer us, so we moved on.

We cross the street to the Castle and wander the grounds for a while before going in.




There is soooooo much to see when it comes to the Smithsonian buildings (and the capital in general), so we quickly toured the castle which has a little bit of everything, and got out of there in about an hour, walking out on the other side where hundreds of tourists are wandering around on the mall grounds. We have a look around, seeing the Capital building, the Washington monument and most of the other Smithsonian buildings and realize there is no way we're going to get to it all, but it won't be for trying, so off we go down to the Washington monument.

Because of my curse (sorry Virginia and D.C. residents) there had been an earthquake about a week before I left on vacation, which had significantly damaged some of the structures in D.C., including the Washington monument, so it was closed to the public. I didn't even realize you could go up into the thing, but now I do and am highly disappointed that I couldn't because I'm cursed. Also, there was a storm on the way up the east coast, but we'll get to that later.

Moving past the monument and walking down the thoroughfare I see the Lincoln Memorial, which I'm totally geeking out about seeing, and I proclaim "There it is!", like the nerdy nerd I am. Larry asks what and I tell him. He looks at the map and says, "Oh, no, that's the WWII memorial. The Lincoln memorial is past that." I don't know if he was trying to eff with me or what, but since I know the man well and his M.O. has always been "I'm only wrong if I say I am, and only then because I thought I was wrong in the first place, but I was actually right". So I mutter, "Uh, ok", and get on with my life.

 

 

 

 

 

We get to the WWII memorial which, consequently, is not the Lincoln memorial, stop for a bit and move on down to the Korean and Vietnam War memorials.









As we come up to it we can see that the reflecting pool is not a pool at all.......it's a fucking mud pit. Apparently it needed renovating and the dudes down at the memorial preservation office got together and said, "Well, it's been 30 years or so since the pool has been fixed, so when should we do it?.........What's that Stirdivant?.........You want to wait until Daniel Briggs is on vacation here?......Hmm....sounds reasonable. Did he buy a really expensive camera just for this trip?......perrrrrrfect........" - This is the part where I imagine my old nemesis Stirdivant steepling his fingers and doing the Dr. Evil laugh. He's been dogging my shit since kindergarten.

Here is a shot of the Reflecting Pool reflecting fuck all.............no wait!! It's reflecting that porta-potty down there at the end!! Oh, joy.

On to the Lincoln memorial we go and I love it. If the pool had been there it would have been almost too perfect, despite the overcast skies. A few pictures here and we move down the road to the newly constructed MLK memorial.  A few pics there and I start feeling woozy and irritated. I realize that I haven't eaten anything today, it's now almost 5pm and we've been up since the time nazi debacle this morning. I think this is the most I've accomplished in one day since nursing school.

I'd love to show more pictures of the MLK, Lincoln, and the three war memorials, but I found that I've lost something like 50 photos.  Needless to say I was livid, but I have better ones that I took a few days after this that will be in an upcoming blog and later on the 'ole facebook page.  Feel free to stop by and say hullo! 

I walk ahead of Dad and Irma, saving them from "asshole mode". I walk across the bridge on the tidal basin and stop right in front of the Bureau of Engraving and Printing for a quick rest and a drink. My folks catch up and we all head back to the hotel.

 

 

When we get back, we're all seriously exhausted, irritated, and in dire need of showers. Well, I suppose I was the only one who smelled like a brothel, because being as big as I am (and paranoid about B.O.) that's just the life I live. So I drank my weight in water and head into the bathroom. I take a very long shower and get out and sit down on the can to relax in silence (easy with the visuals, Reader, my six pack isn't that sexy).

 

 

I'm totally exhausted and feel like a bag of smashed assholes. Sitting there for just a minute was wonderful and peaceful, like a mini vacation from my vacati --BEEEEEEP-BEEEEEEP-BEEEEEEP-----ATTENTION GUESTS OF L'ENFANT PLAZA---THERE HAS BEEN A FIRE REPORTED INSIDE THE BUILDING---PLEASE EVACUATE IN A CALM AND ORDERLY MANNER-----BEEEEP-BEEEEEP-BEEEEEP----ATTENTION GUESTS OF L'ENFANT PLAZA.........

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No..........................................fucking..............................................way.

Next time on Vacation Hard!: En Fuego!!........NOT!

"Then my eyes turned red and I was vomiting pea soup while my head spun around.........."

Vacation Hard: Part 9 - It's the end of the world as we know it......because I forgot to take my watch off?!

First a gentle reminder. If you experience any of the following:
Easily hurt and/or compromised feelings
Extreme religious and/or political opinions and mentality
Diarrhea of the mouth while suffering the above afflictions
Please do not read my blog.

If you have an aversion to cursing, violence, sex, destruction of property, having a sense of humor, or Article 19 of The Universal Declaration of Human Rights please do not read my blog.

If you dislike or have difficulty understanding satire/sarcasm, just don't even bother. Nobody likes you anyway.

Let's have some back story before I begin the next part of the tale. I was adopted and raised by wonderful people. My folks were strict, but fair. I know, without a doubt, that if not for them I would be in prison right now instead of doing nerdy things like writing a blog.

That being said, and with all due respect, my parents were a pain in the ass. Most people's folks are, and you and your siblings sit around in your 20's and 30's talking about all the times you got in trouble and laugh, but when you're an only child........you get in ALL the trouble. The focus is all on you.

 

 

My Mom was notorious for waking me up for school with an animistic sort of shriek. Dad would just come in and pull covers off and threaten to pour water on me and I knew I had to get up because he'd actually do it. He threw away an $80 pair of sneakers once (Reebok Pumps....remember those?) because I didn't get them out of the living room before I went to bed one night. I never take a threat from him lightly, cause he'll do whatever crazy ass shit he thinks needs to be done to make a point.

The absolute worst habit he has is getting anywhere on time and I think he actually gets off on blaming other people for him running late. He gets himself worked up into a super shitty mood and has this whiny sort of growl when he talks, very much like I imagine my voice to be when I'm bitching at some of you Village Manor people when you don't do something I want or don't follow my instructions or when there's bickering. Y'all know I hate that shit.

Vacation Day 6:

So anyway, I'm woken up at 0430 by a slamming bathroom door. A moment later I'm in that twilight state right before sleep and I hear my father's whiny growl: "Danny! It's time to get up!" Needless to say, I'm grumpy. I had finally found a position on that bed where the iron bar wasn't raping my back about an hour bef-"Daniel! Get up!! Let's go!! Do you want to be late?!"--ore and I was comfortable and didn't want to move. I layed there, trying my best to remember that I'm a grown ass man now and I don't have to take this shit anymo---"Hey! Are you awake? IT'S TIME TO GO!!"

Here it comes, Reader: "I BEEN AWAKE, DAMN IT!!"

"WELL THEN.........GET THE FUCK UP!!"

So...........I got the fuck up. If it is possible to violently get dressed, I did that. Also violently brushed my teeth and violently packed my shit. I sat down, violently, to have a cup of coffee Irma had put on minutes after the bitching started, and again: "We don't have time for that! We gotta go! Right now!"

Pushing.......my........mother........fucking..........buttons...... "OK then! You wanna go? Let's go!" - So I grabbed my luggage and blasted out the door. I got about 20 steps away from the room and realized I had forgotten my camera bag and hat, so I turned around and came back. As I entered the room I hear Irma ask my Dad what was wrong. Dad says: "Oh, he's just being an asshole cause we have to go and he didn't get to sleep in and have his coffee." I grab my camera bag and Larry turns around and realizes that I heard him. "Well, it's the truth," he says. "Got that right," I say, because it was indeed the honest truth. Of course the annoying wake up call had nothing to do with it.

 

 

We get all our crap packed in the car and head out. Smooth sailing to the airport, park the car in the long term parking and make our way into the wrong end of the terminal. Got to the Southwest desk, checked in and boogied down to TSA, where my hazy, caffeine deprived brain caused serious issues at the metal detector. I was shuffled down to one of the stations where I mumbled something like "Whassamatter?" assuming that it was even English I was speaking. "You didn't take off your watch.....I have to scan you now." I look down and notice it there, something so simple, and become highly frustrated with myself. "Well, shit," I say. TSA guy frowns at me and says, "It's not the end of the world, man."

Somehow I am accutely aware that is not the end of the world. I am severely agitated that this guy (who was only doing his job because of my ignorance) would remind me of something so evident. I think the lack of earthquakes and boiling oceans and, you know, Jesus didn't drive by on one of the little airport wagons and say "Hey everybody......just a head's up. Might want to start doing some praying," might have tipped me off..........and then the truth of the situation hits me: I'm having a man-period. My sissy ass has been in airplanes and cars and in the heat entirely too much over the last few days and the idea of having to get on another sardine can coupled with no sleep, breakfast, or coffee has decimated my internal monolouge filter to the point that my most cynical of thoughts were going to declare war on everyone in the airport, especially Larry. 

 

There's no reason everyone else should have to suffer because I'm "being an asshole", so I apologize for my language and finish up with TSA and we get moving. Irma and I decide we want to stop by a McDonald's there in the terminal for a quick cup of coffee because (like you need me to tell you) she had forgotten to grab her cup back in the room because Larry, the fucking time nazi was rushing everybody out the door. So we stop and get our quick meals to go and then book it on down to the gate. As soon as we get there, I noticed people lining up to board. Since I have an early bird pass for this flight as well, I get no time to enjoy my coffee or shitty hash brown.

 

 

So........as much as I do not want to admit this, the time nazi was right all along. If we had left any later I wouldn't have been able to enjoy my precious early bird boarding pass. So all you Readers keep your traps shut about it, because you don't know what it's like to suffer that man, ok. It's a terrible, ego-sucking ordeal that I hope to someday share with my own child, along with many other Larry traditions such as:

 

 

Taking F-O-R-E-V-E-R to get up on Christmas morning so we can open presents.

NOT telling me when to be careful of something when working on a car. Well, technically he'd tell me, but only after I've busted a knuckle or crushed a finger by saying "Ooooooh.......that shit hurts, right? Yeah, don't do that", and then laughing about it for 20 minutes and telling his compadres when they come over to shoot the shit. A routine question some of these guys would ask when I was at the shop, "Hey, Danny....anything bleeding today?"

Stealing anything in my apartment that he may have thought was initially his. Fucking pack rat disease.

Pretending like he can't hear you when you're spelling something unless you use the NATO phonetic alphabet.

Calling me to ask about something on his computer that's frustrating him. The man has worked with computers in cars and on multi-million dollar government aircraft, and yet a Windows operating system baffles him for some reason.

 

 

And the list goes on.

 

 

On the next episode of Vacation Hard!: An Adventurous Venture for the Venturless Adventurer

.........What's that Stirdivant?.........You want to wait until Daniel Briggs is on vacation here?......Hmm....sounds reasonable. Did he buy a really expensive camera just for this trip?......perrrrrrfect......."

Vacation Hard!: Part 8 - This ain't vacation. Normal people sleep on vacation. And there's less yelling......

First a gentle reminder. If you experience any of the following:
Easily hurt and/or compromised feelings
Extreme religious and/or political opinions and mentality
Diarrhea of the mouth while suffering the above afflictions
Please do not read my blog.

If you have an aversion to cursing, violence, sex, destruction of property, having a sense of humor, or Article 19 of The Universal Declaration of Human Rights please do not read my blog.

If you dislike or have difficulty understanding satire/sarcasm, just don't even bother. Nobody likes you anyway.

Awesome blog reading discretion has been advised. Don't be mad, Boo.

Vacation Day 5:

We all get some much needed rest and wake up late in the morning, which for me (with this whole 'sleep at night' thing) is like 7am. I take a quick trip to Corpus Christi to have breakfast with Terri and Allesyn (another part of my second family and Laura's mother and younger sister respectively). We went out to a pretty good Mexi place Terri frequents where we chatted and reminisced. I was told later that when Terri went back there the folks asked about who I was and she said "That's my other son", which gave me the warm and fuzzies. The older I get the more nostalgic I become and that meant a lot coming from her. We get back to their place and look through some pictures I had mostly forgotten about and found some of the only pictures left of my Mom (Loretta) that were taken before she died, and on the night of my high school graduation. It was kinda hard not making the eye water when I saw those pictures, because I thought they were gone. And so I extend my sincerest love and gratitude to Terri and the whole family for keeping and caring for those pictures. It means a lot. And now that everybody knows what a big titty-baby I am, we can continue......

I jump in the truck and head back to Kingsville. Irma booked us at the family barracks on Lackland AFB in San Antonio for that evening, so we wouldn't have to get up early and drive all the way from K-ville for the flight out to D.C. that left around 8am. So we fart around, nagging each other to death, Dad showing me how well he's honed his considerable pack rat skills and Irma and I rolling our eyes at him like some kind of synchronized event in the Suburban Olympics.

We get the car loaded up with all our luggage and get going back to San Antonio. On the way I text Bunny and let her know I'd be in town in a couple of hours so we could hang out. We get to Lackland and get all our stuff unloaded and get ready to go out to the Naval Exchange (military shopping mall), which my Dad finds fascinating because there's no sales tax on base (something I enjoy statewide in Oregon).

After wandering around at the Exchange, we head out to Wal-Mart to get some much needed medicine for Dad, and I let Bunny know where we were and she picked me up. Off we went to Casa Rio (a popular mexican restaurant) on a Sunday evening. This place is right on the Riverwalk in San Antonio, which most people from those waters can tell you, is packed on any given weeked. But this is Labor Day weekend.......so yeah. After waiting outside in the stagnant heat we go in to eat...........Ok, Reader, I know I whine a lot about the heat, but you should go live in tropical climates where the only seasons are 'wet' and 'dry' with 4-6 storms a year that leave you without electricity and running water for days, take baths in trash cans filled with rain water, go to schools with no air conditioning, deal with bugs that will carry you off in force right after they give you any number of respiratory diseases and then tell me if living with the heat is worth it.

We spend less time eating than we did waiting to get in. I'm already in a foul mood because I'm uncomfortable with the heat, not to mention I've been couped up with all the traveling over the last 4 days, and I'm ready to really start taking pictures and having fun. So we finish up dinner and get out of there, walking all along the River Walk and the surrounding streets in downtown San Antonio, which at night is quite nice.

 

After that Bunny takes me back to the Lackland gates and Dad comes out to get me back on base. We get to the room and I feel like I need a pressure washer to get all the sweat and grime off of me. After a quick shower, I walk out and Dad's watching TV:

"Boy, I dunno what's wrong with these dumbasses. They can't seem to catch that Jason Bourne. He's a crafty motherfucker."

I chase him off to bed and......uh......well, I guess you could call it "sleep" on the pull out bed in the couch with the enormous iron rod cross bar that effectively raped me for the entire 4 hours I "slept". I was violently woken by a slamming bathroom door and began suffering flashbacks from my childhood:

"Danny! It's time to get up!"

On the next episode of Vacation Hard:  It's the end of the world as we know it......because I forgot to take my watch off?!

"Pushing.......my........mother........fucking..........buttons......"

Vacation Hard!: Part 7 - Keep your foot hard on the pedal - Son, never mind them brakes......

First a gentle reminder. If you experience any of the following:
Easily hurt and/or compromised feelings
Extreme religious and/or political opinions and mentality
Diarrhea of the mouth while suffering the above afflictions
Please do not read my blog.

If you have an aversion to cursing, violence, sex, destruction of property, having a sense of humor, or Article 19 of The Universal Declaration of Human Rights please do not read my blog.

If you dislike or have difficulty understanding satire/sarcasm, just don't even bother. Nobody likes you anyway.

Awesome blog reading discretion has been advised. Don't be mad, Boo



Vacation: Day 4

 

 

 

Ohhhhhhmyfuckinghead.

I checked my phone and it was.....oh God, the pounding!!........about 10am. My Dad hadn't called so I figured.....I'd shoot myself in the face to end this suffering.......I should call him. The T-Mobile reception where they live.......I think someone poured gasoline into my mouth.......sucks, so I had to borrow Roger's phone to call to see what the plan was.....besides vomiting copious amounts of intestine into my new best friend, Mr. Toilet......for the day.

Brrrrring, Brrrrrring...."Hello?"

 

"Arrum.....Good Morning--"

"Where the fuck are you?"

 

"Livingston Texas, Dad. How are you this morning?"

"All I know is you better get your ass back here in a hurry. Carlos (one of my step brothers) started your brisket last night and everyone is expecting you here before 5 O'Clock and it's the Labor Day weekend so get in the truck right now and move. Be careful. Love you."

 

 

"Uh-Huh. Can I have a cup of coffee first?"

"...............*silence*..........................."

"Ugh.......FINE!!"

 

"Ok. See you in a little bit."

By the tone of his voice, there was no way I was going to get to stay for lunch like I had planned the night before, so Roger hooked me up with one of those canned coffee drinks, and if a beverage ever saved my ass, it was that one.

So I got all my crap packed up and gave hugs to a busy 3 year old and got to hold Mia one more time.......and that's when she smiled at me......it's like she hypontized me with her little baby eyes.......and they said: "You are mine now, Daniel. You will love me all the days and buy me many things. And it doesn't even have to be my birthday. Go now and miss me terribly."

And so, totally dehydrated and hung over, I left. I thought it was totally unfair that I didn't get to spend more time with them, but I did say I'd be back to have dinner with my step family before we left for D.C., so this is all the Frontier's fault for breaking down the day before. Oh well, at least I got to spend a little time.

I hit Houston around noonish and it was pretty much the same as it was coming in the day before, but in reverse because going south is like traveling down hill. Since it was the Labor Day weekend, smokey was out in force. Out in force with the giant smokey asshole stick shoved up their collective rectum. These fuckers were looking to make some money off of people who were doing practically nothing. Are your passenger's feet on the dashboard? Ticket. Going 2 miles over the speed limit? Ticket. Got those fuzzy dice hanging from your rear view mirror that you've had there for like 5 years? Well, you'll find out on Labor Day weekend in Texas from a man wearing a giant coyboy hat (who isn't doing a fucking thing associated with being a coyboy) that your precious fuzzy dice are considered an "obstruction of view". Ticket. I had a state trooper follow me for (no joke) eleven miles. I know because he was the third one to get right behind me (or right along side) and tail my ass like I owed him money, so I hit the trip meter and watched. Buncha douchers.

Even with a bitchin' hangover and gasoline mouth, and on Labor Day weekend no less, I still made Houston Texas traffic my bitch. That's how nerds roll.

Thank God the average Texas freeway speed limit is 70mph. I got home in record time, I think, rolling into my step sister Claudia's house in K-ville around 4pm. Since Larry took up residence in my ass about getting home quickly, I figured he'd be there, but noooooooooo. He's still at the shop. Figures.

 

 

 

I go in and greet everybody and the house smells fantastic. Like a Mexican food flavor explosion. I get a beer and park it at the kitchen table and wonder at how much my step sister Claudia's children (who of course barely remember me) have grown. Claudia's son, Aden, quickly ropes me into watching him play his Star Wars video game on the Wii......let's face it: if it's got Star Wars in the title, I'm so down for whatever it is. So I'm sitting there watching him play, yelling at him to "watch out.....the guy is right there!! You gonna git kilt!!", and Larry walks in and starts teasing me about my affinity for all things dork. I've suffered this for years, so it's easily dealt with and we file off to dinner when Carlos shows up with the enormous brisket he'd been smoking for 18 hours.

 

 

 

I love the Chapas......they fed me until my pancreas screamed "One more fucking bite, and I'll give you diabetes so bad you'll need to DRINK your insulin from a Big Gulp cup!!"

It's a beautiful thing, to be surrounded by people who love you. I forget this much of the time, because I'm not around any family up in Oregon, and I live a fairly quiet hermit like life style, which suits me fine, but can get pretty lonely. That being said, when you are seperated from family and come back to it, you appreciate it so much more than when it's around all the time and peeing all over your toilet seats and losing all your nice spoons.

 

 

 

Next time on Vacation Hard!: This ain't vacation.  Normal people sleep on vacation.  And there's less yelling......

 "Danny! It's time to get up!"

Vacation Hard! Part 6: Been makin' a fool out of folks just like you.....and helping white people dance.....

First a gentle reminder. If you experience any of the following:
Easily hurt and/or compromised feelings
Extreme religious and/or political opinions and mentality
Diarrhea of the mouth while suffering the above afflictions
Please do not read my blog.

If you have an aversion to cursing, violence, sex, destruction of property, having a sense of humor, or Article 19 of The Universal Declaration of Human Rights please do not read my blog.

If you dislike or have difficulty understanding satire/sarcasm, just don't even bother. Nobody likes you anyway.

Awesome blog reading discretion has been advised. Don't be mad, Boo.

 

Dad finished up on the truck around 7pm and I decided to wait until the next morning to make the trip to Livingston. We get to what we call "the little house" in Kingsville (the first house my folks bought after I was born) and I get straight to the task of washing the smell of baked ass off of myself and doing all the personal hygiene required to make me not smell like a homeless person then lurch off to bed.

The next morning I hear the old man grumbling and slamming shit around in what I assume was an attempt to make a point without actually saying anything directly to my face. I crack my door open and give him the "what the fuck" look. He stops in the hall and glares at me, pointing toward the bathroom:

"I don't know what the hell you're doing at your fucking house, son, but this here.........this is a man's house. We don't put toilet seats down in a man's house."

You damn women have me brainwashed even when I'm on vacation.

Vacation Day 3:

Larry and I poke around all morning, running errands, talking about a hundred different things. We had a quick meal at Lydia's, a popular place for breakfast in Kingsville, where we ran into a couple of his compadres and a couple of the nurses I used to work with and my first nurse boss ever, Mrs. Sears (who doesn't have a first name as far as any nurse at Spohn Kleberg Hospital knows) and her husband. Gave her a hug and chatted for a second and she gives me that same stern look she used to when I was a 19 year old punk and she says: "I'm watching you." I thought about it after we left and here is what I think she really meant: "I'm watching you on facebook, Dan. You seriously need to consider cleaning it up a little."

**Note to Mrs. Sears: Mrs. Sears, if you're reading this, I'm really, really sorry! I was raised in a military family and around guys who use the f-bomb as a noun, verb, and adjective. My Mom even cussed worse than some of those guys, so I have a hard time expressing myself without bad words unless I'm around people I respect, like you (what does that say about the rest of you nerds?). Love you, Mrs. Sears. Thanks for giving me a chance all those years ago and then putting up with me once I got there. No promises on the bad language, though.

So I left for Livingston around 10am which, according to everybody, was a bad time to leave because I would hit Houston during the clutches of rush hour hell. Here is my theory about that: every hour, with the exception of between 3 and 4 am, is rush hour hell in Houston, Texas. Just like it is in Atlanta, Dallas, L.A., Miami, Chicago, and any other city with shitty crime statistics. The blue collar criminals run until around 3am performing muggings and vandalism, then the white collar criminals wake up early for coffee and cocaine before they start a busy day of insider trading and various forms of securities fraud.

After an uneventful 4 hours of driving, I get to Houston. It's like driving in a Nascar thing (match? game? tournament? who cares?). People dart in and out of traffic and I begin to notice a trend: the only ones doing it are either suped up trucks and tricked out coupes or high end Mercedes and BMWs. Translation: Gangsters and Securities Traders. And now you understand.

Anyway, I get through Houston without a scratch and make it to BFE, Texas in a short order. After some initial confusion I find Laura's house and go in to meet the chillrun, Jackson 3 years old and Mia only 4 months. I've known Laura and my "second family" since I was 17 and for whatever reason the girls in that family have always called me "Boo". So Laura instructed Jackson to call me "Uncle Boo" which I thought would be uber cute.......until he started calling me "Uncle Boobs". Of course, he doesn't really know what he's saying and Laura tried to correct him, but let's face it: we're all laughing on the inside cause that shit is funny.

So Uncle Boobs held little Mia and instantly fell in love. With both the kids really; they're being raised to be polite and respectful, qualities many children severely lack nowadays. Jackson is a character if I ever saw one and sharp as a tack, and Mia's so damn cute it makes you want want to punch your significant other in the mouth and holler "It's your fault we can't make babies that look like this!" Maybe they ain't blood, but I'm damn proud to be Uncle Boobs to them chillrun.

"Hey Jackson!  Lemme get a picture of you......uh......ok........that works I guess."

Gotta go feed the evil goats

Been a long time since I've held a baby. Laura watched me like a hawk.

Roger made it home from work and we started the drinking pretty early in the evening, Laura being the only responsible one. I quickly insulted Roger's choice of whiskey and bastardized it by drinking it with Dr. Pepper (I regret it in retrospect and apologize humbly). We finished off the whiskey and made the switch to Bacardi 151 and some lager that was darker than that swamp water shit they serve at McMinneman's (The Terminator) but delicious; then started smoking cigars and I made my first attempt at playing guitar drunk. I know I sucked, but the sauce had me thinking I was rocking hard, tasty abs when actually I was rocking wet, soggy noodles. And then the greatest thing in the history of alcohol happened: Roger made us flaming Dr. Peppers.

  I don't know if you've ever had a flaming Dr. Pepper Reader, but if you have not, you must stop reading this right now and go have one. I'll wait.

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Jeez......take forever why don't you.

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.........HOLY SHIT, READER!! You look totally fucked up!! Told you that shit is ah-ma-za-zing!

Poor Roger was wore out after working in the Gulf and then driving all the way home.  You can see the lid of the Tums bottle in the lower left corner.....cause we're old now and partyin' ain't easy no more.

We park our asses outside on the patio and continue the drinking. We talked about so many different things and I honestly can't remember it all; I just know the McGregors and I were nerding out over everything from diving (their profession) and guns to music, movies and military history (a right good Texas hoot'n'anny, Brother Cousin). There are only a handful of people I know that can bang out a conversation with so many different topics and never get tired......Roger and Laura: y'all complete the nerd in me and shit.

Off to bed around 3am and instantly slip into an alcohol induced coma.

Next time on Vacation Hard!: Keep your foot hard on the pedal - Son, never mind them brakes......

"You are mine now, Daniel. You will love me all the days and buy me many things. And it doesn't even have to be my birthday........"

Vacation Hard!: Part 5 - It's getting hot in here! So take off all your cloth---NO DAN!! You're in public!

First a gentle reminder. If you experience any of the following:
Easily hurt and/or compromised feelings
Extreme religious and/or political opinions and mentality
Diarrhea of the mouth while suffering the above afflictions
Please do not read my blog.

If you have an aversion to cursing, violence, sex, destruction of property, having a sense of humor, or Article 19 of The Universal Declaration of Human Rights please do not read my blog.

If you dislike or have difficulty understanding satire/sarcasm, just don't even bother. Nobody likes you anyway.

Awesome blog reading discretion has been advised. Don't be mad, Boo.

Vacation Day 2:

Irma went to work that morning and Dad and I got packed up for the trip back to Kingsville, where he has an auto shop that's always overloaded with work. We ran a few errands and stopped by the original Iwo Jima memorial which was relocated to Harlingen (God only knows why) after the much larger one in Arlington was built.

Dad's checkin' it out.

Once we got to Kingsville, I'd be leaving with the Frontier to go see my good friend Laura, her husband Roger and all the children they've had since the last time I saw them in 2006. She lives in Livingston, a little town about an hour north of Houston, so it's about a 6 hour drive from Kingsville, depending on Houston traffic, so it was important that I leave as early as possible to avoid Satan's rush hour.

So after a brief explanation on how to operate the Frontier, Dad let me go. Once again, if you know mechanics, they never have a completely functional automobile. The Frontier had a problem with the A/C where I'd have to open the hood and hit the clutch plate on the front of the compressor with a long stick Larry had specifically for that purpose, because the magnets were so worn and old that the plate got stuck in the off position every time you turned off the engine.........which led to him not turning off the engine even when it was appropriate:

"Aren't you going to turn off the engine before I pump the gas, Dad?"

"What for?"

"Uh......so I don't die. Isn't it dangerous to have the engine running when you do that?"

"Naaaaaaah." Which is "Larry" for "Just fucking do it, shithead. I know what I'm doing.".......needless to say, I've heard that A LOT.

Anyway, I get going a little later in the day. I miss an exit about an hour north of Kingsville and have to double back to get on the right track. The A/C goes out because I was probably pushing the truck too hard in my frustration, so I pull off on the shoulder so I can whack the plate to get it to go back on. I pop the hood and get out, whack the thing 2 or 3 times and it won't catch. So, like the mechanically impaired moron I am, I turn off the engine and wait for a couple of minutes to see if it just needed a "rest". Hit the key again and the bastard won't turn over.

Now, because of the understanding I have that bad shit happens to me on vacation, I'm much calmer and accepting of this situation than I thought possible. I calmly call Larry and field a bunch of questions that annihilate that patience:

"Well, what the fuck did you do?"

"I turned the engine off and it wouldn't turn back on."

"Why did you turn it off in the first place?"

"I thought it would help."

"The only thing I think it helped is your understanding about why you should not have done that."

"JUSTCOMEGETMEGODDAMNIT!!"

So there I sat. It was only 96 degrees at the time, but according to the heat index, it felt like it was 104. As I stewed in my ball soup, I realized something very odd: I go into the sauna at my gym in Oregon a couple of times a month and I am sweating more profusely sitting in a broken down Nissan Frontier on the shoulder of a Texas highway than I do in a place that is specifically designed to make me sweat. I laughed at this which served to briefly elevate my mood.

Dad showed up quickly with the car dolly and we got loaded up and went back to the shop in Kingsville. During the ride back we had this argument:

"Heat index is supposed to be 104 today."

"What a load of shit. If it's 96 degrees, then that's what it is."

"What? You don't believe in the heat index? It's fucking science, Dad. You lived in Wisconsin until you were 20. You're trying to tell me you don't believe in wind chill factor either?"

"Oh, hell no."

"Oh, what the fu--.....ok, so you don't think that if it's 20 degrees below zero outside with the wind blowing and you go outside without enough clothes on that it's not going to feel like it's about 15 degrees colder than it actually is?"

"Just listen to that sentence......first of all it's your own goddamn fault for going outside without proper clothing. Second, if you go outside and it's cold enough to freeze your spit before it hits the ground, I guaran-fucking-tee you, you're not going to give a shit what the 'wind chill factor' is."

I'm sorry, Reader. Curse words are mandatory when making a point in my family.

Anyway, back in Kingsville, Dad gets busy fixing the truck. He figured out that the alternator was the main problem, after he explained something about the break mechanics of that vehicle and how that somehow tied in to helping the truck not start. Clearly I'm not mentally equipped to tell you exactly what that is, because even though I try to understand what the hell he's saying, it still sounds like a Charlie Brown teacher's conference in my head, but here is the dialouge anyway (bear with me on this):

"Almost all newer vehicles are equipped with a safety feature that makes it so you have to push on the brake before you can start your car, so that means there is a little button at the base of the brake pedal that's engaged when you push it down. Now that's nice and all, but the Japanese, in their infinite fucking wisdom, decided that on the opposite end of that button, there needed to be a "pad" so that the button didn't get worn out as fast.......but the material used to make the fucking pad is kind of like the rubber that a pencil eraser is made out of, so it gets old and it dries up and falls apart."

"Well that's pretty damn stupid. What the hell did they do that for?"

"Hold on.......the engineers down at Nissan didn't call you when they were designing this model? Why didn't they call you, Danny? Obviously you have a lot of insight that can be brought to the table when these highly educated motherfuckers get together to build a new---"

"WAIT, WAIT, WAIT!!! You mean to tell me that the alternator and this pad thingy failed at the SAME TIME when I was driving this piece of shit?!"

"Well, son, you're 6'4", sitting in a truck designed by a small Asian man, and your goddamn leg probably weighs 70 pounds. I don't imagine you were being gentle with the pedals."

".......well, shit."

All of Larry's "work".

 The Briggs' are simple folk; that piece of cardboard he's laying on is known as a "Mexican Creeper" in the Auto biz.

But you want to know the really funny thing, Reader? That truck has been servicing my Dad's trips back and forth to San Antonio to see his doctors for two and a half years. That truck has over 225 thousand miles on it's original engine. That truck has never broken down during that time. I get in the thing alone and it suddenly has a change of heart? I hope you're starting to understand the underlying theme here: I am seriously cursed.

Next time on Vacation Hard!: Been makin' a fool out of folks just like you.....and helping white people dance.....

".........HOLY SHIT, READER!! You look totally fucked up!! Told you that shit is ah-ma-za-zing!"