Ok, here I am drunk at 1:06 am and writing on the internet .... but lets' go back in time to how I got here.
0545 am: A very large dog wakes me by thumping her tail repeatedly against the wall next to my bed, while simulaneously breathing really heavy in my face, which under other circumstances and with another species may have turned me on, but in this case not so much.
She needs to pee.
Crawl out of my nice warm, cozy bed and let her outside.
Figure what the hell I'm up I might as well check the internet to see if anyone did anything wild and crazy about last night on Halloween that I would like to hear about.
Not. One. Word. .... Fucking boring people.
0600: Candy delightfully ascends from her bedded state looking much as I imagine a gypsy who has slept in the forest for a week straight. Clothes all a wrinkle. One eye slightly lower then the other and somehow with leaves in her hair. WTF?
0800: We decide (and by we, I mean me because thats what I do) that today would be the perfect day to take my biological mother's (bm) ashes to the cemetery in Indian Valley (podunk), Idaho and dig a hole in the freshly rained on ground and bury them next to my dad ... as per her wishes.
Knowing we had our very first swingers party to attend later in the evening, we think it would behoove us to prepare before leaving for Podunk, .... er, I mean Indian Valley, Idaho. So we set out about preparing ourselves (and by ourselves, we mean ME) for the nights festivities. Suffice it to say, a lot of hair had to be swept up with an industrial sized vacuum. Surprised because I am bald? You should be. I know I was. And for some reason the dog won't go near the bathroom anymore. I've heard this was a way to keep deer out of a garden, but was completely taken aback by my faithful companions attitude toward my body hair. Traitor!
Finally get the two of us ready to visit Podunk, Idaho. Complete with cowboy hat and boots.
.... Really, if you chance to ever visit Indian Valley, Idaho I suggest that you please set your clock back 50 years. They still think Ronald Reagan is a really good moving pictures actor there.
11:00 am: Finally ready to hit the road.
It's a beautiful fall day to take a drive in the country. We even pull out those old country music CD's we have stuck in the back of our CD album that we never listen too and get in the right frame of mind for the possibility that we might actually run into actual people out there in the middle of no where.
Driving the Mini Cooper (which honestly I feel that during the whole drive might actually get us shot when we get there) is fucking fantastic on the freeway. I just set the cruise control on 85 once we get past Caldwell and cruise like a boss ... ok, maybe like a boss who drives a mini cooper ... but LIKE A BOSS BITCHES!
12:30 pm: Well past Weeeeeeeeeiser, Idaho (yes, if you grew up in the area, that is what you call it) and on the west side of the Midvale grade, Candy turns to me and asks a simple question: "We have you mom with us right?"
My mind goes through all the stuff I packed for the short trip. Camera. Check. Coats in case we break down. Check. Coffee. Check. Phones. Check. Shovel to dig the hole with. Check .....
... Biological Mom's ashes. Uncheck.
..................................... FUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKKK!!!!!!
Rule #1 when taking a day trip to bury someone's ashes: BRING THE FUCKING ASHES!
Jesus Christ.
Speaking of JC. What is it with Christians saying they ONLY believe in the New Testament, and that the Old Testement was all done away with after the birth of Christ? Do they not still espouse the belief in the very first part of Genesis (old Testament) that the world was created by their God? Well, in essence if you believe that, then you are saying that you still believe in the old Testament, therefore you can not just pick and choose which parts of the Old Testament that you believe in. You either believe in the whole thing, or none of it. YOU DON'T GET TO FUCKING CHOOSE WHICH PARTS THAT YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE!!!!
Sorry, back to my day. I'm drunk. Deal with it.
Ok, I decide to turn around and drive the hour and some change back to Boise to get the ashes. About a mile down the road I decide: Fuck it. Patty can wait til spring. She gave me and my 4 brothers up and let other people raise us. She doesn't get to choose WHEN I take her ashes and bury them (illegally I might add.). Bitch!
I turn the car around ... again ... and keep heading toward the town of Indian Valley because it is a beautiful day, I have a beautiful lady beside me, and I am driving a kick ass little car which might get me shot once I get there anyway. And if that happens I don't have to worry about the ashes anyway. Right?
1:15 pm: Rain is coming down in pretty steady once we hit the bump in the road called Alpine, Idaho. We see a sign that says "Indian Valley Craft Fair" and decide to stop at the nearest gas station and use the ATM (NOT Ass To Mouth) in case we see anything at the craft fair we may like. And because my beautiful and wonderfully giving wife thinks we should support local economies.
Unfortunately the ONLY gas station in Alpine doesn't have an ATM and the lady behind the counter (a self-professed California lawyer who moved here to get away from the big city) can't figure out how to give "cash back" using the ancient (1960s) cash register. She did, however, say that my cousin Wannabelle would be at the craft fair. The woman I lived with during my high school years that I maybe, kinda, just a little bit told to FUCK OFF YOU CUNT, and whom I hadn't seen in the 30 years since.
Fuck my life.
So ... hi ho, hi ho off to Indian Valley minus my bm's ashes we go.
The death-knell march into Indian Valley was only emphasized by some Toby Keith scratched CD that also hadn't been seen, much less heard in years.
The craft fair is pretty much what you can expect from a small town craft fair where the population is exceeded by the amount of goats living in the community. Lots of handmade stuff like wooden boxes, a ship made from coca cola cans, tiny shoes for dolls (creepy) 9/10s of everything decorated in camo, including the only 2 live teenagers at the event. (Not sure if the rest of them were alive or zombies that were forced to come to the event as punishment for not eating enough brains.)
OMG this banana bread it fucking good right now. You ever had banana bread when you are fucking drunk? DO IT! I don't even like walnuts and right now they taste like crunch candy in my mouth. I'll deal with the swollen gums from being allergic tomorrow. Right now it's nirvana!
I surreptitiously (ha, you didn't think I could spell that in this state did you. Think again fuckers!) ask around the craft fair if anyone knows Wannabelle, and get a pretty accurate description of her, or more precisely an accurate description of what she probably looks like. I know the words "grey" and "hair" were used, but then again that described EVERYONE at the fucking craft fair. My only thought is "good, if I can't recognize her, she can't recognize me."
Wrong.
Wannabelle not only remembers me, but comes up and fucking hugs me.
WTF. The fucking nerve of her after I treated her like a bitch all those years ago. You don't get to forgive me for being an asshole teenager. First I have to apologize.
So, apologize I did. I think I would have made some people from an AA convention a little embarrassed by my heartfelt reparations toward someone I had wronged in my past.
Wannabelles response: "Oh, that's alright. All teenagers are like that."
Holy fuck. For 30 years I have somewhere in the back of my head hated myself (not very much though) for what I did and said to her back then, and she lets me off with a statement like that?
OK, I'm basically a lazy person, so I take it, and then drive the next 1.5 hours back to Boise.
4:30 pm: Back in Boise and find the BMs ashes exactly where I left them. God I'm a fucking idiot sometimes.
Start to get ready to go to our first ever swingers party. Many, many outfit changes later and I am almost ready to go. Of course then Candy has to find an outfit to wear. (Can I get a ba dum bump?)
Of course first I have to help her shave "down there" to make sure she is all nice and smooth, just in case this night tends to go further then either one of us actually even has the energy to hold out hope for.
Speaking of which: Ladies, I'm pretty damn good at shaving that area, so if you are tired of having your hair ripped out with wax, and all you want is a good shave, but are too tired to do it yourself then I might be available at the right price. Pretty soon I am investing in a straight razor also ... who wants to be the first to let me use that on them!! .... no takers? Chickens!
The next thing that pops into my head is "how the fuck am I going to get and maintain an erection at a swingers event when I NEED certain fetishes fulfilled to achieve, maintain and satisfy my cock when no one there is probably going to be into the same thing? What the fuck was I thinking of going to a swingers party in the first place?
So we run to whole foods and try to find some "Horny Goat Weed" vitamin supplement that is supposed to help with an erection, since I am pretty sure I can't get a hold of Viagra at this stage in the game, not that I can even figure out where I would get viagra anyway besides my doctor who probably isn't going to take a call at give out a prescription for viagra at 8:00 on a Saturday night ... especially considering I don't have a regular doctor, and I have never had a prescription for or taken viagra in my life to begin with.
At least while we were at Whole Foods we are also able to pick up some dinner. I got some sushi and Candy got a really nice salad.
8:30 pm. We go to the party.
Let's just say if you buy a bottle of Kraken Rum (94 proof) and proceed to down the whole damn thing while only have a small bit of Sushi from Wholefoods or a Salad from self-same place, then there is a good chance if you are slightly on the shorter side of humanity you might quickly get roaring fucking drunk. And Candy wasn't the only one!
Holy fuck. I don't remember the last time I was that drunk. So I hit the food table and started scarfing down scraps of food like I was Dom Delouise at an all-you-can-eat buffet after not having eaten since Cannonball Run. (Sorry, really old guy reference there.) Which must have been sexy as hell and intimidating to all the 5'8" plus women at the swingers party, by seeing a guy a full 3 inches shorter then they were (not counting their 3" heels) taking down that food table like a starving wolverine. And not the sexy Hugh Jackman kind of wolverine either.
The food helped and I finally started to feel myself sober up just a little.
Of course then a REALLY HOT couple comes over and starts chatting us up, and here I am nervous and not drunk anymore, so what do I do .... clam up completely. Not that it mattered they were only there to scope out my wifes lovely tits on display anyway.
Have I ever mentioned to you that I am not a big tit guy? Nope titties do very little for me. I'm a leg and ass kind of guy. So when people check out my wifes tits it doesn't bother me, but at the same time it doesn't bring me great joy either. They just are there, you know? I guess some guys consider them attractive and call them "fun bags", but for me the fun is much further south.
You know. The pussy.
So anyway, nothing much happened for me at the party. Not that I expected anything to. I'm not exactly what most women are looking for at a place like that ... well, I would be if short, bald and drunk were on the menu, but usually it's not.
So here I am at now 1:37 in the morning typing away mainly because I got so drunk I am afraid to go to bed. I am pretty sure if I lay down I will get the spins and puke.
I hate puking.
0545 am: A very large dog wakes me by thumping her tail repeatedly against the wall next to my bed, while simulaneously breathing really heavy in my face, which under other circumstances and with another species may have turned me on, but in this case not so much.
She needs to pee.
Crawl out of my nice warm, cozy bed and let her outside.
Figure what the hell I'm up I might as well check the internet to see if anyone did anything wild and crazy about last night on Halloween that I would like to hear about.
Not. One. Word. .... Fucking boring people.
0600: Candy delightfully ascends from her bedded state looking much as I imagine a gypsy who has slept in the forest for a week straight. Clothes all a wrinkle. One eye slightly lower then the other and somehow with leaves in her hair. WTF?
0800: We decide (and by we, I mean me because thats what I do) that today would be the perfect day to take my biological mother's (bm) ashes to the cemetery in Indian Valley (podunk), Idaho and dig a hole in the freshly rained on ground and bury them next to my dad ... as per her wishes.
Knowing we had our very first swingers party to attend later in the evening, we think it would behoove us to prepare before leaving for Podunk, .... er, I mean Indian Valley, Idaho. So we set out about preparing ourselves (and by ourselves, we mean ME) for the nights festivities. Suffice it to say, a lot of hair had to be swept up with an industrial sized vacuum. Surprised because I am bald? You should be. I know I was. And for some reason the dog won't go near the bathroom anymore. I've heard this was a way to keep deer out of a garden, but was completely taken aback by my faithful companions attitude toward my body hair. Traitor!
Finally get the two of us ready to visit Podunk, Idaho. Complete with cowboy hat and boots.
.... Really, if you chance to ever visit Indian Valley, Idaho I suggest that you please set your clock back 50 years. They still think Ronald Reagan is a really good moving pictures actor there.
11:00 am: Finally ready to hit the road.
It's a beautiful fall day to take a drive in the country. We even pull out those old country music CD's we have stuck in the back of our CD album that we never listen too and get in the right frame of mind for the possibility that we might actually run into actual people out there in the middle of no where.
Driving the Mini Cooper (which honestly I feel that during the whole drive might actually get us shot when we get there) is fucking fantastic on the freeway. I just set the cruise control on 85 once we get past Caldwell and cruise like a boss ... ok, maybe like a boss who drives a mini cooper ... but LIKE A BOSS BITCHES!
12:30 pm: Well past Weeeeeeeeeiser, Idaho (yes, if you grew up in the area, that is what you call it) and on the west side of the Midvale grade, Candy turns to me and asks a simple question: "We have you mom with us right?"
My mind goes through all the stuff I packed for the short trip. Camera. Check. Coats in case we break down. Check. Coffee. Check. Phones. Check. Shovel to dig the hole with. Check .....
... Biological Mom's ashes. Uncheck.
..................................... FUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKKK!!!!!!
Rule #1 when taking a day trip to bury someone's ashes: BRING THE FUCKING ASHES!
Jesus Christ.
Speaking of JC. What is it with Christians saying they ONLY believe in the New Testament, and that the Old Testement was all done away with after the birth of Christ? Do they not still espouse the belief in the very first part of Genesis (old Testament) that the world was created by their God? Well, in essence if you believe that, then you are saying that you still believe in the old Testament, therefore you can not just pick and choose which parts of the Old Testament that you believe in. You either believe in the whole thing, or none of it. YOU DON'T GET TO FUCKING CHOOSE WHICH PARTS THAT YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE!!!!
Sorry, back to my day. I'm drunk. Deal with it.
Ok, I decide to turn around and drive the hour and some change back to Boise to get the ashes. About a mile down the road I decide: Fuck it. Patty can wait til spring. She gave me and my 4 brothers up and let other people raise us. She doesn't get to choose WHEN I take her ashes and bury them (illegally I might add.). Bitch!
I turn the car around ... again ... and keep heading toward the town of Indian Valley because it is a beautiful day, I have a beautiful lady beside me, and I am driving a kick ass little car which might get me shot once I get there anyway. And if that happens I don't have to worry about the ashes anyway. Right?
1:15 pm: Rain is coming down in pretty steady once we hit the bump in the road called Alpine, Idaho. We see a sign that says "Indian Valley Craft Fair" and decide to stop at the nearest gas station and use the ATM (NOT Ass To Mouth) in case we see anything at the craft fair we may like. And because my beautiful and wonderfully giving wife thinks we should support local economies.
Unfortunately the ONLY gas station in Alpine doesn't have an ATM and the lady behind the counter (a self-professed California lawyer who moved here to get away from the big city) can't figure out how to give "cash back" using the ancient (1960s) cash register. She did, however, say that my cousin Wannabelle would be at the craft fair. The woman I lived with during my high school years that I maybe, kinda, just a little bit told to FUCK OFF YOU CUNT, and whom I hadn't seen in the 30 years since.
Fuck my life.
So ... hi ho, hi ho off to Indian Valley minus my bm's ashes we go.
The death-knell march into Indian Valley was only emphasized by some Toby Keith scratched CD that also hadn't been seen, much less heard in years.
The craft fair is pretty much what you can expect from a small town craft fair where the population is exceeded by the amount of goats living in the community. Lots of handmade stuff like wooden boxes, a ship made from coca cola cans, tiny shoes for dolls (creepy) 9/10s of everything decorated in camo, including the only 2 live teenagers at the event. (Not sure if the rest of them were alive or zombies that were forced to come to the event as punishment for not eating enough brains.)
OMG this banana bread it fucking good right now. You ever had banana bread when you are fucking drunk? DO IT! I don't even like walnuts and right now they taste like crunch candy in my mouth. I'll deal with the swollen gums from being allergic tomorrow. Right now it's nirvana!
I surreptitiously (ha, you didn't think I could spell that in this state did you. Think again fuckers!) ask around the craft fair if anyone knows Wannabelle, and get a pretty accurate description of her, or more precisely an accurate description of what she probably looks like. I know the words "grey" and "hair" were used, but then again that described EVERYONE at the fucking craft fair. My only thought is "good, if I can't recognize her, she can't recognize me."
Wrong.
Wannabelle not only remembers me, but comes up and fucking hugs me.
WTF. The fucking nerve of her after I treated her like a bitch all those years ago. You don't get to forgive me for being an asshole teenager. First I have to apologize.
So, apologize I did. I think I would have made some people from an AA convention a little embarrassed by my heartfelt reparations toward someone I had wronged in my past.
Wannabelles response: "Oh, that's alright. All teenagers are like that."
Holy fuck. For 30 years I have somewhere in the back of my head hated myself (not very much though) for what I did and said to her back then, and she lets me off with a statement like that?
OK, I'm basically a lazy person, so I take it, and then drive the next 1.5 hours back to Boise.
4:30 pm: Back in Boise and find the BMs ashes exactly where I left them. God I'm a fucking idiot sometimes.
Start to get ready to go to our first ever swingers party. Many, many outfit changes later and I am almost ready to go. Of course then Candy has to find an outfit to wear. (Can I get a ba dum bump?)
Of course first I have to help her shave "down there" to make sure she is all nice and smooth, just in case this night tends to go further then either one of us actually even has the energy to hold out hope for.
Speaking of which: Ladies, I'm pretty damn good at shaving that area, so if you are tired of having your hair ripped out with wax, and all you want is a good shave, but are too tired to do it yourself then I might be available at the right price. Pretty soon I am investing in a straight razor also ... who wants to be the first to let me use that on them!! .... no takers? Chickens!
The next thing that pops into my head is "how the fuck am I going to get and maintain an erection at a swingers event when I NEED certain fetishes fulfilled to achieve, maintain and satisfy my cock when no one there is probably going to be into the same thing? What the fuck was I thinking of going to a swingers party in the first place?
So we run to whole foods and try to find some "Horny Goat Weed" vitamin supplement that is supposed to help with an erection, since I am pretty sure I can't get a hold of Viagra at this stage in the game, not that I can even figure out where I would get viagra anyway besides my doctor who probably isn't going to take a call at give out a prescription for viagra at 8:00 on a Saturday night ... especially considering I don't have a regular doctor, and I have never had a prescription for or taken viagra in my life to begin with.
At least while we were at Whole Foods we are also able to pick up some dinner. I got some sushi and Candy got a really nice salad.
8:30 pm. We go to the party.
Let's just say if you buy a bottle of Kraken Rum (94 proof) and proceed to down the whole damn thing while only have a small bit of Sushi from Wholefoods or a Salad from self-same place, then there is a good chance if you are slightly on the shorter side of humanity you might quickly get roaring fucking drunk. And Candy wasn't the only one!
Holy fuck. I don't remember the last time I was that drunk. So I hit the food table and started scarfing down scraps of food like I was Dom Delouise at an all-you-can-eat buffet after not having eaten since Cannonball Run. (Sorry, really old guy reference there.) Which must have been sexy as hell and intimidating to all the 5'8" plus women at the swingers party, by seeing a guy a full 3 inches shorter then they were (not counting their 3" heels) taking down that food table like a starving wolverine. And not the sexy Hugh Jackman kind of wolverine either.
The food helped and I finally started to feel myself sober up just a little.
Of course then a REALLY HOT couple comes over and starts chatting us up, and here I am nervous and not drunk anymore, so what do I do .... clam up completely. Not that it mattered they were only there to scope out my wifes lovely tits on display anyway.
Have I ever mentioned to you that I am not a big tit guy? Nope titties do very little for me. I'm a leg and ass kind of guy. So when people check out my wifes tits it doesn't bother me, but at the same time it doesn't bring me great joy either. They just are there, you know? I guess some guys consider them attractive and call them "fun bags", but for me the fun is much further south.
You know. The pussy.
So anyway, nothing much happened for me at the party. Not that I expected anything to. I'm not exactly what most women are looking for at a place like that ... well, I would be if short, bald and drunk were on the menu, but usually it's not.
So here I am at now 1:37 in the morning typing away mainly because I got so drunk I am afraid to go to bed. I am pretty sure if I lay down I will get the spins and puke.
I hate puking.
