birthday celebration that ended in
“ RoadTRIP”
Once upon a time…..A few Years back, my friends and I went about the business of celebrating my 25th birthday drinking straight through the whole week prior to, and after the BIG DAY…
In the midst of this, One my friends and I made the excessive beer induced brilliant decision to take
a road trip to Virginia.
I was due to arrive there by plane, to continue to work on writing about my fishing book….
Side note> I was actually mostly just drinking about my fishing book at that point in time. The truthful extent of my writing was usually just in the form of signing my name for a bar tab at the end of the night…but I think the word “writer” also spells out alcoholic, lazy, manic, crazy-what have you….
So, as to make a great story….even if you are to too drunk to write it…at least you are living it…right?
…Either way….Ben ( the beer partner)….and I collectively schemed a road trip while slumped over a bench at Gritty’s ( the Irish bane of an existence bar, almost all of my life altering decisions in life have spawned from...thus the reason, I am in Minneapolis)
( I also have an Irish bane of my existence ex-boyfriend that had his four leaf Captain Morgan, clover charm effect on aiding the journey of my life…but that serves an entire chapter of my book…ode him….which I will only share in my book…when it is finally fucking published)
Blah, blah, blah…
Back to the road trip.
Ben decided he wanted to drive back to California ( which is where he resided)…and that he was more than willing to drop me off in Virginia along the way.
I get really excited about the “ idea” of glittery words such as roadtrip….especially when drunk…so I gave him the salute of a “ fuck yes”
…..
The journey to Virginia was 15 hours, of me with my head out the window somewhere between dry heaving, and trying not to have at all….because of the birthday binge blitz I had been on at Gritty’s that entire week before…
During the drive
I tried to give Ben a head’s up warning in reference to:
A. the few times I thought I was going to successfully heave to the point of producing puke--- so he could pull over and avoid me getting any of it inside, or on the side of his nice new Leather seated Range Rover.
And
B. To Beware the Fishermen.
To be honest…I didn’t get to give Ben enough information about statement B…due to the many alarms of statement A….
So when we arrived in Virginia, to greet the 60 or so New England hard- edged fishermen that flocked here this time of year to do the “ Monk Hunt”-
( which is also something I had my go at a few or so times…-- another story…only going to be told in my book)
Ben wasn’t so sure how to take it all in at first….
Part two of this story, is titled:
“ BEN Vs. THE Fishermen, Vs VIRGINIA VS.….the Pussy Magnet Kite and the American flag”…. which I will post when I am not nursing a SUSHI hang-over due to my 27th Viva “ way too much fucking sake” birthday celebration….
BUT I WILL LEAVE YOU WITH A PICTURE OF HIM HOLDING IT, ON THE BEACH
p.s. Ben is going to fucking kill me, if ever he finds out I am "blogging" his spot up...but I doubt it will happen anytime soon due to the fact that he is living somewhere in Northern Maine right now...and no body has teeth or computers fifty miles past Portland...
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