TriF*kta weekend, or I'd rather another vasectomy
I had a million things to do, and going to TriF*ckta wasn’t one of them, but somehow I found myself on my way. The rest of the list could wait. I suppose…
So, there we were, in a hot car driving towards the middle of nowhere. (For the uninitiated, Eden, NC is just outside the middle of nowhere…) Problem was that I really needed one night to catch up on a week’s worth of missed sleep. I didn’t get it Thursday night and started Friday a touch on the “cranky” side.
The computer generated directions didn’t work and we circled nowhere for about 45 minutes until we finally got through to one of the G-Spot hashers. No problem then, now we have directions from a local and we should be there any minute. Problem was that our “Local” wasn’t a cartography major, or maybe she was and just worked for MapQuest. In any case we found ourselves driving the wrong direction further adding to my declining mood.
90 minutes later than originally planned, we arrive at the campground. Everyone has to get out of the car and sign a release, even if we weren’t going on the float trip. (We later figured out this was how the campground operator was going to squeeze every last nickel out of Buck, but it wasn’t apparent at the time…) Directions are to drive down here and park, unload your car and then move back to the parking lot. Sounds reasonable until you realize that the unloading area is nowhere near the campsite and we have to haul all of our crap the rest of the way in. (Glad I didn’t bring the big tent) My mood darkens.
Eventually the tents are up, the canopy connects the two, the chairs are in the shade and the stifling heat and humidity has us all looking like we just came out of the pool. “Where’s the piss?” comes to mind and we’re informed that we have another hike to get to the beer. No problem, we KNOW there is a light at the end of this tunnel… My mood takes an upswing.
The beer is foamy, but at least it’s warm.
(Apparently the distributor brought the kegs in the bed of a pickup truck.)
I notice my cooker and also notice that the delivery service (Hedgy) failed to follow the simplest of instructions and brought the broken regulator. I send him to get the tools I need from the truck. Apparently the heat had caused some malfunction in my brain and while I was sure I spoke the Queen’s English, I must have told him in Swahili as he just stared at me. Eventually I managed to repair said regulator and feed my anger at the same time.
Dinner sucked. The beer foamed and would continue until the kegs cooled below 45F. Probably tomorrow morning…
The skies opened up.
I said F*ck this and went to bed, assured that after a good night’s sleep I’d feel better.
Every drunk walked passed our tent and stopped outside the door to chat, fight with their girlfriend/boyfriend, cry about said girlfriend/ boyfriend or pee on my chair. This continued well into the wee hours.
Somewhere in the night, the air mattress springs a leak and the rest of the night I try to find a comfortable position to sleep (with a rock in the middle of my back.)
As the sun began to lighten the morning sky, the chatting drunks found their way to bed.
The dawn brought chirping birds and that all too familiar “If I’m up, Everybody’s up!”
One day, I’m going to actually get up and find the prick(s) who so delight in that chant, figure out where they sleep, and when they finally go to sleep (around noon, typically) I’m going to light their (occupied) tents on fire. Assholes!
Cold bagels for breakfast. Ooooohhh! Aaaaahhhh! And the chance to stand in line in hopes of getting your coffee cup filled before the pot runs dry… Jackpot! I hit the coffee lottery and manage a half a cup by tilting the pot and straining the burnt chunks from the bottom of the percolator. Did I mention that the drunks decided to use the area behind the beer trailer (where breakfast was being served) as an outhouse the night before? So the food sucks, the coffee sucks (and there’s not enough of it) and not only do I have to smell fresh dookie, just to erase any questions, there are enough soiled napkins on the ground to dispel any misconceptions about the source of the stench.
After “Breakfast” is was off to Wal-Mart. ‘Nuff said. So much for starting over, refreshed and in a good mood.
Back at the campsite, new air mattress, and a collection of useless sh*t that my shopping companions apparently couldn’t get by without.
The cook can’t seem to figure out my cooker. Can’t get the temperature up to where he needs it to serve dinner on time. My initial reaction is f*ck this. Every other meal so far has sucked, no reason to break the string, and besides loaning the cooker does not obligate me to supervise the operation of same machine.
Arriving at the cooker, I am greeted by a kindly older gentleman who is very concerned about getting the meal out on time and making it palatable. He really is a nice guy, imagine Forrest Gump in his 60’s. I took an immediate liking to him. (The fact that he marveled at my cooker didn’t hurt either…) It takes me less than 10 minutes to get him the temperature he wants. The beer is cold and flowing, things improve.
The meat coming off the cooker was tender, tasty, and plentiful. This was a good night to be a carnivore (or at least an omnivore) because the sides while of adequate quality ran out in about 3 minutes. Still, there was plenty of pork to pick on. (it never did run out as there were still 2 pans sitting out the following morning.)
Micro Bone started playing music. Now let me tell you, it is impossible to be in a foul mood when The Bone is spinning the platters. There’s more to being a DJ than just buying a lot of music and a CD player. Bone always seems to hit the mood of his audience and every time he sets up, there are throngs of hashers dancing and drinking. Smiles abound and this is where I want to be (finally.)
Saturday night brings out the same loud drunks, but at least the (new) air mattress holds up. Sunday morning the stench by the breakfast table is overpowering. I almost gagged trying to get a cup of coffee. (Trying mind you, my efforts were not met with success.)
We cleared datum early. The drive home was uneventful.
I don’t think I’ll go back to TriF*ckta any more.
The weekend wasn’t a complete wash. After my mood broke Saturday evening, I did dance with my wife for several hours. You should see her on the dance floor, beautiful and full of life. I am reminded of what attracted me 25 years ago.
I also got to hang out with a dear friend of mine. I don’t see Pam enough and really do cherish the infrequent moments we share. Too bad I spent the weekend with a dark cloud over my head. I should probably call and apologize.
I should apologize to both of them. I’m sure I wasn’t the person with whom they had planned on spending the weekend. While I don’t believe I spoiled the weekend for them, I didn’t make it any better. (You have to understand, these girls can find a way to have fun at an embalming…)
I think I’ll call Pam now and get Terri flowers and a card on my way home. Probably ought to pick up a bottle of wine and something for dinner also.
I’m still not going back to TriF*ckta.
So, there we were, in a hot car driving towards the middle of nowhere. (For the uninitiated, Eden, NC is just outside the middle of nowhere…) Problem was that I really needed one night to catch up on a week’s worth of missed sleep. I didn’t get it Thursday night and started Friday a touch on the “cranky” side.
The computer generated directions didn’t work and we circled nowhere for about 45 minutes until we finally got through to one of the G-Spot hashers. No problem then, now we have directions from a local and we should be there any minute. Problem was that our “Local” wasn’t a cartography major, or maybe she was and just worked for MapQuest. In any case we found ourselves driving the wrong direction further adding to my declining mood.
90 minutes later than originally planned, we arrive at the campground. Everyone has to get out of the car and sign a release, even if we weren’t going on the float trip. (We later figured out this was how the campground operator was going to squeeze every last nickel out of Buck, but it wasn’t apparent at the time…) Directions are to drive down here and park, unload your car and then move back to the parking lot. Sounds reasonable until you realize that the unloading area is nowhere near the campsite and we have to haul all of our crap the rest of the way in. (Glad I didn’t bring the big tent) My mood darkens.
Eventually the tents are up, the canopy connects the two, the chairs are in the shade and the stifling heat and humidity has us all looking like we just came out of the pool. “Where’s the piss?” comes to mind and we’re informed that we have another hike to get to the beer. No problem, we KNOW there is a light at the end of this tunnel… My mood takes an upswing.
The beer is foamy, but at least it’s warm.
(Apparently the distributor brought the kegs in the bed of a pickup truck.)
I notice my cooker and also notice that the delivery service (Hedgy) failed to follow the simplest of instructions and brought the broken regulator. I send him to get the tools I need from the truck. Apparently the heat had caused some malfunction in my brain and while I was sure I spoke the Queen’s English, I must have told him in Swahili as he just stared at me. Eventually I managed to repair said regulator and feed my anger at the same time.
Dinner sucked. The beer foamed and would continue until the kegs cooled below 45F. Probably tomorrow morning…
The skies opened up.
I said F*ck this and went to bed, assured that after a good night’s sleep I’d feel better.
Every drunk walked passed our tent and stopped outside the door to chat, fight with their girlfriend/boyfriend, cry about said girlfriend/ boyfriend or pee on my chair. This continued well into the wee hours.
Somewhere in the night, the air mattress springs a leak and the rest of the night I try to find a comfortable position to sleep (with a rock in the middle of my back.)
As the sun began to lighten the morning sky, the chatting drunks found their way to bed.
The dawn brought chirping birds and that all too familiar “If I’m up, Everybody’s up!”
One day, I’m going to actually get up and find the prick(s) who so delight in that chant, figure out where they sleep, and when they finally go to sleep (around noon, typically) I’m going to light their (occupied) tents on fire. Assholes!
Cold bagels for breakfast. Ooooohhh! Aaaaahhhh! And the chance to stand in line in hopes of getting your coffee cup filled before the pot runs dry… Jackpot! I hit the coffee lottery and manage a half a cup by tilting the pot and straining the burnt chunks from the bottom of the percolator. Did I mention that the drunks decided to use the area behind the beer trailer (where breakfast was being served) as an outhouse the night before? So the food sucks, the coffee sucks (and there’s not enough of it) and not only do I have to smell fresh dookie, just to erase any questions, there are enough soiled napkins on the ground to dispel any misconceptions about the source of the stench.
After “Breakfast” is was off to Wal-Mart. ‘Nuff said. So much for starting over, refreshed and in a good mood.
Back at the campsite, new air mattress, and a collection of useless sh*t that my shopping companions apparently couldn’t get by without.
The cook can’t seem to figure out my cooker. Can’t get the temperature up to where he needs it to serve dinner on time. My initial reaction is f*ck this. Every other meal so far has sucked, no reason to break the string, and besides loaning the cooker does not obligate me to supervise the operation of same machine.
Arriving at the cooker, I am greeted by a kindly older gentleman who is very concerned about getting the meal out on time and making it palatable. He really is a nice guy, imagine Forrest Gump in his 60’s. I took an immediate liking to him. (The fact that he marveled at my cooker didn’t hurt either…) It takes me less than 10 minutes to get him the temperature he wants. The beer is cold and flowing, things improve.
The meat coming off the cooker was tender, tasty, and plentiful. This was a good night to be a carnivore (or at least an omnivore) because the sides while of adequate quality ran out in about 3 minutes. Still, there was plenty of pork to pick on. (it never did run out as there were still 2 pans sitting out the following morning.)
Micro Bone started playing music. Now let me tell you, it is impossible to be in a foul mood when The Bone is spinning the platters. There’s more to being a DJ than just buying a lot of music and a CD player. Bone always seems to hit the mood of his audience and every time he sets up, there are throngs of hashers dancing and drinking. Smiles abound and this is where I want to be (finally.)
Saturday night brings out the same loud drunks, but at least the (new) air mattress holds up. Sunday morning the stench by the breakfast table is overpowering. I almost gagged trying to get a cup of coffee. (Trying mind you, my efforts were not met with success.)
We cleared datum early. The drive home was uneventful.
I don’t think I’ll go back to TriF*ckta any more.
The weekend wasn’t a complete wash. After my mood broke Saturday evening, I did dance with my wife for several hours. You should see her on the dance floor, beautiful and full of life. I am reminded of what attracted me 25 years ago.
I also got to hang out with a dear friend of mine. I don’t see Pam enough and really do cherish the infrequent moments we share. Too bad I spent the weekend with a dark cloud over my head. I should probably call and apologize.
I should apologize to both of them. I’m sure I wasn’t the person with whom they had planned on spending the weekend. While I don’t believe I spoiled the weekend for them, I didn’t make it any better. (You have to understand, these girls can find a way to have fun at an embalming…)
I think I’ll call Pam now and get Terri flowers and a card on my way home. Probably ought to pick up a bottle of wine and something for dinner also.
I’m still not going back to TriF*ckta.
posted by Gopher at 8:42 AM
2 Comments:
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There I was, knee deep in a rice paddy...oh wait, that's L&H not me. I found your blog and saw all those lonely little "0 Comments" so I thought I'd add one to let you and the world know that at least one person read your blog. I've bookmarked it so I can eventually read episode two of the vehicle registration nazi (episode one is still only in verbal form, for anyone other than the Reverend reading this). And even though I'll be there (Clear Fork, Ar-Kansas) the retelling is sometimes even more entertaining. On-out.
EweSF
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