"Yeah, and how do you know they're not all fucked up like everybody else out there?"
It all started when I was trying to take a nap Thursday night. For what reason, I don't know; maybe I needed to be up later, maybe I was bored, or maybe, just maybe, I was tired. either way, I was almost there in the land of sweet unconsciousness when my phone rang, and the rest of my weekend was set in stone.
Crazy stone, that is.
Richard called me. I knew 2 things: Pentathalon was this weekend, and Richard is a generous guy. When he told me that he was going to judge and that he wanted to stay in his own room, I knew what was coming next. He asked if I wanted to tag along with him and I, not being one to turn down a friend (or turn down a free stay at a hotel) said yes.
For those of you not enlightened by the wonders of Forensics, Penthatalon is a competition where schools send crazy fuckers into a shit storm of public speaking through a series of events, such as poetry and storytelling. They are then rounded up like cattle and praised/humiliated based on their days work. For those who did take Forensics, Pentath fucking rocks.
I myself never competed in it, so this was all a new experience for me. On Friday eve, Richard called me after he was done bailing water from his basement. New Baltimore sucks when it rains hard; my house is technically built on a swamp and every once in a while the back yard becomes Lake Simons and stretches across many of our neighbor's yards. Anyway, Richard called me and we headed out.
We stopped at Wal-Mart because Richard needed a stopwatch to judge with and some cigarettes. We went into the only line that sold them and had to wait behind some crazy old bag lady who was buying all her shit in three separate piles. She kept mumbling to herself and bought enough toilet paper to last my house of five people three months. When Richard was buying his good, she was still talking to the cashier, angry about how Wal-Mart employee's aren't allowed to wish people a Merry Christmas unless the customer says it first. (Note: I'm not trying to start anything here, I just find a funny correlation between public insanity and religious stubbornness.) When Richard bought his cigarettes, the lady leaned in really close and asked if she could buy the box off of him. Why she didn't buy her own is a mystery. When he said no, she leaned in even closer and asked if he could just give them to her. He shook his head and fled, I followed behind and we both giggled.
Pentath was going to be at Dexter High School this year so we stayed at the Weber Hotel in Ann Arbor. Richard bought a smoking room with two beds. We brought our stuff in, which included clothes, bed stuff, and a liter of vodka I left at Richard's place the last time I was over. This was going to be a fun weekend.
We were both hungry as fuck so we got back in the car and looked for a place to eat. The road went straight on forever, starting off with plaza and strip malls, then car lots, then manufacturing plants, then the boonies. In the course of a mile or so the City of Ann Arbor became the Sticks of Dexter, and not a decent eatery to be seen. We decided, fuck it, and went to go eat at the restaurant in the basement of the hotel. The trip wasn't a whole loss, a fresh brand of inside jokes was born: Pool Spa TV, Loy Zeeb. Loy Zeeb indeed.
Walk past the ballroom and up a staircase with a few autographed photos of famous folk, and you're in the restaurant. This place was nice: a host who showed us to our seats, a baby grand piano and pianist/singer, a small dance floor and live band, low moon lighting and a completely separate wine menu. Everyone else was older, well dressed. This was a place for anniversaries, romantic dates and somewhere to take a girl if you wanted to get laid. Richard and I, however, were fresh off the road and in t-shirt and jeans. We were out of place and just happy to be in there.
I did, however, decided to take a care-free vantage point to the whole ordeal and decided to be as out of place as I could. Richard joined me and we talked loudly, debating the vomiting styles of Allegra and Jolene (Jolene wins for style, but props to 'Legra for sheer volume and congeneality), snorting while laughing and I even picked my wedgie. Richard said most of the male workers were cute, but don't tell Jeff. I thought most of the female workers were pretty, but don't tell... oh who am I kidding. The crackers were the size of a half a sheet of paper and the cheese sliced like butter and tasted like cheese from God's personal stash. Because you know God has a badass supply of cheese. Richard had a steak, I had an open faced prime rib sandwich. I took another sliced of bread for the basket and flat out made it a real sandwich. Richard also ordered a strawberry daquari, and was not carded. A first for him, but in no way a last.
Wow, this entry has really dragged on, and I haven't even gotten to the drinking! If enough people comment on this, I finish the rest later.
Bitches ain't shit.