Wednesday, October 04, 2006

The Road Worrier...

Well, it's off to Chicago tomorrow... SOLO! Three days without the fambly -- my nipples are pointy just thinking about it. Though it's really not going to be all that exciting. I'll get in late tomorrow night, so that's worthless. I'll try to sleep in, but I won't be able to. I'll have breakfast with my folks and then probably end up driving downtown to have lunch with the gang at work, which will be a hassle (the driving, not the lunching). Then it'll be really awkward seeing everyone because they're used to seeing me on a video screen, instead of in person, and I don't necessarily translate all that well into reality. Then I'll have to fight the traffic back up to my 'rents house, which'll blow. Then I'm planning on going out to dinner, hopefully for some sushi, with an old friend. That'll be fun, though I'll probably drink just enough Japanese beer and/or saki to dehydrate the shit out of me, and I'll drive home, fall asleep in my childhood bed and wake up feeling like I'm inside-out. Then I'll rehydrate, hang out with the 'rents some more and then book out to Bumbleturd County to set up for the wedding we're going to play. We'll run through some songs, have a beer or two and then wait about seven or eight hours until we're supposed to play. We'll probably waste some of the time going to a strip-mall T.G.I McTuesdigans for some baked corn husks smothered in melted death and topped with pork crinklins. Then I'll have stomach cramps, followed by explosive diarrhea, and then I'll still have to wait about four more hours until we play. Finally, we'll start playing, but after the first half-measure, the bride's great-aunt will be yelling at us to turn down and the groom's nana will ask if we know the "I'm 900 Years Old Polka." Then, everyone will finally get shit-faced enough to finally "get" us, and they'll try to pay us an extra 500 bucks to keep playing until 2 a.m. We'll take the money, but we'll be out of songs, so we'll play a 45 minute version of "Low Rider" and we'll fake our way through "I Will Survive," which will be sung by the drunk bride and her drunk sorority sisters, one of whom will trip over my bass drum and spill her tumbler of Jagermeister right into my backpack, containing my last change of clothes. Everyone will eventually filter out and I'll start breaking down my drums, while the groom's brother stands two inches away from me blathering, "Dude! You guys were so AWESOME! I was like totally rocking out and when you played 'Surrender' man, holy shit I was like 'NO WAY, DUDE!' And then I---BLAAARRRRGGHHH!," and he'll puke into my backpack, with the Jagermeister-soaked no longer clean last change of clothes. Then I'll load the car up, get my cash and drive the two hours back to my 'rents house, where I'll shower and then try to sleep, which I won't be able to do, and I'll just lie there in my childhood bed, thinking about how I'm too old for this shit and wondering why the sheets are so fucking scratchy. I'll sleep for about five hours and then I'll get up, inside-out once again, and stumble down for some breakfast and 20 gallons of water. I'll hang out for a bit and then say, "Well, I've got a long trip ahead of me," and I'll say goodbye and drive to Trader Joe's, stock up on nuts and wine and peanut-butter filled pretzels, and then I'll stop at New York Bagel & Bialy and get three dozen bagels, and then I'll sit on my ass on the highway because there'll probably be a fucking Bears game going on, and I'll eat the bagels and nuts and pretzels and then realize I have no water in the car, and I'll start choking from the dough-bolus that's wedged in my trachea. Then I'll finally make it to the Skyway, cruise through Indiana, think for a second about stopping at the Levi's outlet right next to the nuclear reactors, blow it off and make the never-ending trek back home. I'll finally get home around 6:00 p.m., just in time for dinner with the fambly and bath time. After that, we'll put the kids to bed and I'll listen to just how hellish the weekend was for the old lady. Then I'll shower and try to sleep, which I won't be able to do, and I'll just lie there in my grown-up bed, thinking about how I'm too old for this shit and wondering why my sheets are so much less scratchy than the ones at my parent's house. I'll sleep for about five hours and then wake up way more exhausted than I was before I left.

But I'll have a real fucking bagel for breakfast and that'll make it all worthwhile.


Anonymous said...

This post reminds me of the "why don't I just throw my burrito into the toilet and save time" story.

Old "as dust" Friend

Nora said...

I can't wait for the update!
At least you'll have the brass ring..err bagel at the end of the journey.

Anonymous said...

I just saw your "real" picture for the first time over on a year of working. It's the first time I've seen a picture of you not taken on the TV screen... and I have to say, the TV screen doesn't do you justice.

crabbydad said...

Nora -- got a bag full of brass bagels. My colon is in doughy nirvana!

Erin -- I guess I didn't realize at the time of the photo that Arnie would be outing me in his blog. Oh well. That picture's no gem, though. It looks like I've just vomited in my mouth and I'm looking for somewhere to hock it.

Anonymous said...