Good evening.
Well I'm back on post after ten short days of leave in beautiful Colorado. I should be in bed, but I'm doing laundry and drinking beer instead. Thus, rather than sit here and contemplate the fact that I have work in seven hours, I figure I'll distract myself by shifting back into writing mode. Here's a few interesting tidbits from my much-needed vacation, organized in some sort of loose chronological fashion:
Friday: Land in Denver. Immediately note that my testicles are hiding somewhere inside my stomach. Should have dressed warmer. Dad picks me up, we roll to Fort Collins, I drop off my shit and go to my homeboy's apartment, proceeding to drink aggressively until like 0600. Winner.
Saturday: Wake up super hung over and/or somewhat inebriated on couch, roll to dad's. We go down to my brother's house in Boulder where we drink aggressively and cook a fairly epic smoked brisket. I show my family the Action Figure Therapy channel on Youtube, which is hilarious. Bart and I stay up until like like 0300 watching Youtube and drinking a particularly delicious and seemingly endless train of drinks, including some amazing Bulleit Rye Manhattans and a metric fuckton of Absinthe. I vomit outside behind the garage, wasting precious brisket... shame on me.
Sunday: Dad and I go back up to Foco, I clean myself up and go pick up The Rooke. Then it's time for a quick B-double-E-double-R-U-N and an aggressive trip in my old Legacy GT up to Walden, stopping at my dad's house there to pick up a few things (guns) and have a few beers. Onward to Steamboat!
Steamboat warrants its own paragraph for the amount of crazy shit that occurred. As a little background, my friends have a death metal band they call Unreasonable Human , which is pretty kick ass. They're an unusually talented group of individuals. Then again, they are some of my closest friends, so perhaps I'm slightly biased here, but whatever. The Rooke is their manager, in charge of regulating shit with an iron fist and generally making sure they and our other friends don't cause problems or get thrown out, which is a difficult task sometimes. Anyway. We got up to the Unreasonable Household in mid-afternoon and after I say my greetings to the guys, we get to crackin' beers. (There may have also been a bottle of The Balvenie 12 year in there somewhere... Dank. Thanks Esteban).
(some time later)
Showtime at (redacted) Pub downtown. We grab some drinks, we eat some food, the band sets their shit up while the rest of us chill. Wade almost gets kicked out of the place before UH even comes on, since he thinks its funny to stand in front of the DJ and make grotesque masturbating motions into a dance. The DJ was, shall we say, less than amused, humorless bastard that he was. Granted, I'm not sure how I'd feel if some asshole in a cowboy hat walked up in front of me and started thrusting suggestively while pretending to jerk off a whale dick. If you don't have the pleasure of knowing Wade, let's just say that he was the inspiration for the band name. Motherfucker's pretty un-goddamn-reasonable. Extremely entertaining.
So after that whole debacle, the band starts playing, everyone gets even more drunk, and we start moshing like normal, well-adjusted people would do in that situation. Wade again almost gets into a fight. He also actually decided to drop a Tebow in the middle of the pit, which was shocking not only in the fact that it's a really bad idea, but because everyone in the pit moved away in awe and respect. Ah, Broncos country.
The show went well, and we escaped Steamboat the next day with hide and pride mostly intact. I met a lot of new people, saw many I hadn't seen in a very long time, and generally got to rage my face off. Definitely winning.
The next few days are somewhat of a blur, consisting mostly of my friends, my brother and I consuming obscene amounts of alcohol and partying like animals at various bars, breweries, and houses around Foco. It was pretty kick ass, in general.
On Friday, a group of us went up to a casino resort in Blackhawk, which is basically Colorado's miniature version of Vegas, except in the mountains and not as cool. I'm not really much of a gambler, so it was a somewhat new and interesting experience for me. I brought with me a set sum of cash to spend so I wouldn't completely piss away my bank account. Hot little blonde girls kept bringing me Gin and Tonics and Maker's Mark Manhattans (straight up, martini glass, with a cherry, please. Personal favorite mixed drink) on the house, which was only fair considering I was basically giving them my hard-earned dollars in somewhat substantial amounts. Fortunately, I went up there with no expectations of winning any money, so no harm done and lesson learned. C'est la vie.
Saturday night (Christmas Eve) I stayed pretty low-key and hung out with a few of my favorite people. We exchanged a few gifts and had a few drinks, and were generally merry.
Sunday night, same deal, same group of people, except we ended up going to one of the only bars open that night in Foco, which was nice since I got to see a lot of people I wouldn't have gotten to see otherwise. It was extremely nice, if slightly melancholy for me.
Monday morning hit me square in the face with the realization that I had to return to Braggdad... and return I did, completely in contradiction to every feeling in my body. That day was it's own particular brand of hell, but the blame for that rests nearly completely on my own shoulders. I'll spare you the bitching, in any event.
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