Send off

In typical fashion the night before I leave for a two-week road trip I haven’t packed a goddamn thing. And on cue, there is some hive-mind decision that we need to go out. Normally I would defer, but we had large chunk of folks participating and similar to the Beatles being awesome, but bombing on solo careers, when this group reaches critical mass, good times tend to ensue (we still had some crucial folks missing). A few tidbits, in bullet form –

– Heather got girls to come talk to us simply by asking them – ‘ hey do you want to get in our zombie plan ?’ (more on that later)

– Rob Points out loudly that one dude, in a group we are quasi-associated with has on ‘Sal mahn – colored pants.’ One of his friends, who could snap all-off us in half with his pinky, while using his other arm to do curls with my station wagon, calmly turns to us and says – ‘ I believe it’s pronounced sa-mon.’ As rob observed- this ones got rains and brawn

– The laws of physics dictate, that one somebody manages to pull off looking good in plaid pants, shorts, or any other type of lower sub equatorial garment they are probably a certifiable badass. To prove this theory we spent half the evening, trying to get our waitress ( who was pretty close to basass status, regarding the whole plaid thing) to punch rob in the back of the head. Why ? I’m not sure, but I think it would have proven her badass status undeniably. And it was funny.

– There was a post-last-call run to taco cabana. Taco cabana at 3 a.m. is a different thing from taco cabana the rest of the day. Essentially you get whatever they have handy at the moment, no matter what you ordered, and by-god you’re going to be happy about it because you’re getting cheap Mexican food at an ungodly hour of the morning. So who cares if you ordered tacos, and got 17 sides of guacaomle, after waiting in line for twenty minutes – as 90% of the clientele is drunk at this point, they can get away with it.

– Transformers – As we slowly roll into action the morning after, Uncle Rob suggests that we go see transformers. Heather who is an un-disclosable number of years younger than us, says, ‘ok, but I really don’t understand what a transformer is’

Rob who, actually named one of his computers Unicron, looks like he’s suffered a stroke, massive internal bleeding and a wisdom teeth removal simultaneously.

Suddenly, we are Old.