Bastard in Mustard
So, yeah, the Annual Float Trip is over.
Thank fucking God.
I'm tired.
So tired.
Is it really worth it?
The weight has been sliding over to the "probably not" side of the scale for the past year or two, and the events of the past weekend may have just given it the nudge it needs to crash down permanently upon the "definitely not" side.
The Recap:
Friday Night -
Good.
Arrived listening to "Steppin' Out" by Joe Jackson at approximately 4:30 in the afternoon.
Not bad time...a little over an hour and ten.
Checked in at the lodge and paid for two nights camping and a three mile float.
Girl at front counter was as quoted by Van, a "Hoosier Hottie", or as I put it, a "Dixie Darlin'".
Thin, spindly legs, tight shirt, smallish perky breasts.
Badly dressed.
Probably blows donkeys for meth.
Set up Camp.
Van, who had been there by himself for hours, helped.
Donned in a wife beater, shorts and a camoflaugue hat, Van hopped in the truck in search of firewood.
I join him and Daisy, his golden lab.
After a quick scanning of the camp ground, which netted all of seven small pieces of wood, it was decided that an external search would be necessary.
We drove across the rickety, built in 1914 suspension bridge, crossed the river and were on our way.
Two men in search of wood.
We happened upon an old lodge/club that at then end of its long driveway had stacked oodles and oodles of seasoned wood.
Of course we stole it. Need you ask?
Trixie and Bridget arrived at 7:30 or so and found Van, Sean and I circled around the fire, consuming beverages.
Nothing of note happened the rest of the night.
Rochester and his wife Kay arrived with Fairfield and his wife Doreen a little later in the evening.
They joined us as we drank.
Saturday -
Began with a shot of Jose' at 10:30 a.m.
We started our float at 12:00 noon and immediately sought out a sandbar.
Nasty curved navigated.
Sandbar located.
Drinking commenced.
Budweiser.
On to the next sandbar.
Budweiser.
Budweiser.
Rough water navigation.
Near tipping.
Next sandbar.
Budweiser.
Budweiser.
Budweiser.
Famous "River Lovin' Sandbar"
Budweiser.
Budweiser.
Lunchable.
No group sex.
Further navigation.
Next sandbar.
Five of us guys sitting on a submerged log, Budweisers in hand.
Picture of our asses.
Budweiser.
Crabby wife.
Let's try to finish the damn float.
500 yards from the finish.
Sandbar.
No Budweiser.
Crabby, now hungry wife.
Tell Van, who has my keys locked in his car (via keyless entry), we intend to head back.
Bridget, who is floating with Van, also sites her desire to call it a day.
Mr. Good Times Van decides we're all assholes for wanting to leave.
Gives us code to get in car.
Two different codes.
We know something's up.
All three leaving confirm code.
He affirms.
Get back to car.
Code no work.
Try different code.
No.
Try random codes we think Van might like.
No.
Begin to curse Van.
Decide it would be a good idea to enact revenge.
"Bitch" is written upon his windshield, in Ketchup.
More friends arrive at campsite.
Van still not back from the river.
Still locked out of car which contains keys to cars that contain soap, towels, food and Tylenol.
"Bastard" is scribed upon the back window in Mustard.
Van sees adjectives and becomes visibly infuriated.
Immediately blames me.
He pouts the rest of the night.
Fireworks are sent dangerously and horizontally toward spectators by disheveled and drunken Sean.
Van exercises sound judgement when he confiscates the pyrotechnics and responds no to Sean's pleading to "get out the .22 and do some shootin'".
Van then retreats to his pouting chair.
Two married couples engage in marital affairs in the shower, and although one couple interrupts the other, marital relations do not extend beyond the realm of married couples.
Fire started.
Lots of burning.
Bratwurst cooked on the open flames.
Time for micro-brews.
Tired, but trudge forward, drinking on.
Bridget decides she's bored and leaves around 8:30 p.m.
More campfire.
More micro-brews.
Early evening snack of chocolate chip cookies.
Micro-brews.
Debate leaving.
Trixie advises against it.
More micro-brews.
Tired.
Tent.
Sleep.
Startled awake by loud cackling and laughter from next campsite over.
Avow revenge.
Sunday -
Wake at 7:00 a.m.
Rochester and Kay, along with Fairfield and Doreen are preparing to leave.
Kay, still steaming from the 4:00 a.m. whooping, starts Rochester's diesel truck and parks it in front of their tent, which is right next to the Whooper's tent.
Loudly preparing to leave, Kay deflates a mattress with an audibly evident electronic pump.
Trixie wakes up and we begin our packing in earnest.
Munching on a donut, I hear someone from Whooper's camp say something about "kicking someone's ass" for making all the noise so early in the morning.
Sensing the irony in his remarks and knowing that those making the noise are, Rochester, and the newly awakened Fairfield, at 6 foot 3 and 6 foot 7 respectively, I invite him to commence his transgressions and point in their direction.
He declines.
We finish our packing and make the hour and ten minute ride home.
I sleep most of the day.
I'm still tired, and Van is still a bastard.
posted by HemisphereDancer @ 12:10 AM
4 Comments:
Hmmmm, how did I know that Van would pout the rest of the night? He really is a bitch sometimes...or a bastard - whichever you prefer to call him...
And, YES - yearly September float tripping is no longer on my agenda. Clearly we are all too old to have the kind of fun that needs to be had on a float trip - as evidenced by J's (and others) non-attendance, Van's pouting, my leaving, and Seamus' inability to grow up and handle fireworks responsibly - among other things, I'm sure.
Next year I propose that one of us build a pool in our backyard and simply have a pool party instead. It decreases the chance that one's vehicle will be decorated with the word "BASTARD" in the medium of mustard...
Now van is often the butt of our jokes mostly because of his lack of "grown-upt-ness". sometimes other people also exhibit said "lack of 'grown-upt-ness'" and I would like to see any of them react to condiments on thier NEW car. Now I know the party's never over until the big man leans (thin lawn chair here). and I too am FREQUENTLY annoyed when it's obviously time for the "party/float trip" to end and the afore mentioned big man wants to party until the very end. I asked Van, the said man, "who's going to go on the float trip next year?" since, yes iondeed, it seems we have all "grown out of" our phase when float trips were fun. He replies "lots of people!!" and then proceedes to name 3 letting his reply trail off at the end. he knows better than to try and include me. But he DID mention some "nice looking, new cabins" he might want to stay in next time. Does this mean even Van is done with the floats *gasp*!
-the non-campin Meredith-
I'm only going to say this one last time, so listen up:
I DID NOT PUT CONDIMENTS ON HIS FUCKING CAR.
And I understand why he was miffed.
But Jesus. H. Christ, GET OVER IT.
He's not an innocent victim here.
He intentionally gave us the wrong code to get into his car and left us standing out in the sun with no way to get to our food, towels, soap, etc.
So maybe he should take the same attitude with his decorated car as he takes with leaving us out in the sun.
"What's the big deal? You guys are over reacting."
I can tell you right now, I will never attend another float trip.
so you all were at the campsite but NO ONE put anything on the car. And it's not HIS attitude about the car. It's mine.
You were at a campsite with PLENTY of coolers, a shade tent, I'm sure there was some kind of tree there and chairs. An he got back what? 20 minutes later at the most. Maybe he should have thought "gee, if they get the code wrong they are going to vandalize my car..." maybe THAT'S what kind of friends he should think he has. the childish kind of assholes who put shit on his car. MY CAR. an EXPENSIVE car. Imagine if it was your car and the shit fit you would have thrown if it happened to your car? Which you MOST DEFINITELY would have thrown. and I would not call this over reacting any more than I've seen people over react myself over the years.
but since it was not you all that did it then, of course, my comments are not meant for you. Vince handled it quite well I think. I'm the one who's pissed.
-meredith-
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