Why I Had the Best Damn Time Ever With Grasshopper and Cricket
I spent the weekend in Las Vegas with two of the coolest girls ever. And although I will not post here everything that happened or was said (too many damn lawyers I know read this), I will expound just a tiny, tiny bit on why it was the "Best Damn Time Ever."
I met up with the girls in LV after a horrible start- namely an eight and a half hour delay in the OKC airport. If you have been to the OKC airport you will notice a few things. There are less than 20 gates all told and just 2 luggage carousels. It's small and has only one airport bar with $7 draw beers if you bother tip. It sucks. And ten and a half hours in that bar sucks- even if you do meet some really nutty people who shout your given name of "Ass Bandit" across the airport. Fortunately, the TSA folks thought it was funny and called me Ass Bandit, too, otherwise I might be sitting in a federal pen somewhere. 75 angry people all bitching and drinking for 12 hours (counting the plane) does little to improve one's disposition when you have to sit on the runway for an extra 45 minutes after you land at your destination. [Tip: They will not give you any more liquor no matter how much you ask or need it.]
Now once I get there, I'm in trouble. I have to find my rental car, and get to a hotel seeing how mine is 45 minutes away and entirely no longer an option, and it's 3 AM my time and I am seriously beat. And I still have to meet up with Grasshopper and her friend Cricket (nee MJ). Grasshopper, however, is gettin' it on with some dumbass cowboy and neither she or Cricket have reserved a room because we were all supposed to stay together 45 minutes away at the room I had booked. Thus, I have to stay in a room with two Brazilian cowboys I have never met and a girl I have only heard about from the crazy ass who's playing bucking broncos with her own farmstud. Can we say I am livid? Can we notice I am irritable, and exasperated by a series of complete fuckups? Hell, yeah! But I lay down and am snoring within a minute. I'm up 4 hours later and still pissed and seriously thinking about leaving. I relent if only to save myself the agony of sitting in another airport bar. I forewarn Grasshopper that I will get her back before the weekend is over. We grab a quick lunch at the Golden Spike for under 5 bucks and head out to the Valley of Fire. A quick foray into the Porn Outlet nets us a stack of poorly written erotica, a mismarked glass dildo, a leather paddle, some lube, and a 7 inch long, thick All Day Sucker complete with ridges and a defined glans. We spend a couple of bucks in the Peek-a-boo booth channel surfing between porn shows and get back on the road leading us into a desert.
Normally, three girls anywhere together is a bad idea unless they're the Maguire or Pointer sisters; however, the three of us made a good trio. Cricket has a great disposition and is one of sweetest girls ever, Grasshopper is the balls-out-hardcore-whiskey-swilling-tortured-unknown-poet-type (and she'll kill me for saying that when she reads this), and me, well, let's say I am up for anything provided my husband doesn't get too pissed meaning- I'm not fucking anyone, I'm not getting arrested and I'm not adopting orphaned cats. We can share Chapstick, clothes, cigarettes, shots of whiskey, our most embarrassing moments, our darkest secrets and biggest disappointments with nary an ounce of remorse or hesitation. There's no jealousy but an awful lot of respect and admiration for our likenesses and for our differences.
As I am the elder, I do most of the driving and marvel at their ability to bounce back from straight Jim Beam and vodka as they read the "purple-headed Warrior" selections in funny voices (Oh, and Grasshopper- it's "Cock"-------- not caa-ck. And I want that damn tape.). They butter me up by reminding me how young I can look and feel if given the right mindset. We acted more like close sisters than virtual strangers from the East Coast, the West Coast and the Midwest. Hell, I'd rather have both of these girls as my sisters than the ones with which I was born.
The weekend was completely bonkers with good memories. We go hiking, we drink, we eat, we bite (sorry about your nips Stoney if you're reading this), we handcuff each other to ourselves or random people, and protect each other from the pervs at the sex club. And we spank the shit out of each other with the cool leather paddle I picked up at the Porn Outlet. We tell funny stories and give possibly the worst advice about men and relationships that can ever be given. We share quiet moments and semi-openly talk about why we all have become friends. It's a mutual admiration society that hides our flaws and our fears in a conspiracy of innocent wickedness.
Whether or not we all fully acknowledged it, we all needed this weekend because each of us is at a crossroads of sorts. Both of the bug girls are in between boys, cities and jobs and I'm at that point where the 20's are becoming a fuzzy dream as my 30's are really taking hold. Each of us will fight the pressures we have voluntarily (and involuntarily) taken on in our own quirky ways. But, ultimately, we will accept the challenge and hopefully, do it without our youthful vigor fading. The three of us have a bigass "here, here, look at me!" energy that's pretty rare anymore and I guess at the end of this day, I hope we all hang on to it. Even if it means taking a couple of hits from the dullard assholes who would have us extinguish it for the sake of decorum. As I tell my husband often- just because you get older doesn't mean you have to be old. And gawd, I love those girls for reminding me of that when I most needed it.
I can't wait for the next reminder sometime next Spring whether it be Tucson or Austin or San Fran or the Derby. The best reminders are often just those barely quiet moments between beer cans being popped and Jim Beam bottles being held high with your girls while the world swirls around you in a crazed dash of light and sound and laughter and sorrow.
I didn't have the heart to really wake the girls up for a long, drawn out goodbye with hugs all around. We had only been back in our room for two hours. I just tousled their hair a bit and whispered an adios, threw on my Gators cap and loaded my gear silently into the rental car still smelling of Beam and bubble gum.
I made it to the airport with time to spare and managed to get the driver's side of the plane where I could view the Grand Canyon as we left Nevada and hit the cloud deck. It was an awesome sight that made me tear up. I wish they had been there with me to raise a glass high or give me some knuckles for crossing one off my must do list.
I met up with the girls in LV after a horrible start- namely an eight and a half hour delay in the OKC airport. If you have been to the OKC airport you will notice a few things. There are less than 20 gates all told and just 2 luggage carousels. It's small and has only one airport bar with $7 draw beers if you bother tip. It sucks. And ten and a half hours in that bar sucks- even if you do meet some really nutty people who shout your given name of "Ass Bandit" across the airport. Fortunately, the TSA folks thought it was funny and called me Ass Bandit, too, otherwise I might be sitting in a federal pen somewhere. 75 angry people all bitching and drinking for 12 hours (counting the plane) does little to improve one's disposition when you have to sit on the runway for an extra 45 minutes after you land at your destination. [Tip: They will not give you any more liquor no matter how much you ask or need it.]
Now once I get there, I'm in trouble. I have to find my rental car, and get to a hotel seeing how mine is 45 minutes away and entirely no longer an option, and it's 3 AM my time and I am seriously beat. And I still have to meet up with Grasshopper and her friend Cricket (nee MJ). Grasshopper, however, is gettin' it on with some dumbass cowboy and neither she or Cricket have reserved a room because we were all supposed to stay together 45 minutes away at the room I had booked. Thus, I have to stay in a room with two Brazilian cowboys I have never met and a girl I have only heard about from the crazy ass who's playing bucking broncos with her own farmstud. Can we say I am livid? Can we notice I am irritable, and exasperated by a series of complete fuckups? Hell, yeah! But I lay down and am snoring within a minute. I'm up 4 hours later and still pissed and seriously thinking about leaving. I relent if only to save myself the agony of sitting in another airport bar. I forewarn Grasshopper that I will get her back before the weekend is over. We grab a quick lunch at the Golden Spike for under 5 bucks and head out to the Valley of Fire. A quick foray into the Porn Outlet nets us a stack of poorly written erotica, a mismarked glass dildo, a leather paddle, some lube, and a 7 inch long, thick All Day Sucker complete with ridges and a defined glans. We spend a couple of bucks in the Peek-a-boo booth channel surfing between porn shows and get back on the road leading us into a desert.
Normally, three girls anywhere together is a bad idea unless they're the Maguire or Pointer sisters; however, the three of us made a good trio. Cricket has a great disposition and is one of sweetest girls ever, Grasshopper is the balls-out-hardcore-whiskey-swilling-tortured-unknown-poet-type (and she'll kill me for saying that when she reads this), and me, well, let's say I am up for anything provided my husband doesn't get too pissed meaning- I'm not fucking anyone, I'm not getting arrested and I'm not adopting orphaned cats. We can share Chapstick, clothes, cigarettes, shots of whiskey, our most embarrassing moments, our darkest secrets and biggest disappointments with nary an ounce of remorse or hesitation. There's no jealousy but an awful lot of respect and admiration for our likenesses and for our differences.
As I am the elder, I do most of the driving and marvel at their ability to bounce back from straight Jim Beam and vodka as they read the "purple-headed Warrior" selections in funny voices (Oh, and Grasshopper- it's "Cock"-------- not caa-ck. And I want that damn tape.). They butter me up by reminding me how young I can look and feel if given the right mindset. We acted more like close sisters than virtual strangers from the East Coast, the West Coast and the Midwest. Hell, I'd rather have both of these girls as my sisters than the ones with which I was born.
The weekend was completely bonkers with good memories. We go hiking, we drink, we eat, we bite (sorry about your nips Stoney if you're reading this), we handcuff each other to ourselves or random people, and protect each other from the pervs at the sex club. And we spank the shit out of each other with the cool leather paddle I picked up at the Porn Outlet. We tell funny stories and give possibly the worst advice about men and relationships that can ever be given. We share quiet moments and semi-openly talk about why we all have become friends. It's a mutual admiration society that hides our flaws and our fears in a conspiracy of innocent wickedness.
Whether or not we all fully acknowledged it, we all needed this weekend because each of us is at a crossroads of sorts. Both of the bug girls are in between boys, cities and jobs and I'm at that point where the 20's are becoming a fuzzy dream as my 30's are really taking hold. Each of us will fight the pressures we have voluntarily (and involuntarily) taken on in our own quirky ways. But, ultimately, we will accept the challenge and hopefully, do it without our youthful vigor fading. The three of us have a bigass "here, here, look at me!" energy that's pretty rare anymore and I guess at the end of this day, I hope we all hang on to it. Even if it means taking a couple of hits from the dullard assholes who would have us extinguish it for the sake of decorum. As I tell my husband often- just because you get older doesn't mean you have to be old. And gawd, I love those girls for reminding me of that when I most needed it.
I can't wait for the next reminder sometime next Spring whether it be Tucson or Austin or San Fran or the Derby. The best reminders are often just those barely quiet moments between beer cans being popped and Jim Beam bottles being held high with your girls while the world swirls around you in a crazed dash of light and sound and laughter and sorrow.
I didn't have the heart to really wake the girls up for a long, drawn out goodbye with hugs all around. We had only been back in our room for two hours. I just tousled their hair a bit and whispered an adios, threw on my Gators cap and loaded my gear silently into the rental car still smelling of Beam and bubble gum.
I made it to the airport with time to spare and managed to get the driver's side of the plane where I could view the Grand Canyon as we left Nevada and hit the cloud deck. It was an awesome sight that made me tear up. I wish they had been there with me to raise a glass high or give me some knuckles for crossing one off my must do list.
posted by The Raving Badger at 2:42 PM
3 Comments:
I hope you told K, aka My Little Sister, aka Kentucky Fried, that she wasn't going to have NEARLY as much fun in East B.F., Kentucky.
Grasshopper can make her own fun anywhere she goes. I'm thinking about a roadtrip during the 1st week in May for Derby. Wanna go? We'll "rescue" her and take her to Derby.
I had a GREAT time too, my old dirty Master. Meeting you was one of the highlights of my year! xoxo
Post a Comment
<< Home