Yum!

Scooby Snack: Malibu, Midori, half and half, and pineapple juice.

So good.

"It's Bigger Than Hip-Hop" - Dead Prez

The Thursday Portion of the Previous Entry

Where was I?

I know. Thursday.

So Thursday was quite hilarious. I go to Kilroy's with Andrea. There is a hot dog stand parked outside the bar. I remark that she should buy some hot dogs, minus the hot dogs. You know, to help soak up the soon to be consumed alcohol.

The phrase "two buns, please" is born.

We think it is hilarious.

Drinks are drunk. A friend of hers buys her something called an AMF. This blue cotton candy colored drink more or less spells her doom.

"I'm going to vom tonight," she says.

We decide to walk to Brother's next. It was eventful. Multiple groups of people in matching colored shirts. They were on a bar crawl of some sort. I suggest we cross the street so to avoid these hooligans.

Bad choice. Or good choice; since now I have a funny story to tell.

This side of the street contains some fool collecting money for some charity. I ignore him. I do not mind donating money to charities, but don't ask for my money at midnight.

You're not getting it.

This douchecanoe does not respond well to my ignoring of him and says, well I don't remember the first part, but ends with "or any acknowledgement at all."

Bad move, bud. Call me crazy, but I think antagonizing the person who just turned down your request for donations is not the best way to get them to reconsider their decision.

Andrea gives them a quarter. I nearly turned around to stop her. That's 1/3 of a Go Ape Polar Pop. But I digress.

Brother's is fun. We sit outside because it isn't that cold out. She gets up to pee a lot. We go back inside because she is cold. I think I see the girl I gave a fake name to a few weeks ago.

That would've been bad.

Before we leave she wants to do a shot of something. We look at the banner of shots above the stairs. Surfer on Acid. Something else. Something else. Scooby Snack.

We have a winner.

Nothing particularly funny happens the rest of the night, except when she nearly drops her box of breadsticks while trying to open the door to her apartment.

I've come under the opinion that Andrea does a fairly good job of hiding just how drunk she actually is. It's impressive. Of course I could just be inept at identifying levels of drunkenness.

This Apple Wasn't Picked for Fun!

That title is not going to make an iota of sense to you unless your name is Andrea James or you read this stupidly long blog.

This week has been a pretty good week.  It started on Sunday with a trip to Lake Monroe to help (read: annoy) my good friend, Andrea, with a photography project of hers.  We decided to explore the roads south of the lake and, because I'm a moron sometimes, ended up in the wilderness of Central Indiana.  Better known as butt-fuck nowhere.

It was bizarre down there.

A collection of poorly labeled gravel roads and dead ends.  Incredible scenery, however.

A creek (crik) in the middle of nowhere.

Seriously, we were lucky to make it out.  Every time we'd thought we'd found the road to civilization, it'd turn into another damn gravel road.  At one point our car, yes car, was attacked by a pack of dogs, yes dogs, roaming outside of a dilapidated, yet inhabited, house.

I shit you not.

It was some Hills Have Eyes-type stuff.

That should have been a blog all to itself.  Oh well.

Where was I?

I know.  Thursday.

So Thursday was quite hilarious.  I go to Kilroy's with Andrea.  There is a hot dog stand parked outside the bar. I remark that she should buy some hot dogs, minus the hot dogs.  You know, to help soak up the soon to be consumed alcohol.

The phrase "two buns, please" is born.

We think it is hilarious.

Drinks are drunk.  A friend of hers buys her something called an AMF.  This blue cotton candy colored drink more or less spells her doom. 

"I'm going to vom tonight," she says.

We decide to walk to Brother's next.  It was eventful.  Multiple groups of people in matching colored shirts.  They were on a bar crawl of some sort.  I suggest we cross the street so to avoid these hooligans.

Bad choice.  Or good choice; since now I have a funny story to tell.

This side of the street contains some fool collecting money for some charity.  I ignore him.  I do not mind donating money to charities, but don't ask for my money at midnight.

You're not getting it.

This douchecanoe does not respond well to my ignoring of him and says, well I don't remember the first part, but ends with "or any acknowledgement at all."

Bad move, bud.  Call me crazy, but I think antagonizing the person who just turned down your request for donations is not the best way to get them to reconsider their decision.

Andrea gives them a quarter.  I nearly turned around to stop her.  That's 1/3 of a Go Ape Polar Pop.  But I digress.

Brother's is fun.  We sit outside because it isn't that cold out.  She gets up to pee a lot.  We go back inside because she is cold.  I think I see the girl I gave a fake name to a few weeks ago.

That would've been bad.

Before we leave she wants to do a shot of something.  We look at the banner of shots above the stairs.  Surfer on Acid.  Something else.  Something else.  Scooby Snack.

We have a winner.

Nothing particularly funny happens the rest of the night, except when she nearly drops her box of breadsticks while trying to open the door to her apartment.

I've come under the opinion that Andrea does a fairly good job of hiding just how drunk she actually is.  It's impressive.  Of course I could just be inept at identifying levels of drunkenness.

That should be a blog of it's own.  I think I'll post it separately.

Then there's Friday.  Friday is only worth mentioning because I got an A+ on a test I didn't study a second for.  I actually laughed when I saw the score.  I thought it was a joke.

And now we come to Saturday.

A road trip with Andrea to Attica, IN for some delicious Wolf's Chocolate.

I love road trips.  I love them so much I want to take them behind the middle school and get them pregnant (30 Rock joke).  Seriously, they're one of my favorite things to do.  I don't even need a goal; just driving for a long time is enjoyable to me.  Although, having some Go Ape on hand certainly helps.

So I leave for Attica around 11am in the morning.  Andrea is at home for the weekend in Brazil, IN (Braezil to the natives), and it is on the way to Attica.  I get stuck behind slow ass leisure drivers on the way there.

The road trip is fun as usual; filled with Go Ape and car-singing.  Andrea has to pee before we get to Attica.  I'm curious how many times this will happen on our road trip to the Estes Park, CO and Yellowstone NP this May.  We arrive at Wolf's Chocolates and proceed to buy chocolate.

A lot of it.  It's delectable.

She asks me where the McDonald's we usually stop at in Attica is.  She has to pee again.

Yes, again.  It has been at most 25 minutes.  I find this humorous.  She counters my laughing by telling me one of the few things a guy does not want to hear without having preparation first.

Well played, James.  Well played.

We stop at McDonald's.  She pees.  I buy food.  She notices a sign that reads, "Our apples are picked for fun".  This is hilarious to us.  We leave Attica.  She is eating her fruit and walnut salad and I hear, "this apple wasn't picked for fun!".  So.  Damn.  Funny.  Andrea's like a walking quote machine.

And now you understand the blog title.

We stop at a place called Raccoon Lake, both sides of it, on the way back.  It is ridiculously windy; like a tornado, surrounded by a windstorm, wrapped in a hurricane, all crammed into a wind tunnel.

Damn wind.

We eat pastrami sandwiches.  She has to pee again.  There is a groundhog by the bathroom we stop at in the park.  It disappears.  We're pretty sure it was peeping her.  Quite the awesome day.

Quite the awesome week.

Anxious to see what the final month of my college days hold.

"Hey Julie" - Fountains of Wayne