June 29, 2005
We were loaded up with the bare minimum of camping necessities (one tent, two pillows and lotsa alcohol) and ready to hit the road by 2:00 p.m. on Saturday after work. Both of us felt giddy and ready to get away for the weekend (well, one night, anyway) and I was excited to simply be with him for the entire weekend. It seemed to me, as we pulled into his driveway in Sully, that I had not been on a weekend get away with a man for a very long time (well, one that didn't involve racing, anyway).Well, anyway...
The Boy and I arrived to our Adam's County Park destination, just north of The Dells, around 5:30 p.m.. He called his friends from his cell phone to find out their exact site location and I guzzled a Miller High Life that wasn't very well concealed due to the GOLD rim sticking out from my blue beer muff. We received our camping pass, which lightened our pockets all of $3.00, and began touring the lake which The Boy's friends were supposed to be located (and drinking heavily) on.
"Yeah, we're down by the boat launch but I don't see any black SUVs or a jet ski," The Boy said on the phone while whisking his head from one end of the shore to the other.
His friends having begun cocktail hour at 10:00 a.m. that morning weren't doing much for geographical assistance,
"DUDE! Get your ass over here. NOW!"
Right-O.
Come to find, there are several Adam's County Parks in the area and we were at the one located about ten miles south of the one which occupied the drunken mass of campers we were searching for.
"Okay," replied The Boy, "we'll be there in about three beers."
And no longer than two and three quarters worth of Miller High Life later (or, 12 minutes, for all of you out there sporting a big, fat stick up your ass), we were at our desired destination.
Now, the first thing you need to know about The Boy and the company he keeps is that NOT ONE of his friends dons a real name. Oh sure, they all have their birth names and the names which they will eventually pass down to the next generation, but they are of little use during such gatherings. Utilized instead are the monikers of Kill, Rude Dude, Boogedy Boogedy (insert special kicking motion) Shoop and the like.
These are all real people with real jobs and real families...
The dog's name was Cruiser.
But, back to camping and The Boy. Heh.
His friends are great. I instantly took a liking to Kill (please take a moment to revel in the morbidity of that statement) and his crotch sniffer, Cruiser, and the Rude Dude seemed more laid back than a well worn, 25 year old Lazy Boy recliner on someone's front porch. There were about 15 other 'unknowns' present and I was probably introduced to them all, but after my second mixture of Captain and Coke in a 60 oz. Gatorade bottle, I was just trying to avoid being tripped by Cruiser's staked leash which would surely have resulted in some very unnecessary alcohol spillage.
Then, there was Tina, Kill's 'stand in' girlfriend.
By 'stand in,' I mean the last possible person Kill would have actually chosen to take with him on a camping trip, where other human beings might be present, if only he looked as good as Brad Pitt and was able to choose between Jennifer Anniston and that chick with the long hair and collagen lips.
She's nice enough, really, but MAN can that girl talk the hind legs off of a coked up giraffe on a pair of circus sized stilts.
I heard every story she could muster from her memory about her adoration toward Kill and his band and how every female fan seems to go after the drummer (and how wrong I was in assuming that they would go after the lead singer instead) and how Kill lost so much weight and then gained so much weight and then lost so much weight save for the protruding after effects of consuming so much beer (which is probably an attempt to drown out the endless Energizer Bunny type chattering that the poor boy is inflicted with on a daily fucking basis) --
And not ONCE did I act upon the rotating fantasy in my mind of taking her by her gesturing arms and flinging her body into the sea of rocks which lined the shore of the lake of the site we were camping on. Not even once.
TO BE CONTINUED