A friend of mine knocked up his 21 year old girlfriend. He invited me to the wedding. I hate my job. VACATION.
My band played its first show Thursday night. We rocked the house. We stayed up late, drinking. I get a whopping 60 minutes worth of sleep (ticktickticktick). Alarm goes off. Oh, right, I should probably pack a bag.
Throw clothes in bag. Forget dress pants, toothbrush, headphones, earplugs.
Drive to airport. Feel awful, like eyes are being pushed out of head.
Park car. Get to terminal. Light cigarette (last one for the next few hours). Be accosted by hippy looking girl. Give cigarette. "Where are you going?" Portland. "Poland???! Awesome! I've been planning an Eastern European backing trip for YEARS OHMIGOD so this one time..." No, sorry. Accent. PORTLAND. Oregon. Oh look at the time, I need to check in. Safe flight!
Check in. Consider first class upgrade. Remember am picking up rental car; decide getting liquored up in-flight to be bad idea. Sob at fact.
Pass security. Wonder if TSA likes the way my dick looks in x-ray machine. (Spoiler: of course they do.) Starving/hungover. Go to SALT LICK for breakfast tacos. Recall that Salt Lick is horribly overrated. Devour $10 tacos and Gatorade like savage. Go to gate.
Board plane (Frontier boards front rows first...why?). Sit down. Father with toddler sits next to me. Bachelorette party takes up all the seats in front of me for three rows. Oh god. Kill me. SCENE.
Wake up in Denver. Disembark. Go to smoking lounge. Smoking lounge is now Jamba Juice. Panic. Look up " smoking lounge DIA" online. Find lone smoking lounge still exists. Board train to terminal C. Walk into smoking lounge. Gag at lack of ventilation. Sit down. Drink half dozen cups of shitty coffee (most likely Nescafé). Chain smoke. Incessantly text Kirov. Obsessed (rightly so; Kirov is lovely). Leave lounge. Go to gate. Board flight to PDX. Immediately black out.
Land in POLAND. No, PORTLAND. Disembark. Assure Kirov plane has not crashed. Walk to rental place. Phone dying. Find outlet. Charge phone while awful violinist plays and hocks CDs. Walk back to rental place. Girl behind counter mimics accent. Flirting? Who cares. Not Kirov. Pick up car. Spend ten minutes trying to figure out how to turn off hazard lights. Then how to turn on headlights. Feel less manly. I WILL FIGHT ANYONE WHO LOOKS ME IN THE EYE.
Calm down. Leave airport. Drive to friend's house. Hugs!!!!!!! Love my friend. Go to burger place. (Killer Burger in PDX = awesome.) Back to house. Drink whiskey. Lots of whiskey. Watch documentary about raccoons (picked because of Kirov's raccoon adoration).
More friends show up. Go to bar. Sing karaoke. My choice: "Sheila Take A Bow" by The Smiths. Kirov asks for a Cure song. Make mental note. Next time, baby. Friends all sing. So much talent! Sing song. Nail it while lady friends backup dance. Drink more and more. Woooooo.
Pass out on basement floor.
Wake up. Head screaming. Shower, dress. Get in car. Go to friends' place. We're going to a wedding. Friend has coffee. Friend gives coffee. ihateemo weeps with gratitude. Friend is ex barista. Coffee is delicious.
Drive north FOREVER. Friend marrying in Poulsbo. Look it up. Get to venue. Make small talk with people. Stay a while. Polite.
Ferry to Seattle fucked. Drive back down to Tacoma, then Seattle. Interminable. Phone dies. Panic at lifeline to Kirov being cut, despite operating vehicle. Finally reach hotel. Check in. Crash on bed.
Rest. Shower. Dress. Capitol Hill! Wow. Douche crowd. Go to bar. Order food. Friends show up. Hang out. Drink til close. One friend says "You aren't as wild as you used to be." Credit psychiatrist. Joke rings hollow. Joke rings hollow.
More drinks. Catch up with friends. SHOTS. Friends talk amongst selves. Exhausted. More shots! Dying.
Close down bar. Barely conscious.
Back to hotel. Flop on bed. Text Kirov. Kirov asleep. Smart girl.
Tomorrow: friend brunch. Back to Portland. Looking forward to real sleep.
Back to PDX tomorrow.
Aren't vacations meant to be relaxing?6