Tag Archives: drinking

Riding the Hog – Part Two

Disclaimer:
If you haven’t already read my Riding the Hog – Part One, please do so.

ducksWhile my previous blog about checking off my bucket list….being in a parade…. didn’t require two postings, this event certainly does.  It could require three. I am undecided, so we’ll see what we get. Of course, like a good mother duck, I want everyone to stay together and know where we’re going…so please read the first chapter.

Thank you.

The night before my undoubtably titillating Harley ride.. .I had to pack for an overnight.  I suck at packing.  I mean really, what does one wear for a Harley ride?

– Assless chaps was completely out of the question, so don’t even think it.

– Bikini? Ah no.

– Leather dominatrix outfit? Where the hell am I going to get that? (Well, trust me, I know where to find it just didn’t have the time to get it. Shocking. I know.)

– Shorts? The weather forecast literally said, “hot as Hell.” I have no desire to burn my delicate skin on a leather seat.

– Pink sparkly tutu with confetti gun? Probably not.

– Jeans. I’ll wear jeans.

Then comes the next difficulty. Shoes. Not wearing stilettos, nor hiking boots, not wearing sandals or sneakers.

I’m also short.
How big is this Harley?
Where do you put your feet on a bike?
What if I’m like a cat who climbs a tree but can’t figure out how to get down? I can get on the bike, but can’t get off….because my feet don’t reach?
Seriously, I can’t even be a penguin sanctuary volunteer at the local aquarium because I’m literally not tall enough. Fuck, what size are those penguins?

You can see, this is an issue.

I decide on boots.

Boots. With heels? Without heels?

Knee high boots?

Calf boots?

Ankle boots?

Well hell. When in doubt, take two pairs. With heels and without heels.

Shirt? Easy enough. Since I didn’t have time to find a leather corset, I settled for a black button up tank top. Shows pushed up cleavage….perfect.

Check. Got them in the suitcase.

But wait, cue the monkeys.

Wait for it.

There are always monkeys.

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My Biker tells me …. (Note: everyone remains nameless in my blog to protect the innocent or they’re provided with a fake name….safer that way.) advises we will be doing one of two things upon my arrival:

1. Going for a boat ride
2. Taking the bikes down to the biker bar for dinner & dancing.

Well now, either option is exciting.  Whoo Hoo!

Here’s the monkey shit:
I only planned for one Harley riding, biker chic, outfit. Great, there’s always a monkey involved. Damn that monkey.

What if it’s cold?
What if it’s hot?
Is the bar inside or out?
What if we don’t?
What if it’s buggy.
What if it’s the boat?
What if it’s too sunny?
Too windy?

Well hell.

I throw in enough clothes that I could’ve outfitted a family of 6. Mind you, they’d have to be a family of little people

I had a selection of jeans, shirts, boots, jackets, tank tops, panties and bras. You needed it, I had it.

Oh what’s that you say? Where’s my bathing suit? I didn’t pack it.
I know!
Trust me.
I know!
I know, like I know, like I know.
I KNOW.

bass-fishing-lake-livingston-022210-01
I had no plan to get into the lake. There’s fish. Much different than ocean fish. These are confined fish. They may nip me. They may bump into me. The every so slight adjustment of water current due to their tail swish may get me.

Nope. Not happening.

Ever see anyone actually walk on water? Yeah, well the first time a bass or something bumps me, I’m levitating up and out of that lake and walking across that water like Jesus reclaimed the Earth….immediately.

screaming.banshee

All along screaming like a banshee on a blind date….to a peanut factory.

I pack up the car and have my little roller suitcase, which was surprisingly light …considering…and another tote with beauty products. Hey. I’m a girlie girl. This is how I roll. Love me, love all my crap.

Luckily the work day was an early release for me.
Thank sweet Jesus,  the day flew by faster than a raven looking for a half eaten McDonald’s burger.  I had no patience, I wanted to go….go….go….go!

I punch into Waze my destination address, The Terminator starts to direct me. (Usually I go with Elvis, but the way Arnold says “roundabout” makes me laugh, so I’m sticking with him for a bit.) I turn up the volume on my cruisin’ play list and hit the road.  Two hours until I reach my destination.

Traffic was a beast.  There was even a 5K run with a bunch of colorful runners on the road I had the pleasure of navigating through.  Which reminds me, people who run never look happy.  Why?  If it’s miserable, don’t do it. That’s my theory.

However, I digress.  Let’s return to the story at hand.

Leave it to me, I got lost.

Twice.

Even with The Terminator.

The Terminator, who is my Waze Guide, sent me to the “east” road when I needed the “west.”

Then my Biker called to help me find my way. First question he asks, “where are you?”

Seriously?  My bread crumbs ran out a long time ago.

At this point I was in Maine, somewhere between a pine tree and a fuck if I know bush.

I say I just passed the fire department. Of course, who the hell knows what fire department – it was some town’s. My friend advises me to continue down the road and turn right and go to the end – go all the way down to the dirt road, keep going and they’ll be on the right.

I hang up and realize, well…of course, I’m at an intersection.

It’s a dead end T-type intersection — of course. Which way?

It’s a 50 / 50 shot and you know me.  Let’s all say it together now, “I went the wrong way.”

Duh. Of course.

HEY!

News Flash: I lived in a town with only 40 miles of road! LAND LOCKED! …for 18 years. I couldn’t get lost. It’s no wonder I’m having issues with this now.

I make a u-turn and head the other direction. Find the road. Find the dirt road. Find the house.

My Biker is standing in the driveway waiting for me.

First thing: Do I want a drink?

Really, you’re asking me? I was almost eaten by the cannibalistic witch from the Hanzel & Gretel story on my way here as I tried to figure out which way was up! Hell yes, I want a drink. Two…one for each hand.

Second thing: Did you bring your suit? We’re going on the boat.

Well of course not.

woman-in-1910-bathing-suit-underwood-archives

Yes,  I should have brought my bikini….we’re hanging out on the boat.  No really, I honestly didn’t bring a bikini.  

I didn’t even bring a tankini.  
Nor did I pack a one piece.  
No thong.
No g-string.
No tanga.
No full bottom betty.
No skirted bottom.
Not even swim shorts!
Nope, no diving suit for that matter.
Not even a 1910’s full body suit.  
And my birthday suit is out of the question – it’s being dry cleaned and I’m not drunk.

I’m okay with that.  It’s early evening and it’s going to get cooler as time marches on. It’ll be fine.

SAVED!
We jump into the pontoon and I make some fast friends.
Beer in hand.
No complaints.
Wow, this is so relaxing.

Arrive to the far end of the lake and everyone piles out. Heading to a friend’s house for sandwiches.
Okay, where are we going?
Up to the campground.
In a pick up truck.
12 of us.
Okay maybe 6 of us.
Before I know it, the small person (ME) was voted to sit in a lap in the front seat.

Who?
Me?
What?
You want me where?

Thank you sweet Jesus …. it was my Biker’s lap.

Here’s an anomaly about me.

I’m not a touchy, feely kind of person.

Hugs? Oy. I’d rather go to the dentist.

Now I’m having to hoist myself into the cab of a pick up and climb into a lap.
Okay, it’s part of the adventure.
I’m small.
Sign me up. I’ll do it.

Image

Excuse me.
Pardon me.
Seriously?
Hold that.
Grab this.
Watch the head.
NO! MY HEAD….thank you.

A short jaunt later, we pile out and enjoy some adult beverages.
Pet the pets….two adorable dogs.
Order sandwiches.
Then…it’s time to pick up said sandwiches.

And guess what?
They’re going in a golf cart!
Not any type of golf cart, this is a 4WD, off road, golf cart.
WHAT?
Oh, I have to go do this.
YAHOO!

Of course, I pick the back seat.
Facing backwards.

And we’re off like a greyhound chasing a rabbit.

Over hills.
Through the dale.
Around the corner.
Passing through the field.
To the sandwich shop we go.

As we drive through the field….they advise me it’s a topless area.
Yes.
Ok.
Well, why didn’t you tell me?
Let me fix that.
One moment….as I prepare to take my top off.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Fear not my furry friends – my shirt stayed on.

I mean really.
In that wind, my boobs are so small you would miss them in the breeze. They’d be introverted in a heart beat and nobody wants to see that chaos. Going from oranges to tic tacs — never ideal.

Should we have been pulled over by the cops, however, I’d have whipped the shirt off.

Just saying. Don’t want us to get a ticket.

After dinner, we jumped back into the truck and headed back to the lake.
The sun is starting to set.
Stars are coming out.
We kick back.
Listen to music.
Drink beer.
Watch for shooting stars.
Watch for satellites – my new favorite search and seek.
Looked at the Milky Way —- in the S K Y. Thank you.
Picked up more friends.
Sang karaoke.
Danced.
And enjoyed the night.

Back to the shore about midnight and time to sleep…..it’s a big, big, big day ahead!

Stay tuned for The Final Chapter.

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Riding a Hog – Part One.

Everyone needs a list of fun things they’d like to accomplish in life. The Bucket List.

Some may have:

Competing in American Ninja Warrior.
Joining a roller derby team.
Visiting far away places.
Going to a NASCAR race.
Winning America’s Got Talent.
Owning a Porche.
Learning to cook.
Eating a deep fried grasshopper.
Going to a UFC fight.
Meeting your favorite actor / actress / singer.

(*Note, only 4 of these are on my list..seriously.)

It’s anything that makes your heart sing. And sing loudly. At least in my book, that’s how it works.

Wingsuite

Some things that are definitely NOT on my Bucket List:

* Bungee jumping

* Soaring through the sky in a squirrel suit

* Jumping out of a perfectly good airplane. (Although, please note I’m only like 92% NOT HAPPENING on this one.)

I must say, the right person may be able to convince me to go with them in tandem. And there is fine print for this to actually occur. This has a high probability of never happening.

Muir divingHave you ever seen the episode of Impractical Jokers when for punishment, Muir has to jump out of plane? Yeah, that would be me. I would be wearing Depends – for certain. And require a Vodka iv drip, however they probably frown on that therapy.

However, if the guy I was strapped to for the tandem, was a fucking hot stud. Let’s discuss it.

Anyway, we keep rolling forward…

Years ago, my friend Ted — who is a helicopter pilot — bought a Harley. I always said, “I will ride with Ted.” (To be clear, please note, I said, “ride with Ted”…not “ride Ted.” Thank you.) I know there could be some confusion there.

I love Ted. He is one of a very small select group of helicopter pilots that I fly with. Why? I’m not thrilled with flying. One of the other pilots I flew with all the time……besides Ted…….everyone would ask of this other pilot, “Why do you only fly with him?” That was such an easy question for me.

It was so obvious.

He had crash experience.
Duh.
And walked away.
Duh.

Back to the story….

Ted now lives in Arizona and I’m on the east coast. That ride is going to be a challenge to cash in on. This is a definite kink in the concept. I’ve realized this, so I’ve been keeping my ears open for a new biker. It can’t just be anyone, it has to be someone I trust and KNOW. Good lord, I’m not walking into a biker bar asking for a ride….

First, I am pretty certain I’d be offered a multitude of various rides.
Second, biker bars, last I checked aren’t listed in the phone book.
Unless you know someone, you’re not getting in.
….well, that may depend….if you’re asking for a ride…..

Just saying.

SO….let’s continue.

In your mind, imagine a fun local bar.
A live band.
A group of tourism industry folks hanging out.
Drinking.

There we are…

This past April, I was talking with a friend of mine, who said something along the lines of what sounded like he had a Harley.
What?
A what?
You think this band is gnarly?
You have a cat named Marley?
FUCK!
WHAT?

What.
Did.
You.
Just.
Say?

He says again what sounded suspiciously like…..he has a Harley.
I’m sorry, I scream over the band and pints of beer, did you say you have a Harley?

Hopeful anticipation of twitterpation, would be a word for me at this point.

Why, yes. Yes. He has a Harley.
To clarify, I scream: A bike?! The motorcycle?
Yes, it’s a something, something, something Harley.
(Forgive me for not remembering these details.)
Why?

Okay, let’s get serious.
This
Is
On my Bucket List.

I think at this point, I may have literally walked over the top of the table.
No, this wouldn’t be the first time I walked across the top of a table.
Shocking, I know.
It’s the shortest way from Point A to Point B – why fuck around?

And I sat next to him so I could clearly understand what we were talking about.

Here’s the deal: I want to go for a ride on a Harley.
Answer: He has a Harley and I can go for a ride.
Cost: Wear a leather corset.
When: July.

How do we make this deal?

Shit, where the hell am I going to get a leather corset, is running through my mind.

DEAL.
Spit & shake.
I’ll worry about the corset later.

Of course, the ladies with us, who were witnesses to this entire conversation were in hysterics. I must promise to take photos and keep them in the loop. We all work in tourism but live in separate areas of the world – literally. This is a perfect example of how our three days traveling through New England went.

Needless to say, now that I was confirmed on my ride, I was very excited.

How excited? Well. I may have left a wet mark.

Just saying.

Yes. That, excited.

The weeks roll along.

I am unable to easily find a leather corset – so that’s on my list now. (If you know a good supplier, tell me.) Who knew I’d need one! So I settled for something that would show boobs. Mind you, I have oranges, not melons. Not really tangerines. Oranges. I work with what god gave me. Thank you for the man who made push up bras. Yep, that’s about all I’ve got, right there.

I guess, the bonus for being a small titted woman, is I really won’t have much sag.
They certainly aren’t flopping off the sides of my chest any time soon.

So, in my book, that is a bonus for all small boobies in the world.

NOTE: I know you were hoping I’d post a photo of said boobies here….nope.

Two weeks prior to the event, I confirm we’re still a go.
Yep.

I’ll be riding with a husband and wife, both who have Harley bikes, in a fundraiser ride up in Maine.
I’ll be staying at their house – makes it easy.
Confirmed.
Confirmed.
Confirmed.
Let’s do this!

This past Friday I departed work early so I can head to Maine….let the adventures begin.

We have lift off!

Stay tuned for Part Two!

Note To Self: Stop Drinking

The fun part is hanging out in the bar with friends, laughing and carrying on. The suck part is hanging on to the toilet as you throw up everything but breakfast.

I mean really. When has puking ever been fun? I didn’t enjoy it when I was a little kid and I sure as hell don’t enjoy it now. So why keep doing it?

It would be one thing if the vomiting was fun, like getting a pedicure. But when you’re gripping the toilet rim because you’re pretty sure you’re going to vomit like a fire hose, that’s not fun.

Spinning room, splitting headache, rolling stomach – is it really worth it in the long run? Sleeping on the bathroom floor rather than a soft bed is crazy – who does that? Drunk people.

Bless the cotton socks of the kind people who put a blanket on you to keep you warm on the tile floor. They plug the night light in so you can find the bed when you decide the room has stopped spinning enough. These little angels will often even pull down the covers on your side just so you can flop into bed. Lastly and most importantly, they are also known to help carry your ass to the bathroom before you make a mess of the living room carpet. Bless these aspirin wielding angels.

Feeling bad the next day is miserable. Nausea, lingering headache, the poops….it’s all terrible. I definitely won’t be going to the gym in the morning and sure as hell won’t be taking my 27 vitamins. Not on the hungover stomach. It’s at this point that you swear, once again, not to drink again. Ever. Period. None.

Yet time goes by sometimes quite a lot of time and sometimes only a few days and there you are again …. one drink, two drink, three drink FLOOR!

Hit rewind and then play.