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originally posted in later march of 2005

My vacation started and ended in the same manner; with me hungover on an airplane. Fortunately enough for me, my flight was occupied by every screaming child in the Greater Sacramento Valley. Parents, nothing makes my horrendous fear of flight, or the fact that I am about to upchuck home made hot-wings better, than listening to your child scream on the five hour non-stop flight to Atlanta. Here’s a hint: if your children are not well disciplined enough to sit in their seats quietly, understanding that they are not in their private little playhouse in the sky, then I suggest feeding them a little cocktail I created in order to make children tolerable.

It is comprised of .25 liters of Wild Turkey, .25 liters of Jack Daniels, and 1.5 liters of NyQuil. Insert a funnel into your child’s mouth and proceed to pour the entire concoction straight down their gullet. Once they are passed out and completely rendered harmless then, and only then , should they be allowed on the plane. Other than that, the flights, from Sacramento to Atlanta, and Atlanta to New Orleans were relatively painless. And by painless I mean I would rather forceably take a suppository, administered with a red hot poker, than ever fly on Delta Airlines again. Our flight was delayed in take off by about thirty minutes, after hitting a relatively small time warp somewhere over Utah, compounded by the fact that you have to taxi for forty-five fucking minutes before you reach the terminal in Atlanta, The Girl and I were jogging across the airport in order to make it to our connecting flight. We land in New Orleans and, to no surprise, our luggage didn’t make it on the plane we landed on, it did make it roughly an hour and a half later. So far, not a complete wreck, but it wasn’t until I got to our hotel and started unpacking that I realized in my drunken stupor of packing on my birthday, I forgot to pack socks, underwear, and all of my hygiene products.

Packing the night before involved a twelve pack of Budweiser and a bottle of Jack Daniels. I would pack a little and reward myself with some alcohol. Pack three t-shirts, have a shot of Jack and a beer. Pack all of my pants, have two shots and two beers, good job Travis. Eventually, in between drinking, packing, and syncing the new I-Pod that The Girl bought me, I realized it was three in the morning and had to sleep eventually, thus, no undies. The up side of that however is, for the whole trip I got to wear new socks, every day. And now on to the highlights of the trip.

New Orleans -

Before you start drinking the French Quarter of New Orleans smells like wet garbage, hot asshole, and a cheap hooker that hasn’t washed herself in six months. Strong drinks, however, eventually make you forget that because:
A. You are drunk
B. Everyone around you is drunk.
C. The more girls drink fruity drinks that mask the seventeen shots of bourbon, the more likely they are to take off their shirts and show their boobies. Who is really concerned about the filthy public street when you can see amateur strippers on every balcony?

One of these drinks is called the Hand Grenade. Now I won’t call myself an alcoholic but I have been known to put away quite a bit of liquor and not really consider myself drunk. This drink fucked me up. It tastes like a watermelon Jolly Rancher ( I just poured hot coffee on my crotch for how much I hate myself for drinking chick drinks) but somewhere in that slushy of liquor there has to be at least ten shots of Everclear because just one of these had me dancing naked in the hotel lobby. This thing has to be the closest thing to a legal roofie that exists. My girlfriend loved them. Drinking also leads to stupid ideas becoming great ideas that are picture worthy. This is a picture of me, drunk, at one in the afternoon. Not only was I drinking a fruity chick drink, but I was wearing a cowboy hat in a lame assed attempt to be a hip, frat boy, douche bag. Along with the shitty hat I was attempting to be even cooler by growing a goatee. This wouldn’t be too bad except for the fact that every time I try to grow facial hair I look like a sixteen year old who glued pubes to his face. I’m retarded, but not alone in my retardation.

Spending a week in the largest port-o-let in America allows you to spend quality time with other well intentioned jack asses. Like this schmuck. New Orleans is littered with street performers. All they do is stand really still, dressed in a variety of cockamamie costumes, until you pay them money. I bet you’re asking, “But Travis, what happens when you pay them money?” They thank you for the money. THAT’S IT! No flashy dance, no performance, no blow job; you give them cash and they thank you. What kind of dim witted, insipid moron thinks about making a living this way? A lot of them.

Well one night while drinking, which was my official hobby during this trip, we happen upon a tourist who’s just not gonna take shit from a community theater drop out. I’m not to sure what started the entire conflict but here’s the scenario. There is a street performer, who’s dressed like a goth who failed to get it right. He was even wearing bat wings, ooo spooky. This reject from Hot Topic obviously moved to The Big Easy because he listened to too many Nine Inch Nails albums, read too many Anne Rice books, found out that both the band and the author were based in New Orleans, and went there for his encounter with fame. Now he’s a gothic street performer, I bet your mom hates you. And by the way, Count Chocula is more goth than you are, so just give it the hell up. There is also a tourist who is holding his girlfriends purse. Somewhere along the lines Purse Boy insults Batman’s ethics, acting ability, or his ability to stand really still and they end up in a duel, a duel of who can stand still the most. Now while this may sound less exciting than having your prostate examined, once you add liquor and a whole bunch of drunk people cheering Purse Boy on, it became an hour and twenty minutes of making fun of a guy, dressed like an idiot, who stands still. The picture’s a little blurry because I was drunk.

Yes, this went on for an hour and twenty minutes.

Eventually Purse Boy lost because he realized that he was not as good as Batman and wanted to do something that Batman has probably never done: take the purse to his girlfriend, go back to their hotel, and touch naked boobies. If you ever consider this as a career move, please do me a favor: shoot yourself. The world doesn’t need anymore street performers. Sadly, this will probably be my last trip to New Orleans for the simple fact that they have no respect for people with hang overs, and I think god sent me a sign that I need not return. The last night we were there, which just happened to be the night of Purse Boy, I had too much to drink and ended up on the floor of our hotel room in the most pain I have ever been in. To recount, that night I drank the following: Jager & Red Bull, Three Budweisers, Two Hand Grenades, and a shot of Jack. Sometime after the purse boy incident my stomach started hurting so I asked The Girl if we could head back to the hotel. Not long after arriving I am in the fetal position on the floor about a pubic hair’s width away from vomiting blood. The Girl was nice enough to run out, at three am, to grab me some Tums and water, and I took that as a sign that maybe I had spent enough time there.

From there The Girl and I went to Las Vegas to hang out with a bunch of friends of mine that she has never met, and what’s the best way to make friends? Get drunk together. (I said god was telling me not to come back to New Orleans, not to stop drinking)

Las Vegas -

We really only had one night out in Vegas. Here’s the entire group, four couples: The Girl and I, Jansson and Kat , Beth and Octavio , and Jim and Mary - who were nice enough to host this group of drunken reprobates for the weekend. They fed us, let us stay at their apartment, played tour guide through the Vegas strip. They were a blast to hang out with, despite the fact that Jim’s mutton chop sideburns scare the hell out of me. The thing is, Jim is cooler than I am. When I got back from Las Vegas I decided that I would try wearing a bandanna instead of doing my hair. The only thing that I accomplished is looking like the gayest pirate ever, so I gave that shit up quick. We got the whole party of eight together for a night of rockstar style debauchery, unfortunately for The Girl and I (more so I) we had to be at the airport at 4:30 am the next morning. Despite my fear of flying , and because of my occasional lack of common sense, I tried to out rockstar The Rockstars .

For every stop at a bar where people ordered one drink, I had a shot of jack and a Sam Adams. At one point, I decided that I was not getting drunk enough (always a sane thought) and ordered the usual shot and beer, along with a bloody mary to spice things up. I never claimed to be smart. As evidenced in previous entries on this site, when I get drunk I tend to want to do really dumb stuff that would probably entertain only me, and land me in jail. At one point, while stumbling through the Venetian, I thought it would be fun to see if I could run, jump off the guard rail, and do a back flip into the canal that runs through their shopping area and get away before security got to me. Mary and The Girl convinced me not too, but I was itchin’ to do something stupid so we all piled back to Mary and Jim’s place for more drinking and this fabulous photo opportunity. Mary has been bragging about how huge her bathtub is even before she moved in to this apartment, so after a considerable amount of alcohol back at the apartment I convinced everyone to cram their collective asses into the tub for a picture. Again, I was thinking of entertaining myself, but everybody seemed to think it was funny. No one, however, thought that turning it into a hot tub and everybody hanging out in there drinking for the rest of night, was a good idea. Here are some more photos from that night:here , and here.

At some point around two am, after a rousing game of friends trivia, I passed out in a drunken stupor. Thank god The Girl remembered to set the alarm. She woke me up at about 3:30am, at which time I proceeded to vomit up everything I have consumed since I was six years old. This did not bode well for my impending flights. I tried to keep spirits up though, about the fourth time, after calling a cab, of running to the bathroom to taste dinner all over again, Mary asked me if I was okay. My response: yeah, just fine, I was just checking out the toilet in there, it’s nice.

All in all the flight home wasn’t too bad, considering the fact that I felt like a bent over butt sandwich. One thing that bugged the shit out of me is along with the fact that I shot puke out my nose mere hours before, the atmosphere on airplanes completely dries up my sinuses. So all I can smell is vomit, and I have a horrendous urge to pick my nose. To make myself feel better I designed a t-shirt commemorating this wonderful memory.

If there’s enough interest I’ll print some up for sale, but for now I am only having one made for myself. Originally I was going to do this entire update using postcards, I thought it was a bit gimmicky and cheesey, but I made it anyway for the condensed version of what happened. Give it a second or two to load Click Here .

After all was said and done it was a great vacation. but it got me thinking about what I am going to do for vacation next year, and then I had an epiphany. I am going to take the most relaxing vacation ever. I am going to take a week off, buy a shit load of food and booze, order net-flix so I don’t have to leave the house to pick up movies, and for one week, I AM NOT GOING TO WEAR PANTS! That’s right, I am going to spend an entire week in my underwear drinking mass amounts of alcohol and I don’t care if Jesus himself shows up on my door step, I am not putting on pants. I don’t know who I pity more: my girlfriend for putting up with me, or my room mates who will have to look at my squirrelly ass covered in nothing but Hanes for an entire week. I think it’s a sound idea, who wants to join me?

This entry was posted on Monday, May 22nd, 2006 at 4:14 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.