Archive for October, 2011

Last Leg of the Trip

Went to Phantom of the Opera last night. Wouldn’t it be sweet if it had a different ending each time? One time the Christine could kill Raul while he sleeps and go live with the Phantom. Another time the Phantom could die while battling Raul in a sword fight (we all know that could never happen though because the Phantom does 300 pushups a day). For a show that runs non stop basically, you would think that they would/could spice it up a little bit.

The show was pretty awesome. Quin didn’t want to fork out the money at first because he had been saving up to buy a whole Patagonia outfit, but in the end he decided that “money aint a thang.” Whatever that means.

As we walk in we read a sign that says “No Photography” and an Usheress (it’s Usheress right? Also, why did the singer Usher pick the name Usher?) informing everyone not to take pictures. I immediately started scheming on how I could take pictures without getting caught. I take like 2 pictures without getting caught and get bored and start adhering to the rules again. Rebellion is no fun if nobody notices.

We watch the show and I ask Quin what he thinks of it. He remarks, “It would’ve been sweeter had we just walked in from the rain and a girl had sat on the ground, taken off her shoes, and wrung them out on the carpet like a homeless person.” I don’t understand half of the stuff he ever says. He then goes on to say it was sweet and that it was “visually stunning”. He’s still not making sense.

On the way back to our hotel in the most ghetto area of Vegas, I purchase and eat a Cinnabon. This is very important because Cinnabons are delicious.

Moral of the story: Always eat Cinnabons and you will be skinny, healthy and beautiful.

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I’ve been up to some road tripping again. Don’t be jealous that I can pick up and leave at a moments notice, married people. It’s not that glorious. But it is somewhat entertaining. Maybe a little bit irresponsible? Also, just a tad bit sexy.

The theme song of this road trip has been “How Deep Is Your Love” by the Bee Gees. It keeps Quin going strong in this time of upheaval and turmoil. Oh, Quin is my road trip friend. I also work with him at Anasazi. He’s a private man so I won’t be expounding on him and his personal endeavors.

We left for LA area this past Thursday after getting off the trail. Each of us packed one bag full of clothes and electronics. The only personal hygiene products were our toothbrushes, toothpaste and deodorant. We only shower once a week so no need to worry about all that garbage. Showering is for the weak anyway. Samson didn’t shower and he was awesome.

We drove to the LA area and met up with Danielle. She and her folks treated us nicely. Quin was educated on relationships from watching “When Harry Met Sally”.

The next day we jetted on up to the Bay Area to attend some sideshows and pay homage to the kings of Ghost Ridin the Whip. Hung out with Quin’s awesome family. Slept on their couch. Hit up San Fran town while watching the Blue Angels pwn the blue sky. Then we left on Sunday after going to 3 hours of church.

We drove into the night until about 12:30 am when Quin pulled over right outside of Vegas. We were just going to sleep in the car in a residential neighborhood until I thought I booked us a hotel in the ghettoest area of Vegas. I started the Neon up and headed over there to find a spot to park. (Sidenote: We ran out of gas on the I-5. Luckily we were by an exit with a gas station. I’ve probably ran out of gas like 15 times in the past 4 years. I am a pro at it.) We parked in a parking garage and walked around looking for the hotel. We were greeted by a friendly man in a wheel chair dressed like a 70’s pimp. Maybe he was a pimp? We continued to walk around encountering all types of drunks and weird looking people, something not normal for a night in Vegas.

We found the hotel and I had booked it for the wrong day so we decided to try out some sketchy motels and even a hostel. Finally, we decided to park in a residential neighborhood and sleep in the car.

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