01 January 2006

It was a dark and foggy night...

So, at about half past seven, I decided that I would not spend New Year's Eve alone, threw a few of my clothes into my overnight, and set off on my way to here, where I am at this time, that is to say...Baytown.

I might have mentioned this before, but the only redeeming features of Baytown are Lee College, my parents, both of my churches, Luna's Mexican Restaurant, and my friends. The fact that it's three hours off doesn't help. At any rate, I am here now, after much personal peril and other events.

For a start, y'all might have not noticed this, but it's damn foggy tonight. By the time I got to IH-10, I could barely see the taillights of the cars in front of me, and they weren't all that far away. It thinned out a bit in Houston, but I was on the way to my friend Phil's house because he was going to blow up his Christmas tree. Phil lives in Beach City, which is basically the sticks. The fog east of Baytown was so thick that I couldn't see but about ten feet in front of me and nearly died about forty times because the damn rednecks were shooting off fireworks -right- next to the road, and when you can't see anything, exploding noises kind of freak you out.

Or at least they freak me out.

So, I finally get to Phil's house. Whitney runs out to the road and grabs me in this huge hug and whispers in my ear:

"I HATE these kind of parties!"

The party consisted of Phil and his folks, Whit, Courtlandt, Peter, James...and about forty redneck people from the vicinity with whom Phil had the misfortune to attend high school. And they were drunk. They weren't normal drunk like we get drunk, they were stupid drunk.

One such drunk, hereafter known as "The Confederate", had taken a shine to Whit (because everyone does; she's beautiful) and thus kept talking to us. And then got mad when I responded to his vulgar idiocy with less than polite remarks.

Anyway. The blowing up of the Christmas tree. This was not an inflation as some have seemed to think previously, but rather an explosion. Three thousand Black Cats and two gallons of gasoline. It exploded like whoa. And there will be pictures as soon as I can make my camera work. So that was a good time. Whitney commented that it was a sad way for a Christmas tree to die, but Peter said that it was a quick death, and very humane. I agree. It's a hell of a lot better to go out in a blaze of glory than to get hauled off by the rubbish collectors.

So that happened, and after further sorties by the Confederate, which follow:

Me, to Whitney: There's nothing scarier than driving eighty miles per hour through fog.
The Confederate, for no apparent reason: I know what's scarier than thayut! Driving eighty miles per hour through fog on snow!
Me, to the Confederate: Yeah, well, I'm not -that- stupid.
The Confederate, to me: I've done it!
Me, to the Confederate: Right, like I said. I'm not that stupid.

The Confederate then complained to Phil that I had called him stupid.

He also proceeded to attempt to eviscerate me with his...totally nonexistant wit...and then proceeded to continue to be vulgar in front of Whit and Courtlandt which really made me want to murder him, and then we left.

And went to IHOP, where the rest of the rednecks in the area had gathered, but we all had each other and it was good. The fog is DISTURBINGLY thick, though. It was really scary.

Anyway. That's all the news that is news. Happy New Year, everyone who reads this; I am glad that you all are my friends and I hope that y'all had a Confederate-free evening. I'm not really sure when I'm going to be back; I was going to come back on Monday in time for the writing group, but Whit's having her wisdom teeth out on Tuesday and will be out of pocket for most of the rest of the time she's here...so I might be back Monday night yet, or Tuesday. Not sure.

Next post will be about The Producers. Audrey, it doesn't matter that you don't like musicals. You will love this, I promise, and we must go see it.


Blogger Deanna said...

Whoo hoo! It isn't New Year's until someone has blown up a Christmas tree!

I'm glad you had a blog-worthy night, if not an extraordinarily wonderful one.

Let us know when you are back!

8:33 AM  
Anonymous S. Ferrari said...

I can't help but think of the movie Airplane! when reading this post. Specifically the line:

"The fog's getting thicker!"

"And Leon's getting LAAAAARGGGER!"

End tangent.

Hope you had a good new year's. We will have to swap confederate stories when you get back. I've got a doozy from when I worked at Paramount.

4:28 PM  
Blogger Ivy said...

That's actually what me and Phil yelled to each other. No one got it but us.

And actually, it really was a wonderful night. I was with my friends. That makes it automatically awesome.

3:03 AM  
Blogger Citizen said...

"The Producers" is hysterical, I think they did a great job with the new version. As for the fog, when you mentioned it was disturbingly thick, I started thinking of one of Stephen King's longer short stories (actually more like a novella) called "The Mist." It's very creepy, and I believe you can get it on audio, as a stand-alone.

9:13 AM  

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