And no, ironically it had nothing to do with the particularly shitty taste of Coors Light. I tried to have one beer at West Park Station last night after work (but only because it was free), and it did *not* go as planned. Neither did my portabello sandwich, but that’s another matter. Seriously, my insides have not been pleased the last three times I have had food at WPS.
Foregoing the “white water rafting” portion of the camping trip this year in West Virginia, a group of us went for a zip-lining adventure. It was decidedly more fun than the tree-tops tour in Hocking Hills last summer, but not nearly as thrilling as rafting. Maybe I’ll go balls out and kayak the New River next year.
Right?
Right.
The weekend was complete with, well, round-the-clock alcohol abuse, a giant hillside soaped-up slip-n-slide (used predominately while I was napping, but I took advantage during the rain… in all my clothes), a game of whiffle ball (where the ball hit my person more times than necessary), hula hoop contests, way too many hip-a-longs to that awful Helen Keller song, dance party at the High Water local dive and a local (WV) band who sang, “You Can’t Have a Baby in the Butt” among other great tunes at our campfire. I missed more “events” than necessary due to a) not being able to handle my liquor like a 21-year-old; b) being completely exhausted by sun, drink and activities; c) being overcome with bouts of annoyance and general pissy-ness; d) realizing that I’m getting older and lamer; and e) experiencing sadness that I no longer have a body worth streaking. *sigh*
I am definitely still in recovery from the annual WWR/camping weekend. I’m hoping that these little nagging, nervous things in my belly are also a side effect of the trip.
Or perhaps I’m just not used to having butterflies.
Oh, please let it be butterflies…
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