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KEEP IT UP, LADY.

September 29, 2009

So it’s 8AM and I’m driving near Charlottesville on my way home from watching the Hokies rear the Hurricanes. I know, you just did the math and figured out that its a 3 hr drive back to Richmond, and Charlottesville is only an hour away, so Dan, you’ve already been driving two hours at this point, which means you left Blacksburg at 6 AM????????

BACKSTORY:
So I’m minding my own business at the bar, having a nice conversation with Mike and Caitlin, dodging Elina’s vomit (thank God…that would have made two consecutive Tech games that I got puked on…do I just look like a toilet to drunk girls?) and suddenly Caitlin vanishes, and reappears with Rails. Well, I’ve been drinking since 11 AM and its about 12:30 AM now, and I had no business drinking one of those. Next thing I know I’m in Jimmy Johns ordering a #11 with peppers (shocking). Your guess is as good as mine as to what happens next, because I wake up at 5:45 AM in the passenger seat of my car with a half eaten sandwich on the driver seat, with the battery turned on (probably wanted to turn the seat warmers on) and a blanket over me. After immediately eating the rest of the sandwich, and trying to reassure myself that this wasnt even the most disgraceful thing I’ve done this month, I decide that its time to go home.

BACK TO 8 AM:
So I’m exhausted and that Jimmy Johns wants OUT. Conveniently, the exit is Hadensville, VA and its such a podunk town that it only has one gas station and its not even fully open yet (the door is open but no lights are on). I go in and make it very clear that I don’t need gas, but I do need to blow up their bathroom. Well, the terrorist behind the counter has zero empathy for my situation and tells me to get out. I wanted to pitch one on the side of the gas station (like from Big Daddy…NOW ITS YOUR PROBLEM) but didnt feel like getting arrested. So I get back on 64 and am going like 95 mph trying to get back to Richmond. I didnt bring enough CDs and literally every song on the radio is either Uncle Kracker (the least talented person to ever sell thousands of albums) or the Hey There Delilah Song and I’m straight up miserable, but determined not to add “shitting myself” to my list of accomplishments for the weekend, as the blow to my self-esteem would have been too much. So this old wench driving the above Saturn is in the left Lane ahead of me so I pass her. I look back two minutes later and she’s riding my ass, so I get over. What does she do? Matches my various speeds in whichever lane I choose to occupy. This is why I dont own a firearm.

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