Tuesday, August 15, 2006

Carnies, Drunks, and Boobies

Josh's class reunion was last weekend. I really, really, really did not want to go. We (I) tried talking his friends into doing something else fun with the weekend off, but they were set on going. Corydon doesn't mess around when it comes to class reunions. In the parade (yes, there was a parade) they had the class of 2001 all the way to the class of 1946. I guess everyone comes back every five years, like locusts. There was also a big midway with rides, corndogs, funnel cakes, and carnies. Josh made me go on the "Rocko Planes," which is similar to a ferris wheel, but the cars are little egg-looking things that can rotate all the way around. I've been on these before, but not like this. When I rode before, I think we just gently rocked or maybe flipped once or twice. Josh had a total technique down, which involved a lot of me screaming and being upside-down with the ground rushing at my face. The f'ing ride lasted about twenty minutes, too.
After a quick visit with his stepdad at their kickass new house that made me hate ours even more, we went to the bowling alley to meet up with his classmates. His ex-girlfriend was there with her son. At one point, Josh was holding the kid and right after he gave him back, he saw me coming at him. All I wanted was money for another beer and I hadn't seen the baby-holding incident, but I guess he thought I was pissed about him holding his ex's son. I told him I didn't care, but now I'm not sure that he isn't the father.

His classmates were all really nice, but I got a weird vibe from a few of them. I was talking to two of the girls that are coming on the cruise with us in January, and suddenly I noticed three people across the table staring at us, hanging on every word. They didn't really contribute to the conversation, even when we started talking about leggings and tightrolled jeans. They just laughed and stared. Josh said they're just really shy, but I was getting a "Village of the Damned" feeling from them.

After the bowling alley, we headed to the local watering hole to meet up with Josh's mom and sister. I met a cowboy named Paul, learned about a friend of the family's first blowjob (coincidentally, that took place in Paul the Cowboy's parents' driveway), and heard an awesome story about Josh's aunt pulling a Panamanian slut's hair. Not long after we got there, I was coming out of the bathroom and saw a camera pointed at me. I moved to get out of the way but it flashed before I could. I apologized to the normal-looking guy, who didn't seem to mind me ruining his picture. A few minutes later, he came over and plopped down across from me in our booth. He introduced himself and said he was with "The Show," so I assumed he was in the band that was playing later. I decided not to be rude, since that probably meant he was from Corydon and I didn't want anyone (else) thinking Josh Baynes's wife was a bitch. He thanked me for the picture, and I thought he was being sarcastic about me ruining it for him and thought nothing else about it.
About twenty minutes later, as I was waiting to buy another beer, the guy sidled up to me at the bar and apologized for offending me. I told him I wasn't offended, and he said, "Good," and snapped a close-up of me. Finally, I started figuring things out. I said, "Um, were you TRYING to take a picture of me by the bathroom?" and of course, he was. I told him that he was creepy, and that dirty f'er pointed his camera AT MY BOOBIES and took another picture. I grabbed my beer and hurried away without waiting for my change. He started to follow me, so I ducked into the bathroom.

When I was sure the coast was clear, I came out and that it was time to get the F out of there. On my way back to the table, some drunk asshole backed into me, stepping on my foot so I wasn't able to step back and catch myself. Luckily, there was a chair right behind me so I fell into that. I'm not sure what would've happened if I had fallen all the way to the ground. I'm guessing it would've involved me breaking my bottle of spilled beer over the guy's head and jail time for one or both of us. The f'er didn't even offer to help me up. When I got back to my feet, I was completely raging, but he and his friends didn't seem to mind. They offered me a group hug but didn't seem upset when I just gave them dirty looks instead.
When I found Josh, I told why it was time to leave. That's when he broke the news to me that "The Show" was that guy's way of saying he was with the carnival. All this time, I was trying not to be rude to a dirty carnie. After throwing up in my mouth a little, I did a quick lap around the bar to find the bastard and take his camera. Of course he was gone the one time I actually wanted to find him. I decided it wasn't worth staying in that piece of shithole for another minute, so we left.
Our next stop was a bar in another town. When we walked in, the band was playing "Lose Yourself" by Eminem. They sucked ass. There was a girl on the bongos that was pretty good, but she couldn't carry the others. Some guy we went boating with way back before Josh and I were even living together was uber-blitzed and had been doing backflips off the bar before we got there. At one point, he was telling Josh about how he knew I was cool when he met me on the "boob." He meant to say "boat," but he was drunkenly focused on my boobs, so his eyes must've been communicating directly with his mouth before his brain was able to intervene.
Some chick made me go dance with her. I assumed she was a classmate, so instead of telling her to piss off, I went and danced. I found out later that she was just a groupie that came with the damn band. When she asked again a couple songs later, I was able to tell her to piss off without any guilt.

All the class reunions eventually convene at The Legion bar every year. When we got there, we snuck in to avoid the $5 cover. I'm not even going to start on a cover charge in a Corydon bar. There was a god-awful band playing off-key and loud country music. Josh and I danced to some Garth Brooks song just so I could get out of the finger-in-the-ass uncomfortable conversation I was in. When the song was supposed to end, they launched into a five minute Pink Floyd/Dave Matthews-esque jam session instead I'm not even sure what to say about that.
At one point during the night, I asked a bartender for water. She told me they were out of water. I told her I would take a glass of tap water. She told me they didn't have a soda gun. I asked if she had ice. She said yes. I asked if she had a sink. She said yes. I asked if she had a plastic cup. She said yes. I told her to take the plastic cup, put some ice in it, and fill it with water from the sink. I didn't even need a straw, if it was really that much trouble. That rancid bitch gave me a dirty look and turned to the guy next to me and asked him what he needed. I didn't even get my water. The fat guy that took over for her gave me some without too much trouble a little later.
This is much too long already. There were plenty of other nightmarish experiences I haven't gotten into yet, but I'm sick of typing. Maybe I'll put out a sequel sometime. If you can't figure out that the weekend was ridiculous after the paragraph about the picture-snapping carnie, then I don't think we should be friends anymore.

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