Monday, June 21, 2004

The end of the line

Yup, the end of the line for Chicago posts. Unfortunately, not the end of the line for this 'blog in general. Sure, we've got dwindling traffic, dwindling comments, and dwindling interest all around, but hell if I'm smart enough to see that as a collective sign to call it quits. And, okay, it's the official end of the line for posts on my trip that no one cares about. We all know that any kind of declaration around here is pretty much meaningless, but this post finally finishes covering everything I really wanted to cover.

Once again, good trip. The mini-vacation that was predicated on ACen ended up involving just about as little ACen time as possible. Partly out of necessity, and partly due to the fact that, well, con people are losers. Staying downtown was fucking money. The Hyatt on Printer's Row is pretty fucking nice - especially for sixty bucks a night. Shopping and eating were fucking fun. BOETP's family was fucking interesting.

Things weren't perfect, and of course, mistakes (cough*munchkin insurance*cough) were made. But at least we didn't ignore any attempts to wipe out an entire group of people. We don't ignore shit like that - we passively plan it.

Like I said way back when I started this, I haven't done a lot of traveling in my days. Regardless, I just don't see how you couldn't enjoy Chicago, unless of course if you don't like to have fun. There's only one person like that out there, and it's not me. Remember, I like having fun and bitching about said fun, even though it was fun. Whatever; I'll stop that now.

Getting home from a vacation is always kind of a mixed bag. On one hand, it sucks that you're back in your normal shitty life. On the other, at least you can have some fun with any loot you brought home. And of course, it is nice to be out of the car after all that time. Even though, as I said, the ride home was pretty fucking amusing thanks to Phylicia Rashad. Yeah, I know, I'm stretching it, but that's not going to stop.

Okay, well, the trip home was fun, at least what I was conscious for. I feel kinda bad that I slept a good deal of the way and stuck ETP and BOETP with most of the driving, but they're still talking to me (for some reason) so all's good.

Also mentioned before was the torrential rains we hit for a good deal of the way home. Yeah, I like rain and all, and no surprise that I see the hardest rain I've seen in awhile when I'm trying to not kill two of the few people I actually care about in this life. All was well in that regard, and I decided to save the car accident for when I was back home on a simple trip. Those stupid tales about how most accidents happen on short trips are true, apparently.

The worst part about getting home was empty apartment. Okay, yeah, it was nice to be back home with the Girls, but they are, in the end, inanimate. They don't talk back when I talk to them. Which, of course, is actually good in many cases, but I digress. Not that I, um, talk to my toys or anything. It was just odd and even more empty than usual since I'd just spent the last several days around ETP and BOETP. Kind of this odd reverse-culture shock, even though no culture is involved - I'm used to being on my own, then constantly around people for several days straight, then back to being on my own. Okay, whiny boo-hoo woe-is-me moment off.

It was a good span of time though. You know, you're bound to get sick of people if you spend too much time with them no matter who they are. The last road trip I went on was to Vegas a couple of years back with another friend of mine. I spent pretty much every waking minute with this kid for about a week straight. We got along fine and all, but I just couldn't handle that constant exposure. And no, not that kind of exposure. This dumbass was way too homophobic to get down with some hot hard-core gay fucking. Yes, dumbass, and yes, we got along. We're not friends anymore because he died.

Anyway, despite us being on good terms at the time, I was so sick of him at one point that after going downstairs on my own from the hotel room to get money from the ATM, I spent about five minutes wandering Paris just so I could get some fucking time to myself.

With Chicago, though, I didn't end up with this quandary and it was kinda sad to part ways. Especially since we were never going to see each other again... Until that following weekend.

To paraphrase the immortal words of ETP at White Castle: Okay, I'm done with the Chicago posts.


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