the cackalackies

So we took a weekend down to the cackalackies to see some friends from 'swego who just got married. They both had the same first name (shortened version of their full name anyway), so now they really have the same name. It was a bit of a rush to get out of town. You know...that tension that attends gearing up to go somewhere shuffling the unspoken knowledge that any one random set back could put you into panic mode...or worse, flight-missed resignation mode? And of course some hefty lake effect tumbled down for the first 20 minutes of our drive to Webster or Brewster or Baxter or whatever. Which always puts The Lady in a fine mood. She needs some new tires.

We left straight from the parking lot of Beck and Riley's apt in Webster or Brewster or Baxter or whatever. You could tell Riley was feeling the aforementioned tension. But he's a good driver insomuch as we made it to the garage with time to spare. Naturally, our flight was delayed to the point of having ~1 min to make our connection in BWI.

I was surprised I let The Lady convince me that the new regulations about liquids and gels and such had been lifted because I should have known better. Fortunately the AirTran ticket jockeys were nice enough to pack all the ladies' special scents and lotions in a cardboard box to be checked down to CLT. Riley got a cologne in there I suppose and I my cough syrup and utility blade off my key chain too. It was a sorry little box.

It's funny how logic gets less playing time under pressure. After contemplating the loss of our luggage for the night considering our checked bags would probably not make the transfer, we were offered The Box...and yet we still stood around for a few minutes contemplating what to do, getting more and more disgruntled about the state of world affairs and The War of Terror. I was honestly just surprised and grateful that The Box had been offered at all.

Finally The Box was filled with our precious beauty products and other contraband (I really do like that lil utility knife) and we were on our way. Only to find out that our plane was not delayed and that we would be in BWI more or less on time.

There was some ominous emergency response that followed our plane in as it arrived at the gate. But as I stared out the window wondering where the firemen had gone, I apparently missed the men in the Mylar suits assisting with a medical emergency up the hallway towards security.

Before takeoff, it turned out that The Lady and I had first class, VIP seats...to an incredible nose picking display! A woman in a pink sweatsuit opposite us couldn't get enough of her nasal passage as she stared out the window thoughtfully. The Lady found it fascinating and begged me to watch. But it turned out I was all set.

Oh god the joy of seeing your plucky little box emerge from the swaying curtain of the baggage claim...only to have the brains of that joy smashed out against the metal edge of the carousel. I guess that's a bit dramatic...but damn...how many of those boxes are the AirTran people packing for people? Turns out, they packed a similar box for one Jeff Geauliardeaugensen with some "L'oreal Product" who promptly up and rolled with our box. The nerve! Good thing the AirTran baggage bitch was smart enough to check the tag on the box and call him direct. His box smelled as though something horrible had happened en route, which, all told, made me exceedingly happy that it wasn't The Box. But he graciously returned to the ticketing counter with The Box and took his stanky L'oreal Product Box (sounds like a derogatory term for a make-up model, yes?). The Box was ours. That shit had Seinfeld written all over it.

Hey...remember when Nic took matrix algebra in college and then bought a Matrix? Me neither...but I remember hearing it discussed. Anyway, our starving asses drove to Fishbone, got denied (which was very sad), and then to Brewster or Baxter or Webster or whatever for a salty roast beef melt. Met Nick...went back to their nice little, tastefully painted house and fell asleep with a quickness. Big Box (lotta box in this post, hunh?) shopping, helped Beck open her newly purchased drier balls and dropped them into her purse. Obvious jokes ensued about them being Riley's...and lucky for Riley and everyone else there, they were blue. It was glorious.

Packed tight in the Matrix (packed tight in a car was a theme for the weekend) we got some great BBQ at Courtney's in Clover and then home for low impact party prep. Then a drive through bright lights of Charlotte and to Allan and Lauren's house. We rolled with a beer pong table, a quarter keg, a liter of Ketel, some gourmet olives, and a couple lemons. Nothing like a wood burning fireplace and a group of well dressed pregnant ladies. Well...three anyway.

The Ketel 1 was gone in 40 minutes. Sad. Good thing Nic brought some Absolut Nilla too.

I tied one on carefully and then let Riley drink our penalties as I found a tight mark in pong. I matched him with slugs of my martini as I remembered but we really didn't have to do much drinking. We played four games and went undefeated. I think I went 5-6 the last game. Wooot. Allan said I must be taking some performance enhancing drugs.

The trip home when Saturday is the only day you get is tough. You're just tired. And you didn't take enough of what you went for and loved. And I forgot my soccer gear...for which I punished myself thoroughly. All told, it was nice to go home and chill but I'm only getting one game in a week these days which hurts.

Congratulations to the two Nic(k)s...good times in the cackalackies.