The Farmingdale Trip; Part I.

Now, I know you're saying to yourself..."There's going to be two parts?" Fuck. I don't know. I don't know how "into" this blog I'm going to be midway through, therefore I might cut it off.

So, Thursday Morning, I work my shift of 9:30-4pm, and blitzkrieg my ass out of RS, and head to the Malibu (which I drove) I am listening to O&A at this point, and find that I sat in the car with the air conditioner on for twenty-minutes listening to these two ..guys talk about random shit with Bob Kelly - while not fucking leaving. So I leave, I go home, I take a quick shower (which took twenty fucking minutes because of course my brother has to take a shower ...in the middle of the fucking day) and get everything ready to go. Luckily I was packed beforehand, I did wind up leaving my pillow behind, but that was pretty much it (other than my Best Buy Credit Card).

Finally I get on the road, it's fucking 5:15pm, and I'm cruising (not literally, I don't speed per say, I just drive quickly) and then its starts raining all types of bat-shit crazy. I mean, it's raining so fucking hard that I can't see out my windshield. So, I'm sitting in this fucking torrential down pour and listening to the entire replay of O&A's Thursday Show. I find the show hilarious, and it actually kept me awake thankfully.

I'm screaming though, at people who are driving around me, because when it rains I believe people just lose their fucking minds. "OH SHIT...OH CHRIST...IT'S FUCKING RAINING OUT...I'VE GOT TO GO THREE HUNDRED MILES AN HOUR TO GET TO WHERE I NEED TO GO!" And to this, I say, fuck you, you fucking dickheads. God. I've never seen such bad driving. Here I am driving normal, abiding the laws, speeding up when necessary, and braking (more than necessary) in order to stay alive. Not only that, but if you've ever driven on I81, you know that there are tractor fucking trailers EVERYWHERE. And as if the rain is not bad enough, the fucking tractor fucking trailers are kicking up what seems to be more water! I really thought I was going to die.

However, I did not, the feeling of death reoccurs later in this lovely diatribe. Anyway, the storm actually passes, and I get to Long Island in fucking RECORD time. Four hours it takes me, even with the bat-shit crazy rain storm. I couldn't believe it myself. Marc calls me from his store and tells me to come by, that someone brought something into his store that he needs to take care of, so I take a little detour and hop on Meadowbrook to Merrick Rd and get to his store in Merrick. Whereas, I have to pee like a fucking homeless person in line to get free food at church. I go inside, and the fucking-bastard won't let me use the bathroom. I legitamately thought he was kidding with me. I had to pee so fucking bad, that I actually left his store to go to a CVS down the street where Golden Boy works, and he let me use their bathroom.

So, finally, Marc finishes his shit up, and we go to his house where I get all my shit in his house. And we go and meet Theresa at Applebees. Applebees was good save for the retard-Met-fan that came over and berate, heckle, or make himself look like an asshole. I don't know what he was actually doing...I was kind of confused with what he said, and still am to this day. I don't
if he was actually being serious. Oh well.

After Applebees I try to con Theresa into coming back to Marc's house to go in the hot tub, but she refuses. I don't know, I love hot tubs, they're relaxing as hell. So we get back to Marc's house, and five minutes later we're in a hot tub that's bordering on 104 degrees. And to be personally honest, I've taken showers hotter than that. The heat, honestly, didn't both me. It was weird. The next day, I felt like total shit, when I woke up at like a 10:45am. I take a shower, and quite a few shits (because of the beer and applebees) and finis h up Jim Norton's Happy Endings. The book was a hilarious diatribe on sex, sex, and comedy, and ridiculousness. After that I actually watch The Simpsons Movie on Marc's computer. Marc's computer which happens to be an HP connected to his massively large (I don't know specifics) television. The quality isn't great, but it's pretty damn good, and watchable.

To Be Continued. . .