PROFOUNDLY Strung out...
We listened to about three or three and a half hours of Chuck Klosterman's new audiobook (also in paper form for you literary types), and it struck me that Chuck Klosterman (apparently pronounced KLOH-ster-man, not KLAW-ster-man as I had always thought) utilizes a lot of adjectives. One of them is "profoundly," things are "profoundly this" and "profoundly that."
He also uses a lot of impromptu segues from one thing to another with the use of an exaggerated "ANYWAYS...." Despite this, Chuck Klosterman is a tremendously good and well respected writer.
ANYWAYS, we finally made it to our final destination: mi casa de padre (which Babel Fish tells me is the translation of "my parent's house," but I find this highly dubious because it clearly translates into "the house of my father." But my mom lives there too, and it's not just his house. I really ought to learn Spanish.)
Things got a little hairy, maybe even a lot hairy, in that last push from Madison to the Twin Cities. We hit Madtown around 2 or 3 in the morning and after 16 hours of driving, we were both a little road weary. HOWEVER, I mentioned elsewhere Beta was born to haul the big rig, and I just fed off his energy and we crafted tall tales we would tell about all the Lot Lizards we saw and did along the way, and next thing you know, the sun is rising and we are 30 miles from Hudson. Home clear. Once the sun was up Beta, a creature of the night, was overcome with fatigue. I, however, was feeling revived and somehow managed to guide us safely to the NW Burbs.
Like I was saying, we finally made it to our final destination, and there is only one way to describe how Beta and I felt upon arrival: profoundly strung out.
He crashed right away, with visions of sugar plums and tooth fairies dancing through his head. I was waaaaayyy too juiced from the Red Bulls and McD's cofees to fall asleep right away. SO I unpacked a bit. Well, just my bike stuff, really. But I got them back in working order, so I can go for a ride tomorrow morning, which I am itching to do after 20 hours in a fucking Budget truck. Oddly I have lost five pounds in the past few weeks, which at first I found exceptionally hard to believe considering all I have been doing is eating out and drinking and getting 6 or less hours of sleep every night for the past two weeks. But then it occurred to me I probably lost muscle mass, so I really gotta get back in the saddle.
ANYWAYS, the kat is adjusting, sorta not really, to his new surroundings. If you are willing to accept that sitting under the bed and only poking your head out for food and water is adjusting, then he is doing great. I think it's progress considering he didn't eat or drink at all in the past 22 hours (or wazz or shat, for that matter). He was also greeted, less than warmly, by my parent's cat (mi gato de padre, methinks), whom we will refer to as Fuckface. But I am sticking up for my homeboy, I got out the spray bottle and tormented Fuckface until he capitulated and went away.
And that my friends brings to a close Beta and Domestique's Excellent Adventure. We plan to get a little R&R at my 'rent's house for at least a night before we unleash Slurry on the 612. He needs his beauty rest.
