Hi, My name is ThePeachy1 and I seriously hate Mondays. ( applause light). Off to the coffee and doughnuts. You guys know I hate Mondays and I try to send you into battle knowing I am behind you with a story of my epic asshattedness to help armor you against this beast of a day. But on Friday I accidentally posted that it was no longer my favorite day. That lazy Sundays had replaced Fridays in my tip top weekends rock life style. So Sunday rocked hard like Areosmith and then in a blink of the eye it pulled a John Mayer on me and began sucking like Stanley steamer on your favorite berber rug. I will write about it probably on Wednesday with diagrams and such.
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I dug way way back to when I was just a peachy sapling for this one. I was in kindergarten and my best friend was Maria D. I always loved visiting her house because her parents English was funny sounding and her grandmother was always cooking and NEVER spoke a word of English. It was at the D family home that I saw a tortilla being made from scratch in a cast iron skillet. I also learned there are children who will eat spicy stuff. My oh so vanilla, non Betty Crocker mom thought a slice of vegtable oil with enough yellow dye in to be labeled “near cheese like product” was a perfect after school snack, where Maria had a scrumptious although spicy smorgasboard waiting.
So anyway Maria’s family has a family reunion coming up somewhere that involves sand dunes and no shade or water or bathrooms. Being 5 I thought that sounded amazing. I can’t remember where we were exactly so I will just refer to the destination as “hell”.
We ( as in 13 of us) rode in the family van. At the time seat belts were rare. (but having your kid laying the back window of an Oldsmobile were common, yet a lot of us lived?) We drove forever with her brothers picking on us and then Spanish screaming matches that I could not understand. Once there we bailed out of that no AC metal death trap like it was Michelle Duggar in labor, or a clown car, pretty much the same thing right? They had tables set up and food and yum.
Then Maria and I decided we wanted to go hiking through the desert. Her 7,938 year old Grandfather who only spoke Spanish thought yeah, good idea.
We climbed over dune after dune, no trees, no cacti, no tracks, no signs of life. Just when I was pretty confident I wanted to turn around I asked Maria to translate. Her 10 billion year old Grandpa just pointed ahead, mumbled something and smiled. In retrospect he was a total jerk and probably trying to kill us.
Finally we reach the point where he is willing to turn around, we had not seen a trail, another humor or any signs of life even down to the reptile category.
We turned around aproximately 5oo miles after I thought I was going to die. I kept falling down it didn’t take long for the snot, tears, sand mix to become glued to my face. I was in a living hell. then it got worse he took of his shirt and made a hat for himself.
Can I just say here and now that if I NEVER see another old mans boobies seconds before I die I am totally cool with that.
We wondered and wondered, eventually we found our own tracks, but not our way out. ( or around, or deeper into hell because we literally had NO IDEA )
At point we all laid down to rest, amazingly the 1 grown up who came with us didn’t think to bring food, eater or sunscreen. Really? As an adult I wont even go into the backyard without these supplies. We were indeed dying in the desert, that’s it. 5 years? I had not had enough fun yet to call this a life.
Then in twilight just before dark ( which would have for sure killed us since we didn’t have flashlights) we found another group hiking and were able to determine a way out. It took us around an hour to finally get out, and then we found we were about 4 miles from where we had parked so that kind of sucked but at least there was a road, and people. We caught a ride back to camp. I survived ! ( Who could have been ax murderers but hey they had a car and spoke Spanish)
When we got back to the rest of the family there was a boat load of what sounded like angry screaming form the older women in the group.
They made us food, we drank a lot. I think I fell asleep in the pile of children crammed on the metal floor of that van on the drive home. After Kindergarten I changed schools and never really saw Maria or her amazingly delicious family again.
So there ya have it people. I nearly died somewhere in or near MI that has massive acres of isolated sand dunes. You know the type of sand dunes were you could hide the body of your boss or pesky neighbor. Not that I am condoning the murder of stupid people. I am just saying if they passed naturally you could stick their bodies out there. Otherwise the paperwork is such a hassle.
So go forth my Juicy fruits and kick money in the junk. Send in your questions for tomorrow and renumber if you are not lost in a pseudo desert staring at 9o kabillion year old man boobs then your Monday might be better than mine.
PS- My internet went out around 4am Monday morning, we barely got a sketchy connection around 730pm. I told you Monday hates me. Sorry for the late post y’all.
I draw the line at 75 year old man boobies with an open heart surgery chest scar.
Plus, WTH old grandpa?
yeah it could have been her great great great grandpa I don’t know. But clearly he thought he had enough grandchildren that if 1 died in the desert it wouldn’t be that bad. I of course was the disposable gringo LOL