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Aug. 15th, 2015 10:14 pmSo this was fun. And not. Family.
I drove about 6 hours to visit my mom. The first day was...annoying, as her boyfriend was being a pill. We went out to a brew-pub to eat, he refused to join us because he hates any food that sounds fancy. It. Was. A. Brew. Pup. So my mom and I started in on voodoo pub; a brewery based on taking wood from an old barn and making tables from an old ticket booth from a carnival. We were having fun, food, and booze, but on beer #1 for her and #2 for me, he shows up and starts in on his long "I don't drink" diatribe which...sort of ended the night. He was surprised we were ready to go and started to backtrack, and I said "Hey, you said you don't drink so we paid the tab. Ready to go?"
Today my mom and I got up early and hit a local diner for breakfast - stupid cheap, but also a traditional real local diner (greasy, but no forcefully so, bread seemed likely from the cheapest sources possible as if served via a local hotel free breakfast). I grabbed an iced coffee from next door and we headed to a giant flea market.
Oh the flea market. First, TONS of condferate battle flags for selling and flying. Never fucking mind PA was union and Gettysburg was the first major turn of the war for the Union...but it was just the sort of perfect storm of insane I was hoping for. Tons of people selling cosmetics like it was a dollar store. Only, outside. In the sun. Also horrible crafts, funnel cakes, buck knives, lighters, glass pipes (for what, for what could they possibly be?). Redneck shopping heaven.
But I found some stuff. I managed to pass the LPs and VHS tapes, and the amish girls of which there were many shopping (for fucking what!?), but then bought an antique typewriter for $40 and a fisher price barn set for $18 (with some pieces, cow and horse). What threw me for a loop was the goth girl wandering around - I seriously nearly talked to her just to found out what it was like to be A GOTH IN FUCKING AMISH COUNTRY. But yeah, typewriter and barn set.
Then I was going to be ska-rewed when I realized the gym I was going to hit closed in 1.5 hours from when I found out where they were. So I hauled to the YMCA with a fresh sandwich and bourbon chocolate fudge sitting way too high in my fat belly. But to my utter fucking shock, awe, and joy - I got 315 squooted for 2. That means, officially, I'm back to at least equal to all my pre-surgery lift levels. Sure I nearly passed out from the heat and that guy sitting in the locker room way too at ease, and looking way too long, was annoying, but I'm very happy with a decent lift under less than idea conditions.
My mom and I then hit the brewpub ourselves and had the sampler filling a barrel plank of beer samples. Plus food. Plus more beer.
I drove about 6 hours to visit my mom. The first day was...annoying, as her boyfriend was being a pill. We went out to a brew-pub to eat, he refused to join us because he hates any food that sounds fancy. It. Was. A. Brew. Pup. So my mom and I started in on voodoo pub; a brewery based on taking wood from an old barn and making tables from an old ticket booth from a carnival. We were having fun, food, and booze, but on beer #1 for her and #2 for me, he shows up and starts in on his long "I don't drink" diatribe which...sort of ended the night. He was surprised we were ready to go and started to backtrack, and I said "Hey, you said you don't drink so we paid the tab. Ready to go?"
Today my mom and I got up early and hit a local diner for breakfast - stupid cheap, but also a traditional real local diner (greasy, but no forcefully so, bread seemed likely from the cheapest sources possible as if served via a local hotel free breakfast). I grabbed an iced coffee from next door and we headed to a giant flea market.
Oh the flea market. First, TONS of condferate battle flags for selling and flying. Never fucking mind PA was union and Gettysburg was the first major turn of the war for the Union...but it was just the sort of perfect storm of insane I was hoping for. Tons of people selling cosmetics like it was a dollar store. Only, outside. In the sun. Also horrible crafts, funnel cakes, buck knives, lighters, glass pipes (for what, for what could they possibly be?). Redneck shopping heaven.
But I found some stuff. I managed to pass the LPs and VHS tapes, and the amish girls of which there were many shopping (for fucking what!?), but then bought an antique typewriter for $40 and a fisher price barn set for $18 (with some pieces, cow and horse). What threw me for a loop was the goth girl wandering around - I seriously nearly talked to her just to found out what it was like to be A GOTH IN FUCKING AMISH COUNTRY. But yeah, typewriter and barn set.
Then I was going to be ska-rewed when I realized the gym I was going to hit closed in 1.5 hours from when I found out where they were. So I hauled to the YMCA with a fresh sandwich and bourbon chocolate fudge sitting way too high in my fat belly. But to my utter fucking shock, awe, and joy - I got 315 squooted for 2. That means, officially, I'm back to at least equal to all my pre-surgery lift levels. Sure I nearly passed out from the heat and that guy sitting in the locker room way too at ease, and looking way too long, was annoying, but I'm very happy with a decent lift under less than idea conditions.
My mom and I then hit the brewpub ourselves and had the sampler filling a barrel plank of beer samples. Plus food. Plus more beer.
