Failures are finger posts on the road to achievement. – C.S. Lewis
Tuesday, June 26, 2012 (DAYS 114 - 116)
In spite of our ridiculously cold apartment, we’ve decided to join Krista and Lexi at their new home The Naked Tiger Hostel, not because we miss them, but because they have a pool and Lindsay, Michelle, and I are just the type of people to take full advantage. After a quick lunch at the Taco Stop, the free shuttle has arrived to take us up the hill. Climbing in to the back of the white pickup truck that has a metal cage wrapped over the top and makes you feel as if you are entering Thunderdome, I quickly grab a seat on the wooden bench and stare down my opponent across from me in anticipation of a surprise attack. Thankfully the short ten-minute ride is free of bloodshed and I can release the death grip on the homemade shank that I have concealed. Lindsay, you have no idea how close you were to having the end of my fake Ray Bans protruding from your abdomen. You’re welcome. And now you owe me your life, but I’ll take the villa that you purchased at the Surf Ranch and we can call it good.
In spite of our ridiculously cold apartment, we’ve decided to join Krista and Lexi at their new home The Naked Tiger Hostel, not because we miss them, but because they have a pool and Lindsay, Michelle, and I are just the type of people to take full advantage. After a quick lunch at the Taco Stop, the free shuttle has arrived to take us up the hill. Climbing in to the back of the white pickup truck that has a metal cage wrapped over the top and makes you feel as if you are entering Thunderdome, I quickly grab a seat on the wooden bench and stare down my opponent across from me in anticipation of a surprise attack. Thankfully the short ten-minute ride is free of bloodshed and I can release the death grip on the homemade shank that I have concealed. Lindsay, you have no idea how close you were to having the end of my fake Ray Bans protruding from your abdomen. You’re welcome. And now you owe me your life, but I’ll take the villa that you purchased at the Surf Ranch and we can call it good.
The arrival of the last weekend in June sadly brought with it the final events of the greatest amateur show on earth, anarchy rodeo bull fighting. We had the pleasure of introducing the Winterpeg girls to this sport that should have made the cover of Obscure Sports Quarterly or at least the Not Top Ten on ESPN 8 The Ocho. Secretly wishing that more than one bull was allowed in the arena, my unspoken request was answered at one point when about seven bulls rushed through the gate causing absolute mayhem and pandemonium sending the so-called athletes in the ring, all of which appeared to be sponsored by La Plata, scurrying up the chain link fencing that encircles the grass field. Within seconds the entire crowd was on their feet gasping before the noise level intensified with the excitement. Unfortunately, this was the height of the excitement since the herd ran to the middle in a tight formation and stopped short before being corralled back to their pens. Talking with one of the locals, we were told that the last few bulls for the day were more aggressive than the past few weeks and the current bull that had just kicked his rider in the face after hurling him to the ground was brought in from Grenada and apparently had killed two people the previous weekend. As the five o’clock hour passed, the final bull was standing waiting to be let out of the public spectacle and the crowds began to disperse leaving each of the victors the opportunity fight another day. Ole, indeed!
The nights sitting around the tables in our courtyard just outside the front door to our apartment remind me fondly of the garage times from back home, and while the surroundings and the people might have changed, the good times are still evident in all of the laughter of our conversations of my ever-changing posse. When I think back to all of the memories that are left at the notorious address of 4020, I cannot help but miss Colorado. Closing my eyes I’m right back there with the crew that I’ve grown up with–Andrea, Tracy, Milk Chocolate, Flava Dave, Schlim, Scotty Flan, Mishara, Turner, Adam Fee, Nicole B, Josh, Carwizzle, Footbags, Omar, Lynn, Jamie Bach, and I know I’m bound to be missing countless others so apologies now before I’m removed from your friend’s list on fb. I think back to the thirty-two different roommates that have called my place home, and hands down Mr. J Fyter has got to be the most socially awkward, hideous human beings to occupy this magnificent palace of a home before it was defiled by him. Popeye arm. Popeye, arm. The “night of mayhem” that will be forever marked as legendary fellas, as remnants of tiny shards of white plastic that continued to reappear years after and I’m almost positive traces can still be found to this day.
All of the late night conversations about life in general with Andrea and her infectious laugh that would have us both rolling for hours. I can still hear it now sitting thousands of miles away, and I can’t help but smile. The endless football discussions with Milke Chocolate and the night of our confrontation with Dog the Bounty Hunter. Teaching Schlim to embrace his darkness, after being told by him that I was more black than he was. Unaware that I was part of the racial draft, but when in Rome I suppose. Goodbye fried rice, hello fried chicken. I can’t help but think of the person that has made g-rage time his second home, Josh. In spite of all our friendship has endured, I still think back to all of the fond memories that began with borrowing a MXPX cd on the way to our soccer game freshmen year and sharing jabernacky as I explain one of our countless character creations of Spider-Bee. Through it all however, I am thankful for each and every one of the friends that I have in my life because I know that they were a part of the development of the person that I am today and there is nothing that I wouldn’t do for any of them. So to all of you in the three oh three, thank you guys.
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