2. About halfway between Blythe and Palm Springs, in the middle of the desert, there’s a long-abandoned building that looks like it once was a one-bay service station. Every time I pass it, I think: “That would be the perfect place for a cute little coffee shop. People could get out, stretch their legs and grab some caffeine.” And 5 seconds later I always think: “That would also be the perfect place to be murdered after dark by meth heads looking for cash.”
3. 700 miles round trip, and the only time there were traffic snarls in regular traffic was when one tractor-trailer was trying to pass another but going only about 0.00001 mph faster than the other. Usually uphill.
4. Jell-O shots are almost never a good idea, but it appears that as long as I get to pick a flavor I like, I will inevitably accept one. Red-headed slut shooters, meanwhile, are never ever a good idea, and I (and likely my liver) are eternally grateful that no matter how inebriated I may be, my automatic response is: “No, thank you — bad things happen with those.”
5. This weekend we ran into four bachelorette parties who wanted to hang out with us at gay bars. Ladies, we understand you want to have a great time, but if The Gays wanted to hang out with a bunch of messy straight girls who keep demanding attention because they think they’re special, we would be at a straight bar. I’m with The Abbey on this one … although I’m motivated solely by the prospect of never having to encounter a conga line’s worth of drunk women in boas and tiaras ever again, and not anything as noble as marriage equality. I don’t care if your best friend is gay. (Unless he’s hot. And with you. And a little buzzed. … I mean, NO. Not even then.)