Now that I got all that pesky sports crap outta the way, I can finally focus on writing about asinine nonsense again - Thank Christ.
Here's my day-by-day breakdown of my trip down to visit The Girl's parents for Thanksgiving.Tuesday
Arrive back in DC in the wee hours of the morn, fuck around on the internets, sleep (I think), unpack all of my IL crap, re-pack most of the crap back into the same bag for the trip to Williamsburg, leave for southern Virginia.
We left at 10PM, so we wouldn't the fifth circle of modern-day hell - I-95 holiday traffic. I learned that lesson last year.
We arrived in Williamsburg at about 1AM - Smooth fucking sailing. I stayed up and had a couple of beers before falling asleep watching the Skins/Cowboys game from the week before on NFL Replay.
Spent most of the day prepping food for Thanksgiving. Later, we took a walk out in the woods down to the James River - I got a bunch of cool photos (see above pic), and Milo got covered in ticks (5 and counting).
Football, booze, and food - That's about it. Perfect.
We did head out to Target at midnight (mostly outta drunken wanderlust) for some crazy black-Friday deals, but they totally weren't open.
We headed out to the Williamsburg Winery and proceeded to swig wine in a fruit fly infested cellar for 2 hours - I fucking loved it. The wine was mediocre, but I didn't waste a drop. In fact, The Girl's Dad and I spent a good portion of the "tasting" whispering disparaging remarks about all of the milquetoast pussies that comprised the rest of our group who kept spitting and dumping every fucking drop of alcohol that they were given.
Me: "That guy hasn't swallowed one drop of wine yet, do you think he'd mind if we split his portion and gave him fancy convoluted descriptions of all of this swill for him to scratch down in his gay little notebook?"
Mr. Dad: "Dear diary..."
Me: "... My fat-assed wife has my nuts in her fanny pack and won't give 'em back."
I was really disappointed that Williamsburg Winery didn't have a port on its roster, so afterward I hit the liquor store, picked up a couple bottles of Virginia port and spent the reminder of the evening with her family sipping fancy fortified wine by the warm glow of the fireplace. Nice.
We spent the day at the Berkley Plantation, best known as the birthplace of William Henry Harrison, everyone's favorite long-winded/short-lived 9th president. Tour guides do not appreciate being asked if they could recite the W.H. Harrison inauguration address in its entirety for the edification of the crowd.
That so would have been better than the tour itself. I'll save you the eight bucks and trip to rural Williamsburg: Unfinished basement, hallway, pink room, another pink room just like the other, room with a desk, small little room with another desk, end of tour.
According to the educational video we were forced to watch in the cellar, Berkley Plantation was the birthplace of American whiskey - I looked all over that damed place and couldn't find one drop of whiskey, not even in the gift-shop. Fuckers.
Speaking of gift shops, while I was in the gift-shop I tried trading The Girl for 2 tins of boiled peanuts, a Virginia lighter, and 3 souvenir ashtrays. They looked at me like I was the one who was crazy. "It's a plantation for chrissake, y'all know that this is a good deal... I could go to the plantation down the street and get all of this chintzy crap plus one mule for her - Just look at those hips... Come on, people - You're killing me here. Hey, Honey, Where're you going?"
We got back from the nation's lamest plantation and packed everything back up for the trip back to DC. We headed out after dinner, and made it back in decent time.
Oh, wait! I even learned something on the drive back - If an elderly gentleman gives you a dirty look whilst pissing next to you at a rest-stop urinal, the worst thing you can possibly say is: "Hell yeah - The sweet stink of asparagus . You know you love it, Bitch... Recognize."
Trust me, I know.