Let me preface this post by saying one thing:

I love these women.

Fyrchk, Elle, and HotDrWife….these are my peoples. My homies. We’ve known each other online for years – literally years now – And when the opportunity presented itself to hang out with them (as well as other people I’ll mention), I couldn’t pass it up. That opportunity was this past weekend, and this is my story.

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I hate flying. I mean, I’m not afraid of it or anything…I’m just not big on it. When I fly, I take a solemn oath to (a) hold the plane aloft by gripping the armrests and pulling up on them until we get to 20,000 feet, and (b) kick the pilot squarely in the face if he tries to land us like our name is Goose and the airport is an aircraft carrier in a tsunami. So when I boarded my flight Friday evening, I was less than enthused when Mr. Flydaplane got on the intercom and said something like “Blah blah blah, torn liner in the luggage compartment, blah blah blah, 45 minute delay.” This annoyed me, because if I HAVE to fly, I damn well better be prompt about the shit. Eventually they told us that we’d have to change planes, and then terminals, and that meant a 2 hour delay getting to Denver. Damian = unhappy camper. Thankfully, Mr. Pilot put us down in one piece, and I went to find my greeting party.

Now, the other two out-of-towners had arrived hours earlier. Elle got in around 10:30, and I think roosters were still crowing when Fyrchk landed her ass in Denver. Due to my lateness in arrival, the 3 womenfolk decided to have some drinks while waiting for me to drag my ass in that night, so what greeted me was something that sounded like a cross between banshees singing “I Will Always Love You” and the tire squeal of a ’78 Monte Carlo on a high-speed chase in downtown San Francisco. After recovering my hearing, I hugged my people: HotDrWife, cool and relaxed, wisecracking and playing hostess; Elle, funny as always, moving and talking like a recording played just a hair too fast; and Fyrchk, laid back and drunk as hell, asking if every single black man walking through the airport was me. Even the janitor. Fyrchk also claimed that every piece of raggedy, non-matching, floral patterned, uncool luggage was mine. She even charged me with packing my shit in a “Hefty bag with duct tape wrapped around it”, which made us all laugh our asses off. Elle had to step to this bitty hen who evidently didn’t care for our unique brand of humor, and the bitty backed down faster than J.J. Evans did to Florida on “Good Times”. Did we get some looks, a large black man cackling with 3 white women? Uh, yeah. But fuck them – the amigos were together at last.

After leaving the airport, I had to hear “THAT’S OUR SONG” for every…single…song that came on the radio. I swear, the Emergency Broadcast System alert could’ve come on, and someone would’ve screamed “THAT’S OUR SONG!” and started doing the cabbage patch or the wop to it. These women were out of control. Me? Shock and awe. We stopped at a bar near HDW’s house, where HotDrHusband caught up with us. He’s taaaaaaaaall. At first, he had the look of someone who got tricked into jury duty with the promise of lottery tickets and free tire rotations, but once we started talking sports, it was all good. After knocking back a few, we retired to the Chateau HDW, which….defies words. I’m not gonna go into details about how nice their wonderful home is, but I’ll say this – I’d live in their basement ANY TIME. I mean that – I could make a home out of that basement. All I need is a mail slot, a stove, and subscription to Basement Monthly so I can keep abreast of all the latest trends and styles in basement dwelling. Call me, double HD’s. We’ll make it happen.

Saturday had been planned as an excursionary day, with the group talking about driving up to Red Rocks or to other areas native to Denver and Colorado, but after dragging ass a bit, all we could muster was brunch and a trip to the mall. The most notable thing about the mall was the children’s play area, where the different items for climbing and sliding were all breakfast items: sausages, bacon (mmm, bacon), eggs…it was a bit disturbing. HDW referred to it as the “germ breakfast”, and after watching the kids slide around on giant plastic pieces of toast, I had to concur. After leaving the mall, I rode with HDH through a high-end area of town, where we visited a store called Bang and Olufsen:

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And listen, people…I’m not gonna tell you your biz. But I couldn’t even afford a sales brochure in here. Bang and Olufsen is German for “I think you’re looking for Best Buy, which is down there“. But they have some very, very nice equipment. I think I left a little drool on the floor in front of the plasma TV. But I digress. Oh, and there was plenty of this, despite the warmish weather:

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Do you SEE this? This, people, is something the locals call snow. I am unfamiliar with this naturally occurring phenomenon. I had to investigate.

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What? The three feet? Don’t judge me. Like you don’t have something unusual about you. Don’t make me talk about your hooves. And look, there was even some African-American snow. It’s Black History Month, you know.

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That “rock” is a pile of dirty black snow, pushed to the side of the road. Since the most snow I had ever seen before only amounted to maybe 2″, this was like seeing how a clock works to me. Black snow? What’s next, black eggs? Amazing.

That night was the actual event – the party and roast of the illustrious HotDrWife. Around 6pm, a cast of characters started arriving:

  • ClizBiz – Cool and calm and funny as hell. ClizBiz was the Queen of the Questions, asking things like what our most embarrassing moments were. Mine involved a bus trip, some bad Chinese food, and an assplosion. Hey, I wasn’t always a rock star.
  • Howard – Oh my God. Howard and I hit it off on several points, from both having lived in South Carolina AND attending Clemson, to our mutual love and fascination with the show “Naruto“. We’re not nerds; we’re geeks. Get it right, get it tight.
  • Shmeder – Quiet, friendly, and seemingly reserved, but once she started talking, there were a few moments of “say WHAT?” from the chorus around the table.
  • Larry – Oh, Larry. Larry, you’re great. A fantastic sport. Great conversationalist, dark wit, and a sparkling personality. Perhaps TOO sparkling, Larry. See, when you come in with a gay man, and hang with aforementioned gay man the majority of the time, and display certain mannerisms (nothing major, mind you) that one could associate with a gay man (particularly if you’re standing beside one for most of the evening), then it stands to reason that, not having ANY other evidence to the contrary, some of us (coughEllecough) might come right out and OUT LOUD assume you are said gay man’s partner, rather than being the straight, married man that you are. I’m just sayin’, man. Wear some aviator glasses or something.
  • Kath – Bubbly and smiling, she came in after getting off work. I won’t say where she works, but I thought she was wearing an iPhone around her neck, and if it wasn’t for the fact that Verizon (in their infinite wisdom) doesn’t support it, I might’ve tried to sweet-talk that bad boy off of her. But I was wrong, and I blame the beer and the shots of vodka on my mistake.
  • Amy and Tom – Friends of HDW’s from the “real world”. They are fun folks, and they have the CUTEST KIDS. Yeah. I said it. TheBoy was tow-headed and full of fun, and 1MonthOld was adorable. Oh, and TheBoy? He had a li’l something that Elle was openly coveting:

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Focus on the cup, people. I’m not even sure whose cleavage that is. Just focus on the cup, because at one point I swear I saw Elle trying to slip this into her purse. Stealing from a child. For shame, pirate.

The party was a blast. HDH showed a slideshow of HDW’s life and times, which was funny and touching. We had cake and beer, screamed and laughed, and made pics like this:

Me and Howard, performing a Naruto jutsu. I think it’s called “Geek Style: Goober Clone Jutsu” or something. Either way, we were still geeks afterwards, so the shit either worked really well, or not at all. You be the judge.

Me and HDW, the birthday girl.

Me and some random chick who wandered in. I think she was a Girl Scout or a Jehovah’s Witness, or maybe an escaped felon. I thought it best to just go along. Aw, y’all know that’s Elle. The mouth and all.

The Bug, mad that I stopped reading a book about pigeons driving buses. Honestly, pigeons shouldn’t be driving motor vehicles, and I said so, but Bug wasn’t having it. He’s adorable, and I have the sore ribs from him jumping on me to prove it. Also he kicked me in the balls. But we won’t talk about that. Boys will be boys.

I was looking for a pic of me and Fyrchk, but every time I tried, she growled and called me “bitch” and threatened my life. Maybe some will surface in the future…if so, I will post them and then blame it on someone else so she doesn’t kick my ass. I have a healthy fear respect for my homegirl.

Sunday was a bummer day, spent playing Playstation 3 and chillin’ while we each shuffled off to the airport, one by one. I want to thank HDW and HDH for everything they did. You are truly wonderful people. Thank you for this t-shirt, HDW:

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You know my love for bacon. The TSA guard at the airport stared my ass down, looking on this bad-ass shirt. I thought he was gonna arrest me!  Thank you for everything. And thank you for opening your basement. Just let me know when I can ship my shit there.

Peace.

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