I used to work at CitiFinancial in Amarillo, and I used to work A LOT. Twelve, sometimes thirteen hour days, which to me are hours befitting an attorney. I, however, just sat at a desk auditing files and closing loans for people that didn't realize how ridiculously high the interest rates were. As in there's a chance they could have brought me downtown on a rape conviction, the rates were so terrible.
Anyway, I spent so much time working that I would forget to take vacation. It just simply didn't occur to me. One task would follow another, and before I knew it I'd have one month to get rid of a week or two of vacation time before it was lost to me at the beginning of a new year.
So come December 2005, panic struck. Not only was I in desperate need of work removal, but I was also in desperate need of wisdom teeth removal. So along with planning my vacay time, I attempted to make an appointment with an oral surgeon to remove the blasted teeth that were causing me to emit vociferous yelps of pain. I called all around town, and no one accepted my insurance. Guess where they
did accept it? Lubbock and Austin, and probably Uzbekistan. But definitely
not Amarillo. Downtrodden and forlorn, I planned to book passage to Austin to use my hard-earned vacation time to get my teeth removed. Worst vacation ever, probably.
Three days prior to my, erm, vacation... it was 75 degrees in Amarillo, but all of a sudden the winds changed. And before I knew it, the weatherman was wildly gesturing showing a low-pressure front blasting in from the north. A blizzard was predicted to hit Amarillo before nightfall.
Welp, there goes my trip.
I slumped down in my chair at work, mentally preparing to go nowhere, do nothing and be in pain during the course of my week long vacation that would be spent at home. I was sullen, and mentally pictured a cloud of scribbled anger lines above my head.
No, I said to myself. Nope! Not gonna happen. I decided then and there that somehow, against all odds, I could somehow attempt to make this wreck of a vacation week fun. I immediately reached for the phone and called Betsy.
Me: Hey dood, what are you doing this next week?
Betsy: Nothing. What's up?
Me: Like really nothing? You don't have school or anything? It's important that you really, truly have nothing to do.
Betsy: Nope. I'm on Christmas Break, why?
Me: I want to go on a bender to cloak the pain of my wisdom teeth.
Betsy: Come pick me up after work.
This is what best friends were made for.
I picked Betsy up and we trucked down to Gem Lake Boulevard to go to our friendly neighborhood liquor store and get hmm... like 40 gallons of vodka. Then we headed to United Supermarket because I think "Hey! Blizzard! Let's make chili, that'll be fun." When we arrived grocery traffic was not too bad. However, by the time we were ready to check out it was gridlock. Lanes were backed up all the way to the
BACK OF THE STORE. This is an Amarillo phenomenon I will never understand. We get cold weather for the holidays, always. But for some reason when it inevitably happens - people panic and act like they need to stock up for nuclear fallout. Thus, Betsy and I abandoned the basket (which pained me, thinking of the poor grocery workers). Thank God we went to the liquor store first, we collectively thought, and then proceeded to my apartment.
Countless dirty martinis and a spaghetti bake (and probably a nap) later, Betsy and I started to watch six hours worth of our favorite miniseries of all time - Lonesome Dove. Those who know me well surely know that I can barely get through one sentence of what Lonesome Dove means to me without crying. For Betsy, it's the same.
Later, after hours of cinematic masterpiece in action, we came to the point of the film where Gus rescues Lorena from Blue Duck and stays at the ruins of Adobe Walls. And then, like the gold rush of 19...or 18...something, we sifted through the fog of the martinis and found the most epic adventure ever,
EVER, to embark upon.
Okay, well, maybe not EVER...but pretty close.We decided: We shall go to Adobe Walls and pour a drink out for the
FALLEN HEROES of the many battles that have taken place there...
For those of you
ignoramuses (which will undoubtedly be everyone...because who would know this?!?) who don't know what Adobe Walls is, you can click
here. The marker commemorating the battle was our destination, just outside of the lovely municipality of Borger, Texas.
We woke up the next morning to sub-zero wind chills and bundled up in a haphazard collection of my mis-matched ski gear. We bumbled out to the car and readied ourselves for our quest, stopping only to get gas and buy a six pack of 32 ounce beer. I popped in my favorite cd at the time, which was a compilation of hideous pop music including Clay Aiken, Nick Lachey and Britney Spears. Perfect music to christen the beginning of our trip. We pulled out of the gas station and had a sudden revelation.
Me: Betsy?
Betsy: Yeah...
Me: Where do we go?
Betsy: I have no idea. I'm calling Hemi.
Hemi is one of Betsy's friends that lives up in, well, I can't remember where. So I'm just going to call it North Jesus. I'm not even sure he's been to Texas. However, this is the first person we think to call to google the battle site and subsequently relay instructions to us. He was rudely awakened and thus not too happy, but was still concurrently interested as to why two girls in Amarillo, Texas would call him in North Jesus and ask for directions. On speaker phone, he proceeded to tell us to take the "Doo-MAUS highway." Betsy and I shared a good laugh, then exchanged a glance of remorse, realizing that we live in a place that opts to pronounce the word Dumas as "Doomus."
Side note - I'm terrified of driving on ice. I did a three lane crossover on a highway in Abilene one time after hitting black ice, and I think it gave me a bit of post traumatic stress disorder. So Betsy was driving on at a pretty good clip, and I secretly had my fists balled up paralyzed with fear that every slight jerk of the steering wheel was bringing us one step closer to an icy rollover.
We reached Borger, and I quickly suggested that we stop at a bar called "The Hitchin' Rail." You know, calm the nerves. Um, excuse me. I
SEE you giving me that look, you judgy reader.
DON'T JUDGE ME OKAY!?!?! I'm on vacation here, for PETE SAKE! I'm also 22 years old in this story. I'm 27 now. Ugh.
We got out of the car, and proceed to go in this smoky, carpeted, ridiculous bar. In lieu of traditional forms of payment, we noticed that instead they'd opted to just put peoples' names on a chalk board behind the bar - where they were tallied and billed monthly. We also noted that there was a list of people who had been banned from entry to the establishment, including "crazy bish" and "the postman." Deciding that this was too good to go undocumented, I got up and went to the car to get our video camera, which we had been using to catalog our journey thus far.
I got out, went to the car, and came back in filming. I looked at Betsy, whose terror-filled eyes put me on the road to caution. She cut across her neck with her hand, signaling me to desist my filming efforts. With slanted brow, I questioned her motives.
Me: What's going on??
Betsy: There's about to be a hick bar fight.
Me: What??
Betsy: See that lady over there?
Me: Yeah, the one with the short skirt?
Betsy: Yes. She was talking to this guy over there that's playing pool, loudly, saying "Im'a leave his ass!!! I got the car parked out front, it's all packed up with my stuff!!!"
Me: Oh no!
Betsy: Just wait! So, I expected to hear the guy she was talking to respond, but instead, the bartender starts yelling "FINE!! JUST LEAVE, LIKE I CARE YOU SKANK!!"
Me: So...the guy she's leaving is the bartender.
Betsy: Yes.
Me: And she's talking to some dude playing pool, but what she's really doing is antagonizing someone who up until recently was her boyfriend.
Betsy: Yep.
Me: Let's get the eff out of here.
Having sucked down only half of my beverage, my hair was still on end while we were driving. The absolute zero a la kelvin temperature was still raging, and the wind had picked up even more - which I didn't think was possible.
Finally, we reached our destination. Much to our disappointment, there were no ruins. Only markers. There were two markers, one for the Indians and one for the Rangers. I decided to pour my beer out for my Native American brethren. I'm not Native American whatsoever, but I like them. So yeah. And Betsy likewise took the Ranger post.
We got out of the car and were immediately bitten by the frosty air, which we would later discover was 17 degrees below zero (wind chill).
Me: SHITSHITSHIT!
Betsy: GODDDDDDDDDD!
I opened the beer, started pouring, and speed-read the names - which were over a hundred in number.
HERE'S TO YOU SLUE FOOT! DANCES WITH WOLVES! RACCOON PELT! Betsy in the mean time jumped up and down, alternating feet, laughing her frozen buttocks off while I tried to finish. Then, she threw the camera down and bounded over to the Ranger monument.
My hands shaking and frozen, I picked it up, ran over to the Ranger monument and began to film - while laughing
my buttocks off. She got through about six names, and with the beer practically freezing mid-air, suddenly stoped in action and with a wide-eyed expression, dropped the can and jumped back in the car.
Recovering the can carcass, I poured the remainder out saying "and to the rest of you guys" and bounded back to the car myself.
Me: What was that about?!
Betsy: I peed.
Me: What?
Betsy: I laughed so hard, I peed some.
Me: HAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHhahHAHAHHAHA Betsy Pee Pants!
We drove back home in almost complete silence, our skin
ACTUALLY RED from a brutal wind burn. I mean, we were only out there for a few seconds! How does that even happen?!
Having finally made it home, we got out of the car feeling somewhat defeated by the weather, and stumbled back to my apartment - rattled from the journey. We threw a log on the fire and stared at it burning in silence.
Me: Betsy?
Betsy: Yeah?
Me: This is the best vacation. Ever.
Betsy: Agreed.
Me: Hey, do you want to make chili and drink?
Betsy: Yeah, just promise me we'll never go to Adobe Walls again.
Me: Word.
