The World According to JP

As many of you know, I spent last weekend in St. George, Utah playing softball. I had been looking forward to this trip for nearly three months, and I was very jacked up when last Thursday rolled around. The plane flight to Vegas was uneventful. We arrived there around 8:15 p.m. By the time all 13 of us got our luggage and rental car, it was 10:00 p.m. Nobody had eaten dinner. So, we all decide to head to Hooters, mainly because half of the team had never been there before.

After driving past the Strip (my first Vegas interaction - it looks like a fucking cartoon at night from I-15), we get off the highway at Sahara and proceed, well, I’m not sure which way we proceed because I was all fucking turned around the whole time I was there. I mean, when I’m here in Portland, I know which direction I’m going at all times. All I have to do is figure out where the river is and I can tell. For some reason, Vegas was like some weird black hole that rendered my internal manly compass inoperable. Musta been all the free porn that was available. Fuck, I love porn (not necessarily in that order). Anyhoo, we get off of I-15 and turn left on Sahara and drive. And drive. And drive. Now when I talked to the ass hat of a manager they had, he said that you get onto Sahara and you drive about a mile and they’re on the left hand side. Well, three miles later we still don’t see it. Finally at mile 3.8, there it is, Hooters Las Vegas. I’m so looking forward to this because all I’ve heard from everyone I’ve talked with about Vegas is how many hot women there are. They made it sound like wherever you turn, you’re going to bump into a pair of silicone boobies, or a Pamela Anderson lookalike, or a Chicken Ranch extra (all of the above being my ultimate goal), or....where was I again? Oh right, Hooters. Well, let’s just say I’m expecting some of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen to be running around, breasts heaving, boooo-tay bouncing up and down whilst they’re catering to my chicken wing and beer needs. Mmmmm, wings and beer. Let’s just say that I was disappointed and leave it at that. I really think I need to go to therapy because of this. It’s so bad that I find it hard to write about it. Besides the fact that I was so hungry that I was nauseous, besides the fact that I had a migraine headache by the time we got there, besides the fact that I couldn’t even fathom drinking a beer because of said nausea and headache, the waitresses there weren’t that hot and not that bright. This was a real shock to me because every Hooters I’ve ever been to (and I’ve been to a lot of them, hell, I used to play for Hooters in Florida), the women were beautiful, intelligent and friendly. Hooters Las Vegas was the equivalent of whatever second or third tier strip club you have in your neighborhood. Needless to say, this was not a good start.

We finally get done at Hooters around 11:30 and we all pile in our respective vehicles to head 130 miles down the road to St. George, UT. First of all, it’s an hour ahead in St. George, so it’s really 12:30 a.m. Second of all, my disappointing experience at Hooters did nothing to dull my headache or satiate my appetite, since I could only manage to choke down five wings and a glass of water.

We migrate back up Sahara to I-15 and head north (although it really seemed like we were going east to me). Once out of Vegas, the speed limit jumps from 55 to 75, so like any intelligent, exhausted, headache-ridden, overly hungry man will do, I set the cruise on 90, while the four teammates (whose lives I had in my hands) proceeded to fall asleep.

Let me tell you, not only is there abso-fucking-lutely nothing in between Vegas and Mesquite, Nevada, it is daaaaaaarrrrrrkkkkkk. I don’t mean a little dim. I don’t mean it’s semi-dark. I mean it’s pitch fucking black. You can only see what your headlights illuminate. You can’t see anything to your right or left (there's nothing like doing 90 when you're nauseous, have a headache, are ready to fall asleep and you can only see sights about 100' in front of you). Nothing. It’s also very straight. And boring. You really can’t tell how fast you’re going. About an hour into the trip one of the female passengers wakes up from a dead-assed sleep to announce that she has to go to the bathroom. Yes, a pitcher of beer will make you have to pee. There’s nowhere to go. I haven’t seen a rest area or an exit since leaving Vegas. I ask her if she can hold it. Note to self, never again ask a female if they can hold it. Further, don’t ask if they need a cork or something to plug it up. Bottom line was that she had to go NOW! Ok, as luck would have it, there was an exit about ten miles down the road. I wasn’t pulling off to the side on an interstate where you can’t see anything and people attempt to set land-speed records. After bitching and yelling at me (in which she insulted my intelligence, driving ability and penis size) for ten miles, we finally reach the exit in question. We pull off and we may not be in the middle of nowhere, but we can probably see it from where we’re sitting. There’s nothing, just a road. I pull over onto the shoulder while all four of my passengers dart out of the van, heading for the sagebrush. I found it very fun to yell things like, "watch out for rattlesnakes, they love the smell of urine" and "I think I saw that bush behind you move" while three or four women were attempting to squat and pee. I was glad that I was in the safety of my van. Seems that not being able to drink had paid off at last. I hope never to find another circumstance where that is true.

As my relieved teammates pile back into the van, they once again hurl a bunch of derogatory comments in my direction. If I weren’t so confident in Thor, I would have developed a penis complex by now. Once back on the freeway, my teammates are out once again, leaving me to the dark, lonely road all by myself. I kept myself awake (barely) by blasting Metallica, Red Hot Chili Peppers and Godsmack for the rest of the trip. How everyone slept through it, I’ll never know.

We arrived at the hotel in St. George at 2:30 a.m. Thus ending the day which started for me at 4:30 a.m. the previous morning because I was so excited to get the fuck out of town for the weekend. Once we got checked in, we went to our rooms and I passed out while my roommates drank and blasted Metallica, Red Hot Chili Peppers and Godsmack. We haven’t even played ball yet and I’m completely exhausted.

Stay tuned.

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