Instead of posting the lamest shit ever, I think I need to get the lolz rolling. And what better joke to tell than that of my life? Right.

Yesterday, J. and I decided to have a day of floating the river. This was something we should have done 12 times this summer, but of course were too lazy to go. Also since neither of us have friends, we went alone. The initial push off went smoothly, and up until that did as well. We picked up a 12 pack, went to Walmart to get the tubes filled (despite having sworn off going there forever a week ago). My car got dropped off at Burrito Beach, and we took hers down River Rd. to park. The cooler was filled, tubes tied together, shirts off, the epitome of a white trash day. The float started off great, but we realized quickly just how fucking slowly the river was moving. No matter, we had beer to drink. Great conversation was had, lazy, relaxing, sunning ourselves, catching a buzz. Until, the 12 pack was killed, and we were only an hour into the trip. Goddamnit. Shit went slightly downhill from there; we ended up taking turns pulling each other because there was not a single inch of movement on the river’s part. We were nearly to the bridge under 95, when a horrible realization occurred– our car keys were gone.

I’d like to point out that they are both the type with microchips, and not just the $2.79 at Walmart to replace. Marhf. We decided our best bet was to get out of the river, ditch our tubes/cooler, and begin walking home (I had realized a few minutes earlier that we were following along a trail somewhat near our apartment). Shame was too light of a word for the feelings at hand. Wearing the ugliest bikini top that I own, plus wet shorts, was an extremely uncomfortable walk on many levels. We ran into some dudes on bikes and borrowed their phone to call Llama. 20 minutes later, we’d reached the VOC, and Llam’s coworker was there to pick us up. Thank Christ.

We returned to the apartment, found my spare set of keys, and got dropped back off at Burrito– just in the nick of time. There was a dickhead sheriff next to my car, asking if he should “cancel the tow truck”. Got the fuck out of there, back to River Rd., where both of our keys were on a caribbeaner, still inserted into and dangling from her driver’s side door.

Truly, a luckier end to the story could not have been had. At the pace the river was going, my car would have absolutely been towed, and my hunger grumblies would have increased by 5 times at minimum. After that we went home, ate a delicious dinner of shrimp (which I also just started liking) and fried rice. I passed out shortly after 9pm and slept for 13 hours.

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