The Four Loko Experience

My first Four Loko experience...

I was at my friend Rachel's house in Virginia partying with her brother, Derek.

I'm going to marry Derek some day.

Four Loko face:

If you've ever finished a Four Loko, you'll appreciate the fact that once we finished ours, Derek and I challenged each other to a dance-off to end all dance-offs.

I had to wear Rachel and Derek's Mom's old high school majorette leotard...complete with a broken zipper and sequins.

Derek let me pick the music and put the strobe light on.

Ready?

Begin.

 We busted out our signature killer moves.

Derek killed me with his leap frog thrust to victory.

Next thing I remember, I woke up at 4am next to Rachel upstairs...

and had to potty really bad!

So I started to climb out her window on the 2nd story...

Because that's where the potty is?

 Rachel saved my life by yelling at me to stop being an idiot.

 But I was still in my psycho Four Loko rage...

So she was a mere inconvenience to me at the time.

So I made my way down the dark hallway into what I thought was the bathroom....

But it was so dark I couldn't tell...

I kept running into chairs and obstacles and I was trapped.

I opened another door and got a face full of hangers.

I must have been in Derek's room...

I thought about what would suck more in the morning...peeing in Derek's closet, or waking him up in the middle of the night to tell him I was trapped in his room.

Uhh...

 And a second later, I heard rustling and Derek turned on his light and looked down upon me with a look of rage that burned like a thousand suns.

 

 And Derek growled something at me about what I was doing there are how he had to get up early...

So I made my way back to Rachel's bed, and we all slept peacefully until the next morning when Rachel was pissed at me for jumping out her window and spooning with her with no pants on.

The End.

PS: I love you, Derek, darling.

Stories of Fasha: Great.

Stories of Fasha: The. Worst. Hike. Ever.

We set out hiking on a nice day, with our tent and sleeping bags...

Dad brought his halitosis.

He blabbed on and on as usual about the Civil War and that time he "fell out of a tree when he was 8 and broke both wrists".

So I eventually popped my iPod headphones in and zoned out/zoned into my hike. 

While I bopped along the trail, I nearly stepped on a huge rattlesnake sunning himself on the path!

I snapped a few pictures of him from an idiotically close range.

And my dad came running up to me and the snake, as if I were in grave danger.

And pulled a 9mm on his ass.

Then I dramatically protested.

I saved that snake's life. You're welcome, stupid snake.

We finally reached the top of the mountain and found potential campground, when God screamed "FFUUUUU" at us, and it started raining sideways.

My brother and I scrambled around for shelter unsuccessfully while all of our camping equipment got soaked.

We look over at Dad and he had bagged himself in a Hefty garbage bag and was yelling at us inaudibly through the storm...most likely about how my brother and I suck at nature and he is Bear Grylls.

My brother and I demanded we walk back to the car. 

We weren't about to wait out a freezing sideways devil storm and then try to sleep in the blasted puddles left behind.

6 pissed off miles later...

Dad was covered in ticks by the time we got back to the truck.

Stories of Fasha: Sensitive Man

Dad always knew just what to say to make us feel better growing up.

When we were teens obsessed with our body image:

 When our adolescent faces would break out in acne...

Or if he simply walked into a room we were in...he'd make us feel real great by saying an exaggerated "WOW" under his breath with an "-AH" at the end.

So any teenage angst we were going through at that moment was SURE to go away.

Thanks dad...always a sensitive man.

Stories of Fasha: Leaf Pile Demolition Day

This was our house in Malvern, Pennsylvania from 1998-2001.

As you can see, our house took up a fourth of our land. 

The rest was forest and creek and yard.

 When Autumn came, that forest of trees would poop on our yard all day, all week, all season...with an endless supply of red, yellow, orange and brown leaves.

Great.

Needless to say, my brother and I dreaded Saturday chore days in the fall.

This meant hours of raking.

 No leaf blowers, no lawn mower attachments.

Raking.

And no using yard bags, either. We used full sized bed sheets to haul piles of leaves to either the fire pit, curbside or forest.

 Fatman would rake up 1700 piles of sheet-sized leaf piles for my brother and me to gather.

But...we had our fun. 

Fat Daddy would leave his piles unattended sometimes...

And we would DESTROY THEM.

 Fasha would come back...hard work unraveled...

 So pissed.

Taco is a Bud Man, Through and Through.