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Mega Update: Funerals, Punk, woodland wackiness, and PORN!...well, some porn. PART 4

2004-08-05 - 3:25 p.m.

Insomnia: laughter and marathon sex make not for good sleep-aids.

At least, I thought I was going to rest...

The tent was zipped up, my body laying diagonal to fit in the crevice, wriggling into a thick plastic slab--cheap meat on a fortified bun. I felt comfortable, safe, and I began to think of the ants and fireflies in my head, tiny ideas making my soundtrack.

I was the only one planning on sleeping.

Picture, if you will, our grid of camping insomnia:

  • Giggle Tent: Tiff's 13 year old daughter, E.J., "ex-husband" Big 20-Something Irish Dude, Chester and Chester's two dogs.

  • Dog Tent: Lance, Tiff, and their two dogs.

  • Porn Tent: Mr. Boombastic and his body accessory Quiet Orgasm Girl (Qoggie)

  • My Tent: Me. Just me.

The after-hours activity began when Mr. Boombastic continued joking and making a festive ass of himself. I gotta admit, he was making me laugh my ass off, along with the rest of the camp. Lance from Dog Tent and Mr. Boombastic rattled of stuff like bears shitting in the woods, how we'd probably kept the entire hill up until dawn, etc.

A half hour passed, though, and silence slowly slinked in, fingering the volume adjuster, winding it to a still audible trickle. Giggle Tent began to get in full-swing, with Cheetoh tickling E.J. and vice-versa, with Big Irish Dude staying quiet at first but getting more and more into the mood.

It was then that Porn Tent sprayed gasoline on the whole situation. Now, I was about 10 feet away from Porn Tent, so I got the crystal-clear, hi-definition sound of Mr. Boombastic and Qoggie just fine. At first they were running a marathon around their bodies, panting, talking low, doing sexy couple things as thighs dampened, flesh grew hot and the air became thick with their wanton noise. I rolled my eyes up to the ceiling. The biting, sucking, stiffled moans and sexual errata suddenly stopped--and Mr. Boombastic went to town with the jackhammer technique. It was a sub-woofer of SMACKSMACKSMACKSMACKSMACK, hips bucking against ass like a wild heartbeat, going on and on and on--just occasionally punctuated by a very happy, moaning Qoggie. She never screamed or had any weird orgasm catch-phrase, though, hence the Quiet Orgasm Girl.

They did this once...then twice...a third time...and so on, taking 5 minute breaks while Giggle Tent performed amusing renditions of 'Fake Ass Smacking and Jackhammering', 'Grunting Like Grunty Things', and of course 'Laughing Our Asses Off'. I opened my eyes and rolled them in another direction.

I hadn't heard much from Dog Tent except for what I thought was whisper-quiet sex, but Lance was obviously awake when he said "showoff!" toward Porn Tent. Mr. Boombastic laughed. Qoggie just sorta giggled in that 'um, hi' kinda way. Boombastic said some sweet talking whisper shit to Qoggie shortly after, some more slurping, and then the Jackhammer came (along with Qoggie).

The pseudo-sexual shennanigans and laughing from Giggle Tent just kept coming after that--long after Porn Tent settled down. I stuck my head out and asked them to be quiet a few times, making myself sound progressively more annoyed each time.

Somewhere far into the night after that, I heard Lance angrily talk to one of the dogs. Suddenly a fist slammed into something fleshy and a dog yelped out hard, just once. It was ironic, since later on he and Chester decided to talk to me about how I did not approve whatsoever about hitting animals.

But finally, finally, I somehow fell asleep and woke up 3 hours later.

Chester was bitching about how I hadn't gotten up yet and that everyone should just do a drum circle anyway. I could hear him playing his didgeridoo at my tent, trying to wake me up in a half-assed way.

I rolled out, half changed into something I'd already worn (since I only had one change of clothes), and sat at one of the campfire logs. E.J. tried to catch my eye and apologize for keeping me up. I didn't acknowledge it: she was a cool teenager, but that shit was not cool.

Eventually, after several hours of me sitting about, eating a breakfast hot dog, walking along the woods to take some shots and coming back, most people decided to wake Tiff up, either to leave or to start a drum circle. And she didn't wake up well. Still, for me, it was a pleasant morning and I was doing decent on the short amount of sleep.

After all of us packed, drove back to Las Vegas and switched cars, Tiff's family and I headed back home and sat around for awhile.

E.J. slept like a rock.

* * *

Drum Circle (it's short, I promise)

A few hours later, though, Tiff, Lance and I packed some new stuff away and took my car out to this place near the red rocks, slightly out of Vegas but not too far.

My best synopsis is this: an entirely new group of people came that I didn't know, I had conversations with some of them, I felt extremely dehydrated and the three of us had one gallon jug with a giant block of ice in it. The drum circle itself never really got up to speed. As Tiff mentioned, it was more of a chill/talking session than anything. Alot of the people that came were pretty cool, actually, an interesting blend of alternative girls, hippy people, a punky girl and boy dressed in black and talking about their new kid, stuff like that. Speaking about the kid, it was funny how often infants and families came up, not as conversation but directly visible stuff. Being the single dude that I am, it was a different atmosphere--but not a bad one.

Anyway, I think the highlight was roving along the rocks above and finding this plain of plate-like boulders, stacked like playing cards and shuffled around; had a Jesus Christ Superstar feel to them. There was also Entymologist Guy, who apparently owned a very famous Python that'd recently died and kept stroking the web of a funnel spider, just trying to make it come out. Funny enough he led most of the remaining guys out to find snake burroughs, spider nests, shit like that.

The afternoon rolled on, though, and as night fell the few us remaining decided to leave. I was relieved, actually, considering I hadn't been able to really quench my thirst for 5 hours, just little mouthfuls underneath a rock outcropping canopy in the Las Vegas shade.

* * *

The Final Leg

While I'd been having fun most of the time and really enjoying myself, I was starting to feel like I was an obstacle or wasn't quite as welcome as I had been. Ever since that friday, for instance, I'd gotten sortof a friendly tolerance vibe from Lance, and Tiff for whatever reason would often laugh at this or that and look at me--I think encouraging me to do the same--but we didn't talk much.

I discreetly asked after the Lance thing while we three went out to get some pizzas, but she just said I needed to drink more water. I took that to mean "don't worry about it". We got back to their home, watched 'The Ring', and then I started packing up my car. Lance had fallen asleep on the couch and insisted on staying there whenever she tried to have him rest in their bed.

After I finally packed everything away, Tiff and I sat on the front porch while she smoked. We talked then for about 3 hours, and I thought to myself that this was the reason I'd come: to see an old friend. I mentioned I'd missed talking to her over the last few days. She took my hand and squeezed it. I squeezed back. We finally hugged goodbye at around 3am and I limped out of Las Vegas on a backroad, finally charging forward into the morning at 90 MPH.

The story doesn't quite end there, though. I breezed into San Bernardino as dawn was showing up. I had a mission there: to get my camera battery charger from the hotel I'd stayed at for the funeral. I got that little trinket back no problem, but I had two bigger problems now: it was monday, and it was now about 6:15am. Work traffic. Very bad work traffic. So bad, in fact, that there were at least two accidents along every freeway for the 4-5 different highways I had to take back home.

Fucking brutal doesn't describe it. I'd been used to early monday morning bumper-to-bumper shit from working at Discordia, but this was a whole new level. On top of the stop and go, I was severely sleep-deprived and I'd been driving for 5-6 hours straight. The whole concept of driving my car started to seem more like an abstract exercise than a conscious activity. More and more, my eyes would blink shut for a second or two, and suddenly I was back. The journey seemed endless, grueling, like some dreaming awake subtle nightmare.

The part where I could sense my conscious and subconscious interacting was kinda cool, though.

I got back home finally at 8am without any incidents.

It was the end to a very long, fulfilling weekend.

And I slept. But not much. Ironically.


Fin, yo

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