Aides to the Ex President 1: Fuck a Wine Product

Sorry, kids, I know you wanted to hear more about cheap wine, but really, there's not much of a story there. The Upshot:

We drank a lot of Boone's Farm, eventually reaching the 4 minute mile mark of 17 seconds. I got older, started to get heartburn, and had to give it up.

I started that one because Rachel asked for it. I've since learned my lesson about that. Here's one that Rachel's sister wanted to see.

The summer of 92 was, as I've previously written, kind of a crazy one. I was struggling through a relationship, my first BIG, ADULT relationship, and working a lot of hours to make ends meet. All in all, it wasn't working out.

So what did I do? I took a vacation.

In September, there was a perfect storm of sorts brewing down in Dallas. Friday was the second Lollapalooza tour, the one featuring all those grunge bands who made Starbucks what it is today. Saturday was (according to Jim) some sort of big stadium rock show, most likely some Van Halen or Metallica thang. Finally, Sunday was the Dallas/Washington football game, which wasn't of real interest to me but was a sort of cultural touchstone for Jim. Thus, I got the day off work, and we were going to spend the weekend in Dallas.

As usual, things got off to a rocky start. Alethea did everything she could to prevent me from going, from oral sex to throwing crockery to crying, which was completely shocking to me as we had agreed a couple of weeks previously that she was going to stay home and work (her job at the time was kind of a weekend thing, or shift thing, so this made sense). Jim sat calmly on the porch, drank Hamms, and read the paper. As a result of all this, instead of leaving at 7am, we didn't hit the highway til nearly 4pm.

It was a beautiful day for a road trip. We had a 12 pack of Hamm's Black Label, a quart of Jim Beam, and six hits of acid. Oh, and about a hundred dollars between us. Times were good.

By the time we hit the Dallas metroplex, however, some realities were starting to sink in for me. First, we had no tickets to any of these events, and our cash situation wasn't anywhere close to sufficient for both of us to attend to begin with. Furthermore, we didn't even know where two of the events were being held (and frankly, I have my doubts that the buttrock show was even going on).

A quandary. Upon thinking about it, we were proactive enough to find a hotel quickly, some sort of LaQuinta or Red Roof Inn or somethin' like that, out in the wastelands of north Denton. We checked in, got a room on the second floor, and dropped our acid, just as the sun was going down.