This weekend, we celebrated my boyfriend’s half birthday.
I had a written the story as to why we celebrated his birthday in May instead of on his actual birthday in November, but when I read this post to him, he said, “You don’t have to put EVERYTHING on the Internet.” And because I don’t want him to break up with me, I decided to not tell the story. I love you, Geoff. Please don’t break up with me.
Because we celebrated Geoff’s birthday in May, it enabled us to do one of his favorite activities in the world: tubing. However, his tubing birthday extravaganza had one stipulation: everyone must wear formal wear.
This is why I love my boyfriend. He’s weird as shit. I thought I was weird, but he takes the weirdo cake and devours it whole. You’re awesome, Geoff. Please don’t break up with me.
We rented a house in New Braunfels for the weekend that could fit 12 of us, and we ended up renting a mansion right on New Braunfel’s main drag (and within walking distance to the Comal River (more…)
We happened upon a snake ball yesterday.
It’s not as cool as it sounds.
Before yesterday, I always thought a snake ball is when prepubescent male snakes put on their bow ties, ask to borrow their ‘rent’s Caddy and impress the female snakes with their dance moves learned from watching Michael Jackson clips on Youtube (at least that’s what I would do if I was a male snake).
A snake ball is exactly what was described above, but without the clip-on ties or awkward Thriller arm-waving that looks more like Alien Hand Syndrome.
A snake ball is when an ASS-LOAD OF SNAKES crowd around a female and try to get it on with her.
A snake ball is something that makes me nearly poop myself and become a dead weight that my friends have to drag around until I understand that the snakes are a.) not interested in biting us and b.) would have difficulty biting us in the water even if they wanted to bite us.
We were tubing on the Guadalupe River in Gruene, Texas. I’ve written about (more…)