Fighting Holiday Traffic and Finding the Mother Lode of Pacific Northwest IPAs

From a deep and restful slumber, we were rudely awakened by the fucking alarm clock at 4:45am.  Why so early for an 8:20 flight?  Because it's a holiday, it's DIA, it's Friday, and we're flying Southwest (where bags fly free but each passenger is charged a pound of flesh...and I am certain that if I had even one more pound of flesh on my body, I would NOT have fit into that middle seat).

A small child made the second hour of the flight seem more like four hours.  Dear rugrat's mother, may I remind you, THIS IS AN AIRPLANE, NOT MCFUCKINGDONALD's PLAYLAND!  At the baggage claim, there was one carousel for three flights that arrived at the same time.  Chaos.  Another small child was standing at the conveyor belt making as if she were going to unload a couple of large bags by herself.  GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY YOU STUPID LITTLE GNAT!

Rental car buses were packed.  Thrifty could not find my reservation (they finally did).  The hour and a half drive to Olympia took two and a half hours.  WHY ARE YOU DRIVING IN THE LEFT LANE YOU GIANT SHIT SPEWING TRUCK?

We finally get to Joe's sister's house.  She has some weird dietary restrictions, so there was basically nothing in her fridge.  After a quick nap on the deck, we headed to the grocery store.  And there, on an end cap, was a refrigerated shelf packed with bombers of untold variety and deliciousness.  AAAAHHHHHHHH.  Totally worth the GET OFF MY LAWN DAY!


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