One Rule

Blue Tongues

Fitzroy Falls

Kangaroos!!! (That's as close as I got and the only ones I have seen so far, get over it)

Bowral.  A place where old people from Sydney come to die.  A place where retirement homes and churches rule.  A place where shit got real.  The trip started with low expectations that developed from the endless slander used to describe the town.  We walked around, got some lunch, and met the rents.  It was the typical small town, bustling on the weekends and dead after four o'clock.  Things quickly took a turn from normalcy when we found $2 bottles of wine.  We got to the Wade residence and cracked the first bottle.  A strong red that we decided to purchase to help ease into the $2 death liquid.  By dinner we were just starting the second bottle.  More f-bombs and controversial jokes were dropped than I have ever experienced at a family gathering.  Quite the opposite of what I expected from our initial meeting with the folks.  I mean they live in a house that mirrors that of my 80 year old grandparents and backs up to a farm.  What was I supposed to expect?

After the meal we wandered outside into the gazebo.  Our plan was to wait for Jacob to get off work then go out to a local bar.  By the time Jacob got there we were four bottles deep (between three people).  I realized this when I stood up for the first time, then quickly sat back down.  We then cracked some beers and another bottle as we tried to catch Jacob up.  You see where this night is going? We soon piled into the car (driven by Mr. Wade) and continued to pass around a bottle of wine on the way to the bar.  After that the bar is a blur.  I remember buying the first round, a dance floor that smelled like a turd, and leaving the bar with glasses down my pants (Wado too).  We went to a Kebab shop, buried the glasses to come back for later (we actually did), I took my shirt off and tried to throw it at a passing car, we got more kebabs (though they weren't paid for, just handed to Wado), and got a cab home in some order.  Ask Sarah how we got home and she won't be able to tell you.  Now when I met Lisa (Jacob's mom and owner of the house we were staying at) she said she had one rule:  Don't vomit in the house.  At the time it didn't seem like a big deal.  This changed.  As I lay there in bed the room was spinning like a ceiling fan.  Did I need to puke? Probably not.  Did the fear of breaking the rule make me need to puke?  Hell yes.  I hoisted myself out of bed (boxers only), stumbled around the couch, and made my way into the pouring rain.  There my friends, is where the fear puke was born.  When I turned around there was a mild audience that witnessed its creation.  Why everyone followed me outside I am not sure.  I'll take it as moral support.  I survived the night and didn't commit the cardinal sin.  The American name was saved.  However that next day I was in a dark place.  In summary, Bowral gets you drunk.