Seven hours passed. I had finally arrived in Saint Louis.
The drive was long and hard, and involved two entire stops for gas. I can only imagine what early America's pioneers must have felt like - sure, the gas prices may have been cheaper, but their cars were primitive and their Mountain Dew was flatter. My heart goes out to them.
Like I said before, the arch first appeared over the horizon when I was still about ten miles out from the city. The next few minutes were a bustle of excitement as everyone around me suddenly remembered how to drive. I think it's something about entering Missouri that makes people suddenly good (read: not terrible) drivers - everyone east of the border found their licenses in a dumpster outside a Red Lobster in the ghetto, and everyone west of it actually took their driver's test. It's interesting to see how the driving styles change once you reach Missouri.
I'll have a lot more on that later. After I peel the burnt rubber and shattered glass out of the side of my car.
In any case, the first stop in Saint Louis for me was to find a place to stay. I ventured down to the world famous Hampton Inn St. Louis (notice how I abbreviated the word Saint: I looked it up online, and that's its official name) and asked for their "crappiest room."
They didn't have any left. It made me sad. But the girl at the desk suggested driving up to the airport to find some hotels - apparently they're plentiful up there. Plentiful enough for the early settlers to have hunted them almost to extinction, because I couldn't find any rooms up there either. But then, my phone rang. It was Stephanie Claypool.
Stephanie is the roommate of my friend from high school, Hana. She knew I would be in Saint Louis (where she lived), probably because I posted it very obviously on her Facebook wall the day before, although I can't help but have a sneaking suspicion it was because she had a psychic sense of it. That would at least make it a lot cooler. Apparently, she was going to a basement party (what is a basement party? it sounds dangerous and/or sexy) that night, and I was invited. So I got her address, drove to her house, and was shocked at what I found.
The house was adorable. Check it out:
Pictured: Stephanie's house, all blue and awesome.
So I went inside, and met her great parents, her two cute kitties (and one shy, kind of mean one) and her dog. So many animals, yet the house doesn't smell out-of-the-ordinary at all. I think it's the psychic thing again. Here are some of the kitties.
Pictured: Milo, the 21-pound behemoth, sits idle, while Baby, the shaved Siamese mix plays joyfully with a piece of blue ribbon. I LOVE KITTIES.
Soon, we left for the dangerous/sexy (dangerexy?) basement party. It was here I met some cool folks - multiple people in various bands, one of whom had played bass for bands ranging in prestige from this basement band to the band that opened for Jimmy Eat World. I also met a girl named Melissa who claimed to be a big Tom Petty fan. Upon letting her know I was one too, she asked what my favorite album was. When I responded with Wildflowers (his kind of sensitive, slower album - a little gay, I know), the way her eyes softened and she got that "awwww" look in her face let me know that she was good people.
I learned that I was spending Stephanie's 21st birthday with her, so we left the party to walk through the seedy underbelly of Saint Louis and visit shady, dangerous (not sexy) bars. After all, the best way to make Stephanie's friends jealous was to prove that I was with her when she drank her first legal drinks! Here's some proof, to some extent:
I think I forgot to look at the camera.
Pictured: Stephanie and her first legally-purchased bottle of wine. Bought the only way that makes sense: from a 7-11.
So take that, posers. I'm her only real friend.
After the dangerexsmentparty, at which multiple garage bands played, we went back to the best blue house in the world, where I was allowed to sleep rent-free on the couch for the night, but only after being forced to watch two episodes of Pretty Little Liars. It's like Gossip Girl, but worse. But I did get to sleep with the cross-eyed Siamese cat, so everything turned out great.
The next day was the long drive across the rainy plains of Missouri. Coming up.
The drive was long and hard, and involved two entire stops for gas. I can only imagine what early America's pioneers must have felt like - sure, the gas prices may have been cheaper, but their cars were primitive and their Mountain Dew was flatter. My heart goes out to them.
Like I said before, the arch first appeared over the horizon when I was still about ten miles out from the city. The next few minutes were a bustle of excitement as everyone around me suddenly remembered how to drive. I think it's something about entering Missouri that makes people suddenly good (read: not terrible) drivers - everyone east of the border found their licenses in a dumpster outside a Red Lobster in the ghetto, and everyone west of it actually took their driver's test. It's interesting to see how the driving styles change once you reach Missouri.
I'll have a lot more on that later. After I peel the burnt rubber and shattered glass out of the side of my car.
In any case, the first stop in Saint Louis for me was to find a place to stay. I ventured down to the world famous Hampton Inn St. Louis (notice how I abbreviated the word Saint: I looked it up online, and that's its official name) and asked for their "crappiest room."
They didn't have any left. It made me sad. But the girl at the desk suggested driving up to the airport to find some hotels - apparently they're plentiful up there. Plentiful enough for the early settlers to have hunted them almost to extinction, because I couldn't find any rooms up there either. But then, my phone rang. It was Stephanie Claypool.
Stephanie is the roommate of my friend from high school, Hana. She knew I would be in Saint Louis (where she lived), probably because I posted it very obviously on her Facebook wall the day before, although I can't help but have a sneaking suspicion it was because she had a psychic sense of it. That would at least make it a lot cooler. Apparently, she was going to a basement party (what is a basement party? it sounds dangerous and/or sexy) that night, and I was invited. So I got her address, drove to her house, and was shocked at what I found.
The house was adorable. Check it out:
So I went inside, and met her great parents, her two cute kitties (and one shy, kind of mean one) and her dog. So many animals, yet the house doesn't smell out-of-the-ordinary at all. I think it's the psychic thing again. Here are some of the kitties.
Soon, we left for the dangerous/sexy (dangerexy?) basement party. It was here I met some cool folks - multiple people in various bands, one of whom had played bass for bands ranging in prestige from this basement band to the band that opened for Jimmy Eat World. I also met a girl named Melissa who claimed to be a big Tom Petty fan. Upon letting her know I was one too, she asked what my favorite album was. When I responded with Wildflowers (his kind of sensitive, slower album - a little gay, I know), the way her eyes softened and she got that "awwww" look in her face let me know that she was good people.
I learned that I was spending Stephanie's 21st birthday with her, so we left the party to walk through the seedy underbelly of Saint Louis and visit shady, dangerous (not sexy) bars. After all, the best way to make Stephanie's friends jealous was to prove that I was with her when she drank her first legal drinks! Here's some proof, to some extent:
So take that, posers. I'm her only real friend.
After the dangerexsmentparty, at which multiple garage bands played, we went back to the best blue house in the world, where I was allowed to sleep rent-free on the couch for the night, but only after being forced to watch two episodes of Pretty Little Liars. It's like Gossip Girl, but worse. But I did get to sleep with the cross-eyed Siamese cat, so everything turned out great.
The next day was the long drive across the rainy plains of Missouri. Coming up.
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