Float and Talk

Sorry about the tardiness of this post friends.  I forgot that I hadn't finished it.  My bad.  Senility is a real biotch. 

July 2011 found us rockin' it old school at the Goosinheimer Haus.... Or maybe it was the Waffle Haus... Oh look, it actually says:

 

Photo Credit: MKT

Riiiight, anyways:

I joined the infamous Tinsley-Gardner Clam (plus friends) in New Braunfels for a weekend of merrymaking.  MKT found us this fab little German Haus (sleeps roughly 80) and we did it up right.  Bonus track:  We had our very own bar a mere 10 feet up our driveway AND our Haus came equipped with critter pens.  Next time we shall properly prepare by bringing our own livestock.



Riley's is the place. 

Photo Credit:  MKT


Brother Juan and I were the first to arrive on that glorious Friday.  Juanito had found himself earlier in the day held in the lap of a lovely lady at the Yellow Rose Cantina.  Thus he was starry eyed and boozy when I slid my bar stool up next to his at Riley's.  We busied ourselves before the rest of of our crew arrived by exploring the Haus, chatting up the locals, quenching our parched throats and dining on the local fare.  We devoured some bad ass burgers from this place:



Happy Cow indeed.  I'm sad to say we missed

the Belt Sander Races but the fare was fine.



Juanito shares some smooches at the Hog Haus.





Nap time for young Harry Potter.  That's a legit claw foot tub y'all!

Annnnd I'm pretty sure it came with it's own ghost.  *shivers*



Dancing Juan.  Disturbed.

Photo Credit:  STR





Fabulous hair piece.  Frightful dancing.





Haus of Chicken. 

Photo Credit:  MKT




Perhaps a safer option than it's indoor haunted counterpart. 

Photo Credit:  MKT




Always an admirable endeavor. 

Photo Credit:  MKT



No Farm Haus is complete without it's very own windmill.

Photo Credit:  MKT



The neighbors.  Come and knock on our door... 

We'll be waiting for yooouuuu! 

Photo Credit:  MKT


Juanito and I were napping off our early afternoon booze fest when the rest of the gang started trickling in.  We had 12 people total and procured not one single group shot.  Shame.  As with all Tinsley-Gardner shindigs we partook of  the traditional shooting of the shit, washer olympics and general making of merryness.

For this particular trip, chalk art was also in order.

Photo and Art Credit:  MKT

Half Baked Gator illustrated by Gator

Photo Credit: MKT

Squatch Country:  Before the Addition of Genitalia.
Illustrated by JG

Photo Credit:  MKT

All sermons were held here.

Photo Credit:  MKT

Supernova doing work.  He took a time-out from washers
 to model his Crazy Bird.

Photo Credit: STR

Juanito steals a bike.

Photo Credit:  MKT

The Tinsley Clam

Photo Credit:  Dirty D

Do you guys hear that train? 

The Clam in action.

The Roberts

Photo Credit: MKT

Juanito and Supernova at rest between washer matches.

Photo Credit:  MKT

Just a swangin'

Photo Credit:  MKT

Saturday found me and Tiny Tinsley up rather early and ready to get our Crossfit WOD on. 

...Warning:  Mother, just go ahead and quit reading.  Skip on down past this next paragraph.... 

But first we took a death defying bike ride down a logging road.  I was jammin' to my ipod in preparation for the Girl Talk concert later the same day while simultaneously trying NOT to crap my pants every time an eighteen wheeler rolled by.  After our ride Tiny said she couldn't tell if I was singing or screaming out in fear.  I told her it was most certainly a good combination of both.

Post Crossfit WOD our group scampered about the Haus too long on Saturday and we kind of blew our opportunity to float, as it's a very timely endeavor.  Thus we decided to kick it riverside instead.



Horseshoe hotties.

Photo Credit:  SRT 



The Cap at work.

Photo Credit:  SRT



Which was probably for the best.  Floating the river makes for a long day of drinking.  There is simply nothing else to do when you are trapped for hours in an inner tube.  Besides pee on yourself.  True story.   

Lounging riverside allowed for us to chillax, keep an eye on a large number of drunkards and collect stray beers that escaped less fortunate floaters.  There must have been a decent set of rapids above us on the Whitewater Horse Shoe as Dirty D, Supernova and The Cap collected at least a 6 pack of assorted cold beers and a flask of whiskey.  MKT was super pumped about the whiskey and who can blame her?

After we got cleaned up, (read:  We changed in our cars and most definitely flashed some folks.  You're welcome)  we waited in line like forever to secure front row spots for Girl Talk.




Front row, bitches!

Photo Credit:  SRT

Lemme just point out the obvious.  If you are not a person that is fond of drunk people in their pre-20's elbowing and jostling all the good right out of your soul, then you've got no business on the front row of any concert...  Unless it's like a Stevie Nix show or something.  Or Cher...  Celine Dion might also be safe.  But then again, I reckon even those broads have a few hardcore fans of their own.

Can you picture Pops Tinsley elbowing his way to the front of a Fleetwood Mac concert rocking his ZZ Top beard?  Yes.  Yes you can.

Back to my point.  I'm not sure why it takes all of us several repeat front row attempts before it's realized once again that we're all getting too old for this shiz, man.  Not too old to enjoy a really great concert, but much too old to take crap from a drunk baby and then not give that same baby a well deserved black eye. 

The bleachers were made for people like us.  People with short fuses and an innately low tolerance for stupid shenanigans other than our own.




Bright Light Social Hour.

Photo Credit:  SRT 




Spitting image of Jesus rockin' short, shorts.

Photo Credit:  SRT





Greg aka Girl Talk.  He was stoked about being outside in "Austin."

Photo Credit:  SRT



Mesmerized by a glow stick, brought to you by Red Bull and Vodka.

Photo Credit: SRT





Magical confetti drop.

Photo Credit: SRT



This is completely normal. 

Another side effect of living life on the front row.

Photo Credit: SRT





Raptor Dancing, another Tinsley Clam Ritual. 

Inspired by good times and good music.

Photo Credit: MKT

 
All in all, Float and Talk was another smashing success!

And y'all be sure to stay tuned folks.  Little Tiny Tinsley celebrates her Big 3-0 in less than 10 days and the Tinsley-Gardner Clam will be burning it down at the beach house.

Now then!  If you haven't already done so, join the 21st Century and download your free Girl Talk tunes HERE.

Parting shot:

Incredible detail, Cap.  Incredible.

Photo Credit:  MKT
      



Mexico Part Two: No Mas Tequila

It took me almost an entire year to upload all these damn photos, so here it is!  This here is the second and last part of my birthday Bonanza recap from Mexico September, 2010.

If you missed part one you can catch it here:  Part One

The first night of our raucous vacation, JS and I had a quick spat over which of us was the coolest.  Neither of us could resolutely agree that indeed, I AM the coolest, and seeing as how he had had his fill of pointless chatter and Princesses after our long day of travel, he decided he would not be eating dinner with the me and the rest of the gang.  So off to dinner the merry gang went and Grumpus-Aurelius was left to his own devices. 

5 hours later I found JS weaving his way around the resort in his swimming trunks and a much improved mood.  He claimed he had no room key in his possession, so he busied himself at the bar all evening.  The hysterical part was, for the rest of our vacation JS was on a first name basis with our bartenders.  In every single bar.  All eight of them.

Days 2-5 of our wondrous Mayan vacation went as follows:

Dub, Nina, G, Ant and Trisha took an all day shopping expedition to Playa Del Carmen and a dinner trip to Cabo San Lucas one night that they concluded was fabulous.  The highlight being a cold CO cartridge being squirted unexpectedly into their backsides…  JS still marvels at how differently our vacation could have ended if he and I had joined them on that invigorating little excursion.  It’s quite easy to picture JS stuck in a Mexican prison for killing the well meaning and poorly trained Mayan barman that made the deadly mistake of trying to frost his tush.  Yes.  A much different ending indeed.

Thanks be to the Sweet Baby Jesus the butt frosting expedition coincided with our Spa day and thus JS was saved from the living the life of a fugitive.

My girlfriend D and I enjoyed a lovely couple’s massage that day (Since we signed up at the same time they thought we were a couple?) as JS monitored the toplessness on the beach.  Those Europeans ain’t got no shame, which can be a truly beautiful and/or frightful thing.  (Side note: I am SO getting a bikini because Dear Lawd, if they can wear it… SO can I.  Side note from side note:  Any and all pictorial evidence of me wearing any bikini will immediately be destroyed, as will the person who tries to acquire any of said evidence.)

Except for this picture, strategically taken from a distance.  Brazil Nov 2010.

During our couple’s massage when D asked for more pressure, I somehow suffered an ass kicking by proxy.  My masseuse really embraced that famous one liner, “Do WORK, son!” and I was actually in tears for a short span of time.  Like 5 minutes.  I attributed my ‘emotional release’ to the recent passing of my horse, the low back trauma I had suffered at her youthful expense, simultaneously combined with ‘The Man From Snowy River’ theme music (that shizzle is moving) and the deep body work over my broken low back.  All in all it was by far THE BEST massage I’ve ever had.

JS had us all in fits of giggles when he retold the story of his massage.  In Mexico there’s little to zero draping, which can leave certain ‘bits’ of your body out in the breeze if you will…  So he’s laying there, face up on the massage table enjoying a nice calm revelry when suddenly his masseuse whips his leg over her shoulder, karate chopping and tucking the sheet to cover his man pieces in one nice choreographed move.  Then he swears she punched him exactly five times in the hamstring.

I almost wet my pants when he revealed this little gem.  So I asked him, “What happened to the other leg?”  To which he calmly replied, “Oh, she did that one too.  But I was totally ready for it then.” 

Priceless.

The morning of my actual birthday we got up super early, packed our swim gear and headed into the jungle for our Tulum Xtreme excursion.  I figured if I was going to die in a jungle, my 30th birthday was as good a day as any.

We were distracted from the ‘Xtreme’ part of the program by first touring the amazing Mayan ruins of Tulum.  This included squinting at lizards and sweating profusely as we gazed at the remains of the awe inspiring stone buildings where almost an entire population was wiped out by good Christians and the diseases they brought to the indigenous people.

The mood and the temperature were significantly lighter on the coast line where we enjoyed snapping photos and drinking in the beauty of the Caribbean.

G and I tried our gymnastic moves off the top of a rock, in hopes of capturing some air on film…  Annnnd once again I was surprised by my lack of coordination and grace.  But mostly, every time I launched myself into the air I could only envision myself tied up in traction inside of a very scary Mexican hospital.  With skills like my own, it's not far from a hop off of a little rock to a broken leg.  Let's just say I was giving less than 100% on take-off.



   

Fail!

Win!

After touring Tulum we drove further into the jungle and I was talked into climbing a freaking crazy tall set of stairs to reach the zip line.  At the top of the stairs I entrusted my well-being and 30 years of life to a 4 foot Mayan, a series of cables and a very tight, wedge-a-fying harness.  When it was finally my turn to 'zip' I yelled something along the lines of, “If you want me out there you’re going to have to Effing push me, because I refuse to jump off voluntarily!”

And THEN...  The tiny Mayan pushed me.

I realized amidst my sheer terror while simultaneously dangling at warp speed over a remote jungle in the middle of nowhere, far, far away from any medical help...  I had two taller, faster and even more terrifying zip lines ahead of me.

But we all survived.  And it was AWESOME!

For our next adventure we had to repel down a set of stairs.  Also terrifying.  The wedgie somehow even more painful in this contraption.

The reward for completing our terrifying, sweaty adventures dangling from cables and ropes was dunking our bits in the coldest water known to man.  (Our consolation prize was a traumatizing image of our guide "Guapo" with his extra large man bits accentuated by his repelling harness forever etched into our minds.)

We ended our Xtreme Tulum adventure with a guided tour of an underground water filled cave called a Cenota.  It was pretty spectacular, awe inspiring and a teeny bit creepy.  I kept hearing the theme music from Jaws and thus maintained a high level of vigilance, keeping my eyes peeled for any suspicious cave creatures.  Someone (total ass hat) happened to grab my foot fin as I snorkeled by and I immediately suffered a mild cardiac infarction.  And, might I ask, WHO THE F WORD DOES THAT!? 

After I released my protective ink cloud I turbo propelled my head right into the low hanging cave wall in an attempt to shake my attacker.  Luckily my attacker wasn't actually a shark as he would have had plenty of time to eat me while I floated in stunned silence only broken by the occasional muffled obscenities squeaking from the top of my snorkel, while the blinding pain dissipated.

Thankfully we took pictures before I concussed myself.

After the conclusion of our Xtreme Adventure we raced to the beach to catch some rays and decrease our sobriety.  There was a tequila shot 'challenge' between D and JS.  D won...  And then I was almost forced to push her off a balcony...  But she was spared ;)

Shades of Tequila

Another memorable occasion was the discoteca.  We managed to drop it like it's hot and simulatenously scare all the other dancers off the dance floor.  Apparently our moves were uber impressive and/or intimidating.  You be the judge...

Another event sponsored by Tequila

Our magical trip and my birthday celebration ended much too soon and I smothered my friends with kisses before we parted ways.  D, JS and I somehow managed to keep it real on our return trip with only 50 minutes between our international flight into Dallas and our flight from Dallas to Austin... 

Hello, dummy?  Did you forget about customs?  Why yes. Yes I did.  Thus D and I got to experience our first taste of barefoot running.  (JS was smart enough to forgo flipflops and wear running shoes.)  Listen hear y'all.  A 1/2 mile full on effing sprint while wearing a skirt and slinging a heavy-ass carry on bag aint no joke.  Hence my gimpy ankles.  My body may never be the same. 

We did however enjoy the male flight attendant fawning over JS with water to drink and napkins for his sweaty brow while the two of us ladies had nothing to staunch the flow from our faces our quench our throats.  We decided that he simply thought JS was going to die which would further delay/ inconvenience our fellow travellers heading to Austin.

Needless to say, we all survived Mexico and we are now looking  forward to Round 2 of THE BIG 3-0!  Someone (D) is turning 30 (D) this August (Did I mention it's D?) and we are rounding up the same merry band of travellers + 2 new for a Costa Rican Adventure! 

Lord, please help us all ;)