America! Fuck Yeah!

Well, the Fourth of July weekend I must say was fucking awesome. I jetted up to Boise, Idaho on Tuesday for some camping action with the fam, and Sean met me there which was radical. Boise is nice, a lot like Reno scenery wise, and hot as fuck. We spent a whole day getting provisions for camping and then me, Sean, Corinna, Mike and Frank met up with Laurel at Live after Five, a drunken hotfest with a band and a fountain which was cool.
The next day we set out on our drive to somewhere, Idaho, like two-ish hours from Boise. Our camping spot was hella sweet, next to a freezing and awesome river. We spent the weekend drinking hella beer out of cozies "Ever notice how Cupid rhymes with Stupid", swimming in the hot springs, watching the boys fish, playing gin, and eating like there's no tomorrow. Oh, and some hiking, rattlesnake fear and gun shooting.
We set off some fireworks in MaKettle's bad ass garden haven, ate some more hella good food, and floated the Boise river. Meaning me and Corinna drank beers while Mike and Sean paddled like hell cause the boat was leaking. And before you know it I had to say goodbye to Sean again and it's back to Reno.
Upon getting back to Reno, Juli and I were hanging out and did some pooling it and read some trash magazines, and after getting pretty bored. So we dug out my and Jack's old Rollerblades, AND 1980's knee, elbow, and wrist guards plus helmets and decided to go for a roll about town. Fucking hilarious, neither of us are for shit on wheels and we spent more time taking them off to walk down hills than anything else. Every time a car drove by Juli shouted "Quick! pretend you're seven!" Which was all awesome until Juli got going hella fast and tried to do a spin around to stop and her skates came out from under her, causing her to land on her wrists and drag a little on her stomach. shit. A woman even came out of her house (in front of which Juli had face planted) and was all " Are you OK? Cause that looked really bad" Clueless style.
So I'm pretty sure the Greenwalds wont let ol' Juli play at Lizzie Andrew's house anymore. First the bed, now this. At least Juli was wearing the neon purple wrist guards. It's ironic that now Juli has a nice little purple cast to commemorate the skating extravaganza. It was her first broken bone too.
Did I ever mention I'm writing this fucking blog on DIAL UP Internet. Yes it still exists, in the backwoods of Reno where there's nothing but steamboat ditch behind you. Dial-up can suck deez is all i can say about that.
Also I weeded the shit out of the garden today and got really sunburned AND dirty, and i saw a snake, and it's like a million degreez here.