Does Pedro sleep? No, no he does not.

Around 4 am this morning we crossed the Mason -Dixon after having been in the Deep South for slightly over a week. Our first stop was the beaches of South Carolina where we stayed in the condo pictured below which I named (quite aptly) the Giant Condo of Doom.
Myrtle Beach was pretty much a pathetic, soul sucking tourist trap, but I got a nice tan and got to relax a bit. Somewhere during the course of our stay, my parents purchased a time share in Florida. I'm still not entirely sure how this happened, truth be told. They just came home one morning (I had taken the opportunity to nap on the top deck) and informed me of their purchase. If you're noticing a mildly stoic tone in my voice, it's because I'm still shell shocked. I'd like to point out that this purchase happened approximately last Tuesday. Who's up for Florida sometime around Christmas, 'cus I'm damn well not checking that thing out by myself for the first time.

So yeah...Myrtle Beach...yeah...words really can't describe that place so I'm not even going to try. However; I would like to point out that our GCoD was located on a golf resort and (oddly enough) very close to some marshy area. So one day I was wandering around outside , chatting on my phone, when suddenly the guy next door starts screaming "Blonde girl on the phone! DON'T TAKE ANOTHER STEP FORWARD! DON'T GO DOWN THOSE STAIRS!" Confused, I looked out slightly over the ledge I was standing on and, focusing intently, was able to make out a slithering shape blending into the drying grass. Pictured below is a pretty close representation of what I saw. Ladies and gentlemen, please let me introduce you to Agkistrodon piscivorus more commonly known as the Cottonmouth. For those of you unfamiliar with snakes and other creatures of death, it's one of the deadliest snakes in North America. And it was about 6" away from eating my foot. South Carolina was, by no means, a bad trip. On the contrary, aside from the moment when I was nearly poisoned to death I had a great time and I'm truly glad I went. But if you think that's the end of my tale, you clearly have no concept of my histrionic tendencies...or god's wrath on me.

On approximately Wednesday we lit out for Tennessee, because my dad hearts the mountains like whoa and because we're expected at the Gathering of Rednecks that is to take place a few days later. I drove most of the way on the Strom Thurmond Freeway cackling maniacally at signs that describe Pedro's insomnia as well as entire counties called Waccamaw. Somewhere in North Carolina, my dad finally wrenched the wheel out of my hands and steered us through the Great Smoky Mountains Nat'l Park. NOTICE THE PRETTY!! NOTICE IT!
Tennessee was great, everything I've come to expect from visits down there. One of the high points of the trip was learning a lot about my family and solving The Great Mystery of Ash's Heritage. To date I am:

.5 Scottish (obviously)
.25 Native American (way more than I anticipated...rock on)
.25 Dutch. Apparently my grandpa was Dutch. Who the hell ever saw that one coming.

Like I said, the trip and the party was a huge success, everyone got pretty damn drunk on everything from Bourbon to Allegrini to moonshine. Dion sang that god forsaken Statue of Liberty song (dedicated to me) while occasionally taking swigs from his hip flask. I personally opted for half shots of the XXX all night with my cousin and learned...well...you get good and drunk but it's an entirely different kind of drunk. The only way I can describe it is a "batshit crazy" kind of drunk. Let's just put it this way...I finally passed out around 1am, and some of the stronger hillbillies were still going strong. Sidenote: The party started at 12pm and everyone was drinking by 3. A family friend (Charlie) came 'round to check on me and my cousin Amanda around 2:30am and, apparently (as I have no recollection of this) I sat up (very wobbily) said (in a perfect southern accent) "YOU AIN'T GOIN' KILL ME!!" and punched him with a hard left in the jaw. Yeah...like I said, batshit crazy.

Another example of the debauchery is pictured below. I'd like to point out that these women are blood relatives of mine, in their 40s-50s and, yes, your eyes deceive you not, wearing my bras on their heads. They were stone cold sober. Things like this are common at Kope(ki)-Fuller/n gatherings. Don't you wish your family was as cool as mine? Probably not, no one should ever have to see that.

The real creme de la creme of the trip was my encounter with yet another deadly creature. This time, it was not a cottonmouth, but rather his close cousin, the copperhead. This one would have struck out and hit my knee if my cousin Dion hadn't tackled me to get me out of the way. I'd like to point out that it was not my incompetance that brought all these deadly snakes into my presense this fateful trip, I'm just absolutely convinced that god flies the Rebel, drives a pick up and still holds a grudge against Sherman for the whole buring down Atlanta bit. My damn family's from the South though, so you think I'd catch a break. But no. Rest in peace, deep South, for I am so done with you.