The California Melee folks decided to throw a SuperDrive Sunday for everyone that knows football watching is for losers. Angry Lance and I made the trek to Pacifica and checked out the myriad of cars: Alfas, Porsches, Jaguars, Mercedes and a couple shitboxes like our Datsun Bluebird, David Swig's BRE 510, and hotty Elizabeth's old Toyota. We got about an hour and a half into the drive and Angry Lance started getting sick. Two people getting sick in two events. This sucks. I think the Bluebird is now the barfbird. We dropped out of the pack and headed to some hillbilly-ass golf course for some road chow. They were serving redneck brunch from a really nice, but really old and big waitress. Definately not one of the little hos from Coyote Ugly - maybe she was from Grizzly Bear Ugly. At any rate, we got our chow and gobbled it up. Next time I am going to tell them to save the trouble and just punch me in the gut and throw the food in the toilet. Quicker that way. It cuts out the middle man. The pack was long gone and we were limping home via the freeway. I think I am going to steal some barf bags from SouthWest on my next flight and store them in my glovebox.
