Requiem for a spring break

I have always used the term adventure loosely. To me, adventure could entail a trip to the laundromat and I'd be happy. When faced with honest-to-god adventure though, I admit I am apprehensive. I don't like the term coward, I prefer conscientious. Spring break is a time to forgo all previous hesitation and dive face first into, what could possibly be, a very bad idea.

This year's bad idea was South Carolina.

The past two years my friends and I have gone to a cabin in Tennessee. Aside from a kick ass jerky shop and a lack of guardrails on mountains, there wasn't really much to do. It was fun though, because I got to spend time with my friends. The friends I've kept all through growing up and high school. I am proud to say that they are some of my best friends. With that being said, after spending a week with them you can't help but tell them to "shut the hell up" every time they open their mouths.

Yup, we were up in the Smoky Mountains.

This year we went to South Carolina. We traded our mountain view for a beach front property and, I don't use this term lightly, it was gorgeous. South Carolina, where the only thing more numerous than firework stores is churches. South Carolina, where golf carts take up the road and block traffic on your way to Myrtle Beach. South Carolina, where even the squirrels are friendly.

Adorable.

Half the fun of road trips is the drive itself. But even that fun could be a little much during a ten hour car ride. Now, I've always enjoyed riding around. As a kid I would jump into the van any chance my parents had to run an errand. But riding to South Carolina with two cans of energy drink and a weak bladder is no small feat. Scrounging for toll money is all a part of the adventure though. It's that and jorts.

Jorts!

Spring break trips are special. On these trips we are creating the memories that we will one day tell our kids. Spring break is about knowing the proper level of inebriation for you to wear a cowboy vest. It's about wrecking your lodgings and then scrambling to fix it the last day so you can keep your security deposit. It's about looking at a steakhouse menu in bewilderment, unable to afford anything yet spending your last twenty on filet mignon because you don't care anymore. But most importantly, it's about losing your voice singing Taking Back Sunday songs all night long.

I got the mic and you got the mosh pit.

Sometimes I just want to kick them in the face, but I love my friends. And I can't think of a better group of people to spend a week in a house with. And I'll tell my kids about the time we shot fireworks at each other and got second place in beer-lympics, at the same time laughing and warning them about doing such dangerous things. I'll pass the stories along because, in a Stand By Me kind of way, when the friends go at least you have the stories to tell. Not going in a dying way of course, but more like a life happening kind of way.