Blake the Snake

Question: What’s the average length of a cobra?

Answer: 6 ft.

There it is. The question that turned average Blake into Blake the Snake. And the moment we learned to never challenge him to animal trivia.

I’m sure you can imagine how boring it gets in the van some nights, and after a busy few days we weren’t really feeling any sing-a-longs. So, a gauntlet was thrown. Blake and Amie. 5 random animal questions. The most correct answers wins. Loser gets the winner’s favorite animal tattoo. The stakes were high and game faces were on. Questions were fired off, one after the next. By question 5 they were all tied up. Amie missed her question, so if Blake got his it was game over and Amie was getting.

Question: What’s the average length of a cobra?

Answer: 6 ft.

Game over. Lesson learned: never underestimate Blake the Snake.


Flip and Flop

We’ve all seen those dumb videos of the insufferable frat boys flipping water bottles and landing them right side up. Holy shit dude, your ability to throw a plastic bottle in the air and stick the landing is impressive, said no one ever. But, that still hasn’t stopped a member of our #squad. Tables, bars, headboards, roofs, cars, nothing is off limits. A day doesn’t pass without him trying to land one. Though it may seem innocent for most, we’re at our breaking point. It’s like when your kid brother is constantly poking you so you tell him you’ll break his finger off of his hand. How do you tell someone that if they throw that bottle again you’ll break their hand off of their body?

It wouldn’t be so bad if he actually landed it sometimes. But we’re working with a success rate of about 6%, and practice doesn’t always make perfect. I would never tell someone to give up on their dreams, but when it interrupts my nap, then we have problems.


Stop Being Polite and Start Getting Real

Although we only spend an average of 5 hours in our hotel rooms a day that’s plenty of time to really find out how these people operate. Let’s just say in the Real World house I wouldn’t make it past week 3 before I was thrown on a plane and sent back to Louisville. Between the excessive bathroom time, the 27,000 alarms that start 10 minutes after I finally fell asleep, and the snoring that is not of this earth, I just can’t. I get that everyone has their quirks and through this trip we’re going to get very comfortable with each other but please say “no” to that 3rd cheese enchilada if you know you’re sharing a bathroom with me later. Finally, TV. If you want to watch your Bachelor or CNN or Kardashian, great, but the second you fall asleep, that shit’s going off and I’m taking the remote hostage. Silence is golden, especially while I’m counting sheep. Takeaways: pray for a single room.




We all know the unspoken road trip rules. Driver: Pilot, Captain. Front Seat Passenger: Co-Pilot, First Mate. Everyone Else: Audience. This means it’s on the front of the van to keep the passengers not only safe, but entertained. With that said, I’m sad to report that there have been some performances falling very flat. Mellencamp and Springsteen are always safe bets but apparently someone didn’t get that memo. Look up Mondo Cozmo. Do it right now. Listen to any of the songs, I promise they all sounds the same. Now, the fact that I know all of the words to even one of those songs is a problem. For some reason a member of the team has recently become their #1 fan and won’t let us forget it. I mean, they were on Kimmel so good for them. But enough is enough. I’m sure I’ll have their basic boy lyrics shoved down my throat in a Pepsi commercial at some point in the next 4-6 months, so let’s lay off until then. Thanks.

Budding Bromance

Love is in the Cheeto scented van air. The tattooed photographer and the less tattooed trash horse have been exchanging glances, sharing laughs and have even been found bunking in various La Quinta’s and Sheraton’s across the midwest. That’s fine, you do you, but not when the rest of us are forced to suffer. Between the constant bottle flipping on each others backs and the Creed sing a longs it’s really starting to take a toll on the rest of us. I never want to judge the love of others but when you’re living in a 15 passenger van you become part of their story, so here’s my truth. This is great for now, but will inevitably end in heartbreak or a tuck and roll out of the van. We shall see.

Give Me Taco Bell Or Give Me Death

If you say you don’t enjoy at least one item off of the Taco Bell menu, you’d be lying. There is something for everyone: classic hard or soft tacos, burritos and quesadillas, some dessert options, and even salads for the psychopaths that go to a fast food restaurant and order those. So why should my sassy southern vanmate and I be made to feel like criminals when we take the van out for some late night TB? The answer is we shouldn’t. We’re hauling around a 36 pack of strawberry Pop Tarts for our annoying kid brother that takes the pictures but god forbid I go get a cheesy gordita crunch after a hard day’s work. So the next morning I received this text. Oh shit, the jig is up. I can either deny it or accept it. And how can I go around preaching to #liveaunthentically and not fess up? So that’s what I did (after denying it first).