Freddie Mercury Would Have Been Proud

I purposely didn't mention that I was going on vacation last week for safety reasons (it's a small island, and it's local, and I have a pretty bad habit of picking up creep-stalkers, you understand). I DID, however, have the intention of blogging while I was away -- but my vacation became a bit of a Hellcation, and I barely had time to breathe, let alone blog. You know how it is. Rather than write one long, glossy-over post about the trials and tribulations of my week, I thought I'd break it up a bit. Starting... now.

I left work on Friday the 17th with big plans to relax, write, read and rest for the next glorious nine days. After, of course, I continued to party like a rock star with one of my besties, Leah, and Andrew as we celebrated the Boston Bruins' domination of the 2011 Stanley Cup.

Weeeee are the Championssss

We braved the massive crowds to partake in the fun. I went to the Red Sox Championship Parade in 2004 back when I was in college, but I missed out on all three of the Patriots, the Sox 2007 and the Celtics parades, so I was excited to get in on the action!

Despite all of these people, a riot did NOT ensue. 

Having gone to a school that had a bit of an issue with rioting after sporting events (if you want a hint as to where, we like iced fish and our unofficial motto was, "Stay Classy, Not U-Massy"), my heart really went out to all of the good people of Vancouver whose names were besmirched by a couple of tactless idiots following the Cup Final. Seriously, people? IT'S HOCKEY. No one should have to worry about being STABBED over a game. Unless, of course, that game is Crazy Eights, in which case, Iwillcutyou.

That being said, I was very impressed with the crowds here in Boston both after the win and during the parade. Yes, there were a lot of hammered people wandering the streets, but they were throwing high-fives instead of molatov cocktails and starting USA chants in-between verses of Queen. On Parade Day, there were over a million people jammed into the equivalent of a 5k course, and I saw nary a fight (though the chest hair was bountiful). Leah and I took this opportunity to enjoy some totally sober ice-cold lemonade:

Hello, creepy man!

As the parade drew near, we were getting pretty amped about seeing some of our favorites. And by we, I mean me and Andrew, because Leah had no idea that hockey wasn't played on a field or in a skirt (I know you're reading, bf, and I love you anyway). Upon seeing the following, she was pretty impressed that the caliber of hotness far exceeded that of our grimy high school hockey team, and was marginally better than the crew found in the brothel known as the Hockey House in our little college town:

Exhibit A: Shawn "My Biceps Are the Size of Your Thighs" Thornton

Exhibit B: Brad "Little Ball of Hate" Marchand

Exhibit C: Marc "Concussed But Still Hot" Savard

As you can see, the hits just kept on coming. It's amazing how they really DON'T all look like clones, once those helmets come off!

It took about 2.5 hours in the blazing hot sun for the parade to finally make its way to us, pass us, and inevitably leave us. By that time, we were parched, starving and had sunscreen literally melting off of our faces, so we followed the massive crowd down Comm Ave to Kenmore, where I indulged in the biggest steak burrito I've ever seen. Boca Grande may not be Chipotle, but it was there, it was air conditioned and, most importantly, it had a place to pee.

So that was good.

We hopped the T back to our place, where Leah bid us adieu and I commenced to cram as many material items as possible into an overnight roly-duffle suitcase and beach bag, much to Andrew's amusement. Let's just say that I won't be posting any "How To Pack For A Six-Day Vacation" guides anytime in the near future.

And with that, we were off!

To Be Continued....