My grandpa is a pain in the ass. I used to think he was awesome because he raced Datsun's on ice and won a few Champ Car races. But as soon as I get on the highway, it's a never ending circuit of subtle stabs. Don't go above 110. Why are you changing lanes? Keep at least 6 car lengths from the guy in front. Oh, you disagree? Count them. 1. 2. 3. 4. See, slow down, Dan.

So it only made sense that as soon as my mom told me that this year we were going to a tulip festival, I filled the tank, washed the car, and woke up with migraines, diarrhea, heartburn, cramps and hot flashes.

My (not so) sick self played video games all day, watched the hockey game and laughed his ass all the way to the BBQ leftovers when they got back home again. Har har.

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