Four kids and a bug.

You know, most college kids go someplace a little different for spring break. Now that they (many average college kids at least) are able to FINALLY get away from their parents, they go, perhaps to Florida...? I was never the most traditional. Perhaps Vegas? I must be honest, my only college Vegas experience was seeing a drugged up homeless man walk out into traffic and get killed on impact. Right outside of our hotel. But, I suppose thats enough of the morbid. This is about living, not dying.

Freshman year is quite the experience of firsts. First time living away from home, living out of state, out of the country. Perhaps first times...? I'm sure many were better than mine, a 16 year old secretly dating her brother's hockey teammate (though that's a story for another time.)

Freshman year brought firsts for me as well. First time meeting the best four friends anyone could ever ask for. And while I will keep their names their own, I will most likely refer to all four of them at some time or another. It also brought my first college spring break. While many were out clubbing -though I did go to a rather conservative christian university where a good time meant going to a church event or game night with all virgin drinks- I went, along with one of the four and two of our (then) guy friends, on a week long road trip visiting six states and seven national parks. This was quite the interesting, to say the least, experience. And, while their are countless stories from that trip, including (illegally) scaling a cliff in Moab, Utah, I would rather not go into too much detail as to keep the FBI off my back.

Well, fitting four people, two being over 6'0 tall men, into a tiny four seated 2004 lime green bug was not the easiest thing to say the least. I spent most of my time crammed into the back with another guy, one I couldn't stand and, and the other she couldn't stand. And between us, some strange (and GIANT) plant press that he-who-will-not-be-named "needed" for his plant biology class. And believe me when I tell you that thing smelled worse than I could ever imagine something natural on the side of the road could. And that is really saying something.

In our journey througout Utah, stopping at the ever beautiful Arches National Park, the guys and I ran to the beautiful, well, arches, while she stayed behind. After a while, we noticed that she still hadn't followed, and went to see what was keeping her. She admitted that she could not for the life of her find where she had put the car key. The first thing I told her, knowing her, was to check her bra. I love this one more than most, and let me say that shes got some of the biggest 'ladies' I have ever seen. After she was adament that she had checked their already, and two hours of searching through dust, dirt, and garbage along with other vistors and even park rangers had past, we decided to call it. We ended up getting a tow truck, and had to be towed over 300 miles to a one stop sign town in the middle of Colorado to the closest Volkswagon dealership. We then hitchhiked our way to the nearest campground, where the owner made sexual references and even told us the wifi password so that we could watch adult videos. I knew this place had class written all over it.

She then realized that she had a friend of her mother's close by, and called them while we layed in her tent and one of the guys, after they had decided that they would keep watch against the rather questionable tenants, remained on guard duty. As she explained who we were and where we were, the woman adamently told us to get the hell out of their as soon as we possibly could and came to pick us up. We arrived 30 minutes later to the little cottage that was perfect for the hippy of a woman that had come to our rescue.

While making dinner that night, she started laughing and slid down the wall into a seated position.

She had the key.

Where was it?

In. Her. Bra.

Told her.