Tonight's Grey's Anatomy has a subplot about a female competitive eater. Of course, I have a certain thing for such women.
Fridaynight was a boys' night out at the Hangout. Lee, Dave, Brian and Igawked at women, bowled, and drank like the bachelors we are. Tworednecks started brawling and connected on each others' jawsimultaneously, knocking them both out. Yes, the ending to Rocky IItook place right before my eyes. It was classic.
Met up with Lil Sis (you know, Rachel*'sLil Sis) and found her to be lovely. Later to escape the flood ofunderage and thus impatient coeds roaming the bar we took solace on thepatio, where Dave attempted to light the propane heaters and blow usall up:
Whileon the patio we watched a horrendously drunk girl across the street runsmack-dab into an advertising marquee, falling flat on her ass. If Iwas a good person, I'd admit feeling kind of bad for her. Alas, I'm anasshole and thus found it hilarious. Later, to a big-eyed blonde, Iused the standard "So, which one of these guys is your boyfriend?"approach only to have her point out the man who was, indeed, herboyfriend. He wasn't fond of my approach. Neither was she. It seemsthat line only works when she doesn't actually have a boyfriend.
Ithought, at the moment, I might have a shot at a dream I've had for tenyears now: having a guy say to me, "I don't like the way you're lookingat my girlfriend." To which I would reply, "Hey, don't you flatteryourself. I don't think that much of your girlfriend." Like a spring,it is coiled and ready to be unleashed smoothly and with a grin,whenever the opportunity arises.
(For those not familiar with the song,the guy punches me in the nose and I fall down on the ground and hesays, "What do you think about that?" and I reply, "Doesn't changeanything. Still don't think that much of your girlfriend."
Some day. A man must have a dream, after all.
Saturday found me at Tampa Bay Brewing Company for a brief celebration of karmaconniption's boyo getting old. We had a grand gathering and I drank the fine in-house brews. The cask-conditioned IPA is, like Hot Shot City, particularly good.
Chris puts me to shame when it comes to being the smoothest brother in the department:
And karmaconniption looked fabulous as usual.
Congratulationsto the Seattle Seahawks and #93 Craig Terrill, whom I've met once andwill pretend from this point on to "know," despite the fact that Ireally only know his fiancee. Though I did meet him. Once.
omg a Mouse
When every weekend is a four-day weekend, Sundays take on a more ominous tone. I still don't see Sundays the way berrydip and sickdogg do, but, then, I don't really do "work."