Victory!

Saturday was the Blue/Gold game, so that was a pretty good time. We headed out around 10ish to begin the tailgating goodness, awesomely deciding to keep with the Library Lot tradition. Screw you, Stadium Lot jerks! You'll come crawling back, and when you do I'll be waiting...with a beer. Also I will have shaken the beer. In the meantime, cold brews with the blue label rim to seal in freshness were enjoyed, as well as delicious slow-cooked sausages--I had four, realizing only too late that by filling my belly to its 4 sausage limit I was denying myself the stadium dog I had been looking forward to since Syracuse. Fate, you are a bearded whore.

Dooz made it in for the game, and Kimlinger and Hesler too--booya. The game itself was awesome, Blue beat Gold with some sort of last minute...something. Or Gold won. I wasn't really paying attention. We celebrated the victory afterward with our weekly trip to Hacienda where Aaron was AGAIN not working, thus ruining my life for the second week in a row, and headed out that night to everyone's favorite billiards club--voted 4th best new billiards club in the nation, 2004! There was a nice little adventure between those activities but it was so heinously awkward I can't bring myself to write about it.

I can't remember what I did Friday or Sunday. Nothing, I guess. Oh, I watched Kung Fu Hustle, which was so awesomely ridiculous that it made The Transporter 2 look wholly plausible. Highly recommend.

This weekend should bring more adventures, as I'm once again heading down to Austin. Lizett has missed no opportunity to mock me for the whirlwind of nothingness and couch-sprawling wrought by my laziness on the last visit, so we've actually got things planned this time around--not the least of which is going to see a certain rebellious punk-rock gymnast Doing Things Her Way and making devil-horns over and over again until we walk out of the theater. Apparently it doesn't meet up to the Draft House standards, so all signs point to us bringing our own beer. Look for us on the news, we'll be the ones in jail for hurling half-full cans of Old Style around a crowded theater. Consider it brung!

New The Shirt

The new The Shirt has arrived! And it doesn't suck! Goodbye forever you mac&cheese yellow-orange abomination!

Back In Action

I totally called off work yesterday, suckers! I probably could have powered through, but honestly, I only use maybe a tenth of my allotted sick days, and we don’t get compensated for the spares, so back up off my shiznit.

Tuesday was a very special day for the various bar owners of South Bend. Christmas in April they call it, and they stay up all the night before with visions of cash money dancing in their heads. The Mothball turned 26, and the city of South Bend was reduced to a heap of beer-scented rubble. Maybe ten of us went to CJs for dinner, and they are kind of bitches about splitting up checks, so at the end of the meal rather than dealing with the hassle one of the guys I don’t really know just busted out his gold card like, I got it. Burgers and copious beer for 10 people! On a whim! You son of a bitch! You magnificent, wealthy son of a bitch!

Then it was on to Oyster for some pool, darts, and--shudder--oyster shots. I think it’s vodka, cocktail sauce, tobasco, and of course a big fat slimy oyster in the bottom. Clearly I did not take an oyster shot, but Ball, Kel, and Rocky all took one, and the memory of their twisted features will haunt me forever.

We finished out at Corby’s where Ball downed approximately 276 more shots and immediately died.

There was extensive pictorial documentation of the evening, but sadly I don't have access to Mothball’s camera just now so you will simply have to imagine the 76 pictures of us making the "MEH" facial expression, each time believing ourselves to be more hilarious than the last. You know the one. I thought about MSPainting some “wacky” representations, but then I thought, hell no, I’m not doing that.

Blue/Gold game this weekend! Dooooooozer! Doozer? DOOOOOOZEEER!

2 Posts In A Day? A-Waaaaaahhh??

I have some advice for all the ladies out there: start playing tennis. Do it immediately. I ride past the Eck tennis courts four times a day, and I have come to conclude that all girls who play tennis are invariably mind-blowingly hot. There are no exceptions to this rule. I have also found the same to hold true, to a lesser extent, to rollerbladers--but if you're thinking about playing tennis on rollerblades, let me stop you right there. I've done it. And that is why I now have lazy eye.

In other news, I've decided to pick up spanish and start watching Telemundo so that I may finally, and at long last, find out why there are so many hobos on there. I've only started the learning process, but I've already picked up a few key phrases, including but not limited to:

• Lizett es un perdedor grande!
• Lizett está volando sobre una escoba!
• Lizett está comiendo bebés!
• Lizett tiene fuerza increíble del superior-cuerpo!
• Lizett está erotically pulling eyelashes...o!

As you can see, my mastery has not yet developed to enormously impressive levels--in fact, I didn't even write all of those sentences! I just asked people who speak spanish to throw some sentences at me and those are the ones they randomly chose. What do you suppose they mean?

A Kick In The Nards

Whelp, against my better judgment I actually ended up playing in my scheduled bookstore game yesterday. All of my instincts told me to go out on a high note after making it to the second round through the magic of forfeiture, but ultimately I am a man of reason, and reason told me that if I didn't play I'd probably get beaten up by a bunch of women from my office. Only by reason I mean "a bunch of women from my office." So I ventured out, and it was a nice day, and I was shooting at least 50% in the warmup, a standard which I have perhaps never before attained in my life, and I was in high spirits:

We beat them 21-1. No wait, I misspoke, they beat us 21-1. We wept like children, we faked injuries, we threatened their student status, registration appointment times, and graduation tickets, but nothing could stop their insane game. My own proudest moment was, sadly, passing it directly to the other team at 20-1 so they could end the debacle once and for all. Still, it was fun, and everyone remained in high spirits afterward:

Except me, apparently. Clearly I was filled with rage and scowling up a storm. And Jan, for reasons unknown and perhaps unknowable, was dancing like no one was watching.

No work tomorrow, weeeeeeeeeeee. I'm not sure if I'm going home. I might just drive to Columbus for the explicit purpose of not calling scolson--just head over, loop around 270, not call, and drive back. "Tee hee hee!", I'll say. Best 9 hours of my life.

Somebody Get Me A Pellet Gun--I'll Make It So That Bird Can't Poop Anymore

I just saw a guy in the bathroom drinking from the sink, not 10 feet away from the water fountain. Yes, the water fountains here are IN the bathroom. He was a big guy and he had a pencil behind his ear. He was moaning softly and his pantaloons were rolled up. I couldn't see his face but I'm 99% sure it was Lane Weaver.

Thrice Vomited

We went to Casa del Rio Friday night for Pepsi's birthday (what the hell, indeed) and when we ordered the first round of beers, the bartender grabbed a couple random glasses off the bar, dipped them in water, dipped them in some other, soapy water, dipped them back in the original water again, and filled them right up without so much as drying them off. What. Is. That. Does he think that somehow washed the glasses? Somebody please tell me that is not standard bar practice. I would like to think that those were clean glasses, and he was just...polishing them up or something for us. But then, I don't like to think about it too much at all. Oh, and now I've projectile vomited all over my screen.

From there we headed on to CJs and then finished up at Corby's. Corby's is pretty sweet now, who knew? They redid the floors, opened up the mingling area, and got some new dart boards. Jani eventually joined us around 12:30, and I, in classic pansy style, bummed a ride home from her some 15 minutes later. Rock on. Oh, and it is also worth mentioning that Ball was sexually assaulted by the manager at Casa, thus forever negating his ability to end his stories with "at least I wasn't sexually assaulted." Haha! Nobody gets that reference!

Saturday we continued our standard practice of dinner at Hacienda where we made sweet love to our new favorite server for a solid half of the meal before he managed to break the joviality by saying something so insanely uncomfortable, so unwittingly disastrous that, aside from the immediate sharp intakes, no one breathed for the rest of the meal. It was a previously unthinkable level of awkwardness and, yes, projectile vomiting in our lives. He couldn't have generated more stunned silence and discomfort if he'd told us he's sexually attracted to Jesus. Oh Aaron, why don't you just go back to talking in crazy accents and rhyming people's names with household objects?

Sunday I finally played my very first round of golf. I think I was nervous or something being surrounded by people who actually know how to play golf, because I topped, oh, my first 40 shots or so. I couldn't get any heft whatsoever, everyone else was playing golf and I was playing croquet. Ball kept saying things like "Bend your knees! Keep your head down! Bring your club in! Slow down your swing!" And I'd say "Okay!" and then stand stiff-legged and crack at the ball with all my strength. Finally as I was teeing off on the 5th hole I started to think, hmmm, maybe I should bend my knees, keep my head down, bring my club in, and slow down my swing, and suddenly BAM! Perfect shot. The ball plopped down on the green about 15 feet from the hole, and at that exact instant I spontaneously became a republican. I didn't even play the rest of the round, I just drove off in my luxury automobile to oppress poverty-stricken minorities. BONG! What really happened is that I realized if I actually listened to Ball I might get a decent shot in here and there, and the rest of the round went immeasurably better. I still sucked a fat one, but it was at least the suckage of a beginner rather than the suckage of a wholly incompetent buffoon.

Also on Saturday I finally watched Surf Ninjas. BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Life Lessons

I just got sent one of those TLC Life Lessons. It was pretty awesome, by which I mean it wrecked me severely, but this one has to be my favorite:

Good God, he's so wrecked! Look at his face! How did I cut off BOTH OF MY HANDS!?

Actual Weekend Wrapup

Hooray! We won our first bookstore game yesterday. Against ATHLETES. Swimmers, baby. They were big and mean, and a little hairy. They had swim practice so they didn't show up to the game. Victory was sweet. Harold Pace All-Stars Featuring Samuel L. Jackson and the SuperMegaTerrificHappyPartyFun Shooters of Justice HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! That is our team battle cry, and somewhere, every time we utter it, a maltese explodes.

This last weekend was not quite so lazy and wasteful as I previously made it out to be--we had all kinds of wacky adventures! Lizett took a swing at a cop! Mothball, his trip to Slovenia unexpectedly cancelled, went insane and started ranting about the Mason-Dixon line. I myself had a few drinks at Hacienda and tried to stab our server. Other highlights include extreme Legends awkwardness, hitting my own testicles down the 18th at Putt-Putt, a happy-go-lucky restaurant mini-crawl, 4 narrowly avoided car accidents, 3 narrowly avoided nights of going out, no delicious cake whatsoever, and V for Vendetta. V for Vendetta was uber-sweet. It wasn't quite so comic-booky as I expected, but it was pretty stabby and blow-uppy, and it has rekindled my lifelong dream of having a girlfriend with a shaved head.

The pinnacle of the weekend was surely Sunday when we arrived at the airport approximately half an hour before Lizett's flight out (no worries, I said, it's just South Bend!) and discovered that not only had they given her ticket away, but they had no additional flights out until Monday morning. HAHAHAHA! It's funny to me because I wasn't inconvenienced.

EROTIC EYELASH PULLING! Have you ever heard those words strung together before? I am willing to bet a large sack of gold doubloons that you have not. And have you ever been trying to withhold laughter, but failed so horrifically, so explosively, so slobberily, that you actually felt splashback off the face of a person more than a foot away? Good God, me neither. That would be disgusting, and more than a little embarrassing for all parties involved.

In other news, Jenkins released a statement yesterday officially allowing the continued on-campus performance of The Vagina Monologues, but only if equal representation is given to The Penis Monologues, The Sphincter Monologues, The Elbow Monologues, and Surf Ninjas.

Jesus, Billy!

For the weekend wrapup, I was trying to think of a way to turn "we sprawled on the couch for four days straight" into a fun and exciting entry that does not at all make me look like a terrible host, but my success has been less than complete. For now, please enjoy, in no particular order, my favorite Bookstore team names this year:

• We're Ron Burgundy?
• The Wet Bandits
• Karate Chimp
• War Ponies
• The Nevernudes
• The Happy Trotting Elfs
• Popozao
• Bone Thugs in Armani
• Someone May Have Pooped On Or Around The Bookstore Court Area
• Oprah's Team of the Month
• Adam Morrison's Moustache
• Fetus Fighters
• The Clam of Hate
• Bill Brasky By Himself
• Irritable Joe and His Four Bowels
• General Tso, Three Burritos, and a Side of Jesus
• The Shady Homeless Men
• Furious George
• The Smooth Jazz Avengers of Blood