I Think God Is Trying To Kill Me

Friday night, I'm just home from a delicious and satisfying meal at Hacienda, walk upstairs, flip on the bathroom light--BOOM!--one of my vanity lights explodes. What? Do light bulbs sometimes just explode and I never knew about it? I checked the box, but it doesn't say "beware, may explode" anywhere. I googled it too, and I didn't find much besides this guy. Don't bother clicking, it's not interesting. I just wanted some sort of proof that I'm not wholly insane. Most of the shards fell to the sink, and I think I got the rest, but no doubt 2 months from now I will step barefoot on one and scream like a woman, a la LB on a shattered Highlife bottle. Here's an interesting fact: those "natural light" bulbs, the blue ones...the glass isn't actually tinted, it turns out that blue stuff is a powder sprayed on the inside of the bulb--and when it gets wet it turns into a thick paste. Also, playing cards in India are round.

Saturday was good. We played some golf in the 95 degree heat. It was hot. Later Ball, Raul (who I call Ral because I find Raul too cumbersome) and I met Jani at Olive Garden for a little farewell dinner action. Jani got an HR job with Target and is moving to Kansas in short order, officially making her completely dead to me forever. But, might as well go out with a bang, so we got a few bottles of wine and feasted it up! Or at least, the guys did. Jani doesn't eat, which may have contributed to her getting stumbling wasted off a glass and a half of wine. Jani, once one of the great pillars of SMC drinking ability, amazes me anew every time I see her imbibe--you've never seen a 6 footer get so blitzed off of so little. After dinner Jani wasn't quite ready for the car, so we took a little stroll over to Macri's, where they have--get ready--$3.50 34oz of Guinness. My head asplode. It's like $5 a pint at Fiddler's. Macri's, once my most loathed enemy outside of the Bucket--I welcome you into my heart, and may your days be long upon the earth.

Sunday was just more hot, hot golf, with an extra helping of hot. Heat index was at 103. That is ludicrous for the Bend. Ball skipped out after the first round citing impending death, but I stuck it out for a second and found I rather enjoy the quiet and relative solitude of playing the course alone. Lizett mocked me extensively for playing by myself, but that's because she's a jerk.