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Monday, April 07, 2003
Stats that Shape a Weekend
Number of Corvettes Spat On: 1
Number of 24-ounce Scotch Apples consumed: about 2.5
Poker Winnings: $3.70

I've been feeling run down lately. Tired. Old. I'd like to attribute it to the alcohol I consumed this weekend, but it started before that. Maybe it has something to do with the several pounds I've gained in the past two weeks.

Michelle's sister was down for the weekend. They went to the coast with Michelle's parents on Saturday. I went to Woodville with Mia to visit my father and his wife. Not much to report there. However, on the way home, I stopped to pick up a pizza at Barnaby's (yum). The place was crowded, and the parking lot was nearly full. It was about to rain, too. I had to park pretty far away. There was a corvette that was parked diagonally across two spaces much closer to the restaurant. And I spit on it. It would've made more of a statement if the rain hadn't almost immediately washed the spit off.

The big to-do on Saturday was an all-day party our friend was throwing after the Springtime Tallahassee parade. I'd decided early on that it was going to be a Scotch Apple night. (That's equal parts Scotch ale and cider . . . I used Belhaven and Woodchuck.) I took a huge, frosty glass beer stein that was big enough to hold both bottles. We settled in to watch the Final Four. (I hate Kansas right now. But even if they hadn't fucked it up for me, Syracuse would have. Goodbye, $40.)

So, the party eventually devolved into loud sing-a-longs. Luckily, it wasn't dominated by Jimmy Buffett songs, which were championed by the many Parrotheads in attendance. "Convoy" was actually played. As was "Vacation." At my request, License to Ill was cued up, and I surprised myself by recalling (and vocalizing) the words to "Brass Monkey" and "Fight for Your Right." Somewhere, nitrous oxide abuse was indulged. I managed to escape largely unscathed. The host and hostess, however, were crashing and burning as I left.

Sunday was the first time since before my mom's stroke that we'd gotten together for some friendly family poker. It was the usual suspects: me, Michelle, Michelle's brother and his wife, and our respective moms. It's quarter-ante stuff, mostly. No pennies, unless they're in 50-cent rolls. I nearly doubled my money. Michelle lost a couple bucks. And, in true friendly family poker tradition, we took tons of money from my mom . . . the stroke victim.

Ah, feel the love.