I don’t want to brag, at least not in writing. When I brag I like to use my hands to point at my biceps. That’s hard to do while I’m typing, so just pretend.
As promised, my partner and I brought home the Serendipity Cup in the annual Petanque tournament, an honor which includes your names forever engraved on a 3′ tall trophy. In other words, the most awesome thing ever.
So now we are immortalized. I don’t know about Mike (my Petanque partner), but I’m already pretty bored. I’ve been immortal for a little over a week and I’m starting to understand the endless monotony the other immortals complain about. I’m thinking about joining a support group.
But enough about me. (Yeah right! As if I’d really stop talking about me. You fell right into that one.)
This past weekend was the kan jam tournament in which Stuey and I rode a string of forfeits to the championship. We are just that good.
You see, there’s a thing around here called “Dip time” you’ll hear a lot of the members mention. It basically means, “If you’re having fun doing something else, don’t stop doing it because you have to be somewhere else.”
Speaking of fun, Ratz In The Attic performed Saturday night and they were excellent. When I wasn’t listening to them I was stumbling into things and saying excuse me a lot. (I’m pretty sure it was excuse me. It might have been, “gggmlieeeeee”.) At one point (I was told), I accused a pole of attacking me.
I don’t drink beer too often, but when I do, I prefer it not be Dos Equis. I actually don’t drink beer because I like girlie drinks. I’ll admit it. Slap a little umbrella in it, maybe a cherry and name it “The Mary Poppins” for all I care. I like sugar because it’s delicious and best disguises the taste of alcohol.
On Friday night, we sang karaoke. I performed songs like… poorly. Others sounded exactly like the original artists and I almost remember some of them. Honestly, if you want to get the details of this past weekend, the newsletter will be your best bet.
I do remember going to Waffle House at 3am on Sunday morning and eating what can only be described as… 3 giant plates of food. (I’m a writer.)
The others ask where I put it and the answer is, “I jam it into my stomach until it hurts really, really bad. Afterwards, I come home, hate myself, watch infomercials, then pass out in tremendous pain.” It’s a process, but if I’ve learned anything it’s that I don’t learn anything.
When I drink too much, I get the “1,000 yard hash brown stare” and think of nothing but food. The only thing that will curb that insatiable hunger is… food. So I start asking everybody, “Hey, we dfe go brfast?” and everyone usually knows what I’m talking about because they’ve come to understand 2am Mayo-nese.
I don’t want to paint a picture of a bunch of drunk people running around making asses of themselves. I’m trying to paint a picture of me doing it.
Like I said, I’m not a big drinker. I’m pretty much like a party groundhog. I pop out every 6 months, drink a ton, then disappear for the rest of the season. But every single time I emerge, I have an epic time. Each party is better than the last.
The other night, Stuart said to me, “I’ve been throwing a party for my closest friends every weekend for the last fifteen years.” I can only attest to the last couple of those years, but I can tell you that attending a Serendipity Park party should be high on your bucket list.