A'ight, so I went to Minnesota this weekend to visit a friend in the Twin Cities. Why do they call them the Twin Cities? I haven't the slightest. I learned very little about the local culture except that they get a buttload of snow. My friend Lori mentioned that they got 38 inches one year. 38 mofo inches! That's up to my boobs! That's up to Pam Anderson's boobs! That's up to Angelina's boobs!

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Sorry ... dazed off for a second there. Anyway, so I flew out with my buddy Jim. As soon as the drink cart showed it's face, we started throwing drinks into our faces. I also learned that you may or may not tip flight attendents. That was an odd convo. After shot #4 of Skyy vodka, which I was drinking with Mountain Dew ...

Hmm ... an aside. See, when on a plane, they never have the good Captain, so I have to get creative with drinks. I knew that I (1) needed caffeine, (2) wanted some hefty booze, (3) didn't want to hurl and (4) wanted enough so that the flight attendant would start to look good. I have visions of joining the Mile High Club someday, although I've never really understood how it's possible in those tiny ant-ass bathrooms. Yes, I did just write ant-ass.

Now, my choices are:

Jack Daniels ... makes me angry. I liken it to having bees in my head.
Some crappy brand of gin
Canadian Club ... other than bacon and SCTV, Canadian things make me nervous
Bacardi Rum ... the white label ... couldn't suck more if it was Tom Cruise's acting ability

Hence, Skyy vodka and the Dew. Yeah, it sounds kinda nasty, but it worked like a charm. So, by #4, I'm feeling pretty good, and I decide to ask the flight attendant if we're supposed to be tipping her. Her response:

Well, we're flight ATTENDANTS, so we are here to ATTEND to your needs.

She then walked off. I'm still puzzled over that one, and I wasn't drunk enough to suggest that my needs at the present time involved joining a certain club, and it wasn't the Canadian one. Unfortunately, the rest of the drinking time, we were served by a bald man with a mustache wearing a short sleeved shirt, so I still don't have my answer ... or my non-Canadian Club membership.

Another aside. I remember in the 70s and 80s, when stewardesses were the hottest things alive. I mean, scoring with a stewardess was the equivalent to scoring with a model. What the hey happened? Is it now a requirement that each flight have as their flight attendants: (1) a fugly dude, (2) a woman who may or may not be wearing a wig and (3) Janet Reno? Dag.

So, we come off the flight good n frizzy. Lori picks us up with her friend AJ, and we're off to the bars. The rest of the night is fairly foggy. I remember a bar, another bar, another bar, a stop at a place called Sexworld (which is a 4 story joint of nuttin' by sex stuff ... so, in essence, my Eden), another bar, etc. I remember a lot of drinks, "accidently" elbowing a hot girl in the boob (I'm lucky I'm a charming drunk, or I'd probably be dead by now), and avoiding food because I "had tonight's meal right in my glass." I also explained in a loud voice to a number of people that guys passing by go behind and girls passing by go in front. I guess the bar was pretty crowded, but that's pretty much a rule that I have in crowded bars. Oof.

Now, AJ and I have met before, and we've had a couple of close calls in the hook up category, but it's never actually happened. Kinda like Paris Hilton almost making sense when she talks. Welp, you can scratch the almost off of that one now - the hook up with AJ, not Paris making sense. I was informed by Jim on the plane that AJ was looking forward to seeing me and, well, I have a real problem with aggressive women who also happen to be attractive. It also doesn't help if you mix in a couple dozen drinks on top. Or it does help. I just confused myself. Moving on!

I wake up the next morning, and I have the World's Biggest Hangover. I mean, I still can't believe my eyeballs weren't bleeding, this baby was so bad. I talk Lori into taking me to the gym, and I spent the entire hour in there trying not to toss cookies. Ever had a hangover where it's dark just above your eyes? Yeah.

So, we run around for a bit. I get some food, and I try to drink. I mean, if ever I needed a shampoo buzz, this was the time. I'm drinking ... and drinking ... and drinking ... and ... nuttin'. I mean, not a slurred word, not a bit of Ted Kennedy action, zippo. Bupkis. Finally, around 9, I give up and decide to be the driver.

So, the other three in the group are doing fine. We go to this bar where you drink beer out of a glass boot that you pass around your group. It's pretty cool to watch, everyone's having a good time, then a number of people go dance while I chill out at the table. A woman at the next table asks if I have a light and ... lo and behold, I have a pack of matches from Sexworld! I hand them over and watch as she finally looks at the cover. After that, it's a gigglefest with her friends, I get the matches back, and I'm assuming I'm now known as the Town Perv. Add another town to the list.

The night ends, we all crash, and get up Sunday for the Indiana/Minnesota hoop game, which is another reason I went to Minny. Now, Lori and I have a bet on the game - she has Minny, I have IU. We're doing this Deep Creek weekend next weekend with a bunch of friends, and the loser has to make the drinks for the winner all weekend.

I've been watching Indiana hoop for over 20 years. That might've been the absolute worst game I've ever seen them play. Jackasses. I mean, watching IU get pounded was pretty much akin to having Richard Simmons sit on my lap for 10 minutes. Quite the capper to the weekend. Stupid Hoosiers.

After that, we hit the Mall of America (which is your basic mall, only a billion times as big), and then flew home.

On the way back ... you guessed it ... Janet Reno the flight attendant. Eesh.