A'ight, we're going to do this blog in bullet form, because I'm weird. I may go into some of this stuff in more detail later, but here's just a taste of the nonsense I got myself into this weekend:

- I got bit by a little long haired hot dog named Nemo ... or Nano ... or Nino ... or something like that. His name should be Meano - he put a nice sized nick in my shin. After he calmed down, we became buddies ... and I found out when you pet him and he gets really happy, he tends to whizz on you. Friggin' hot dogs! Lemme tell ya ... chicks dig a dude that smells like pup urine.

- This little dude, when asked what he wanted to drink at a diner, replied "Sausage". Chunky and I looked at each other, and Chunky deadpanned "... and he wasn't even drinking last night." Classic.

- I watched a dude do karaoke in Vietnamese ... at least I think it was Vietnamese ...

- I was pitched the idea of marrying a woman for $15,000, and at the time, I thought it was the smartest idea ever.

- I found out I've been calling this toasty girl from my gym by the wrong name since the first day I met her, which was ... oh ... about a year ago. I see her pretty much on a weekly basis. Katie, Kelly ... eh, it starts with the same letter! Smooth as sandpaper, me.

- I made at least 3 phone calls from the bathroom of The Horse.

- I managed to send text messages to the wrong women for the last couple of hours of Saturday night. It was literally as if I rotated all their phone numbers. I blame it on the Daylight Savings thingy.

- At a party, I completely spilled my full drink not once but twice. Chicks dig a spiller. Make a note of that.

Ok, so Little Saigon. My friend Chunky is married to this li'l Vietnamese hottie who we call The Chop. Now, Chunky is average height for a dude, somewhere around 5'9", but when he goes to visit her family, he's the tallest person there, and we're talking about a pretty big family. Well, that's where we went for the party.

We're get there, and it's chow time, and I was in heaven. I love Asian food in general, and I'm looking at egg rolls, soup, noodles ... fuhgedaboudit. They sent some 20+ egg rolls home with me, and they're already gone. Homemade egg rolls are the shiznit, yo.

After chow, we start drinking and chatting. Well, Ricky and I are chatting ... everyone else is speaking Vietnamese. Then, it happens ... out comes the microphone. Fortunately, it was only used for one song, but it was a classic. It was some sort of sappy song, sort of a Vietnamese version of Celine Dion, and we were able to follow along with the words. At one point, we look over at The Chop, and she notes that she doesn't even know what language it is. Good stuff.

I'm also thinking of using the sun as my reverse alarm clock. Seems that I have a tendency to go to bed when it comes up. Ugh. I also realized that the next day, I look very similar to Robert Smith of The Cure ... white face, red lips. It's a real pretty look, lemme tell ya.

Saturday was a really fast blur. We hit Gecko's for a few drinks and a nasty shot of some Irish whiskey from Nick the owner ... I'm shuddering just thinking about that. Then, it was off to the Horse to see Ed and Frank. Ed gave me my usual dose of Weezer. I went to tip him, and when I dropped the $5 in the bucket, he missed it. So, had to do it again ... and he missed it again. Nothing like a $15 tip for some Weezer. Cripes.

I also ran into some old buddies, including Kevin from the band formerly known as Sometimes Jerome. I have no idea what they are called now, and Kevin couldn't really see me, so I never got an answer from him. He was standing there, and I was talking to him and he was responding, but I think the blackberry brandy was taking over by then. It's always interesting when you're drunk, and you realize someone is extra drunk.

After that, it was off to Portside, and then the Meano dog bite peein' fiasco. The real question is, if I start foaming at the mouth, will anyone notice? Hmm ... stay tuned ...

Talk about an ominous beginning to a day. I woke up this morning with "Dancing Queen" by Abba in my head. I keep expecting a piano to fall on my head or something. Oh, here's a secret ... when I was in sixth grade, I almost got kicked out of class for dancing to that song. Explains a lot, eh?

I forgot one fine little tidbit from this weekend that was somewhat comical. On Saturday night, I was getting ready for bed, and figured I'd take out my contacts. I stuck my finger in my eye not once, but TWICE, and finally realized that I had already taken them out. Sharp!

So, the hot neighbor had a sex toy party last night. I thought about drilling a hole in the wall and being a perv, but I'm not a perv. Ok, ok, I'm not that bad of a perv. Ok, FINE, I couldn't find my drill! Anyway ... actually, I don't have anything more to add here ... at least without sounding like a perv.

Speaking of pervs, Tom Cruise is starting to scare me quite a bit. This latest thing with Katie Whatshername not being able to scream while she's giving birth. Uh ... WTF? I think it's offically time to replace crazy with Cruise. Uses:

You're f-ing Cruise, you know that?!
I would've slept with her, but she's a little Cruise. Dude, the Cruise ones are the best in bed!
That Tom Cruise, he sure is Cruise!
It's Cruise glue! It'll bond anything!

Wanna know what the opposite of rocket science is? Making microwave popcorn. Hell, most microwaves even have a button for it. You put it in, push the button, and wait for your maize to cook. That's it. Yet people screw it up every ... single ... day. MO-rons.

For those that have access to high speed internet, like T1s and whatnot ... ever notice how incredibly impatient you are with them. I mean, if I go to a site and it doesn't load in 2.9 seconds, I'm friggin' outta there!

Lauren told me a story about this dude who plays beer pong ... by himself. Uh ... here's a thought ... how about just drinking? I need a shaking head emoticon or something here.

I tried soy milk this week. I have no idea why, so just save the lecture. 'Course, I couldn't try the regular stuff when there's a vanilla version right next to it. It tastes like vanilla flavoring on corn stalks. Very, very odd. I might have to throw some Captain in it to see if that helps.

So, I'm at the gym last night, and there's this hottie on the treadmill next to me. Actually, she might be one of the Stooges, but I'm not positive of that. Hey, I never said the Stooges aren't hot, so there. Anyway, so she gets off the thing, and a few minutes later, I finish up and realize she's dropped her headphones. Perfect opportunity, right? I mean, I'm the nice guy, giving her headphones back, and maybe we stumble into a conversation about sex. Heh. Ok, ok, so I have high hopes. Well, she apparently bee-lined right for the door, because I couldn't find her anywhere. Crimeny.

I'm off to Little Saigon tonight ... details in the next blog ...

Let's talk about bus drivers. I was thinking about one I had the other day, for whatever reason. I guess crack really gets your imagination running. We had a dude when I was really young, and he would call out your name when you got on the bus. It was pretty cool, sorta like being introduced on a talk show. F'rinstance, he would stop at this one place to pick up a couple of kids, and as each one got on, he'd call out their names:

Dan!
Mary!
Tommy!
Dina!

And they'd roll on the bus and off we'd go. He was also missing a few fingers from each hand. His "real" job was raising razorback pigs, which I guess is an easy way to lose fingers. Or something.

We also did this little tune when we were on the bus. It was one of those never ending things, and it went like this:

All: Beulah stole the cookies from the cookie jar!
Beulah: Who me?
All: Yes you!
Beulah: Couldn't be!
All: Then who?

And Beulah would name a name and off we'd go on another round. It was kinda pointless, but it did make me want cookies. Thank God for Cookie Crisp cereal to tamp down that craving.

A note about cats. If you get depressed, cats can sense it, and they have a solution for the depression. Pet 'em. They figure the best way to make you happy is for you to pet them and make them happy. It doesn't really work, but it's pretty comical to watch. For those who don't get cats, there's your tip. That's the epitome of the cat mind. They also think those fake mice are real, and will chase them to all ends of the house.

The weekend was fairly tame for me. Friday, skipped the happy hour stuff, had a big old rock concert at home, got quite tipsy, and went straight to Portside. Portside was kind of a bummer on a couple of levels. First, one of my favorite bartenders has switched hours or something, so she's no longer there. In her place, there's some dude that gives me weak drinks in a short glass. Ugh.

As an extra added bonus, not only was Darla there (she of the telling everyone I slept with her when I didn't), but Lindsay was also there (she of the one date and no return of messages). Maybe I should just use these nicknames in their names ... you know, like the Native Americans do with Running Bear and that sorta stuff. There's Darla Who I Didn't Sleep With and Lindsay Who I Digged But Screwed Up First Date.

I did talk to a few women ... one notable one was this beautiful woman named Nabba. A tidbit of the convo:

Me: What's your name:
She: Nabba.
Me: Um ... Nabba?
She: Yes
Me: How do you spell that?
She: [spells it]
Me: Oh, so like Abba with an N? I'm sure you've never heard that before.
She: Yes, that's correct. Um, I think I need to go talk to my friends now.

Heh. Ok, I talked to her for a little longer than that, long enough to find out that she lives in Columbia with her parents, but that was pretty much it. Too bad, because she was quite purty and so were her friends. She was either way too sober or I was way too drunk. Or maybe she just didn't like me. Bah! That's impossible! She was clearly too sober.

I also talked with this woman from the gym who I think is quite attractive. She seemed very happy to see me (no, she didn't kiss my hand ala Leah Hot, but she did give me a good hello handshake/hug sorta thing), so I told her I'd be by to talk to her as soon as the game was over. The game ended, I went to talk to her, and she informed me that she has a boyfriend. I really think I must've damaged my female radar when I fell down the stairs - I seem to be missing lots of obvious things lately, and it would follow that I'm not seeing other things that I should. That would also make sense, because I did fall on my ass, which is where I'm pulling a lot of this stuff. At least she told me early on, rather than wasting my time. Props to her for that.

Saturday, I woke up and was in one of the foulest moods ever. Yech. A good workout at the gym helped change that, but it was pretty ugly. I pretty much chilled the rest of the day. I considered going to The Horse at least 20 times to see Ed and Frank and the former Sometimes Jerome but, in the end, I stayed home and watched an absolutely horrendous movie - Very Bad Things. I'm still in awe over just how bad it was. It's neck and neck with Eyes Wide Shut as the worst movie ever in Jack World.

Fortunately, I did see a pretty good movie earlier in the day - The Rules of Attraction. It's a movie based on the novel by Bret Ellis Easton, who is one of my favorite writers - if you don't know him, think Less Than Zero and American Psycho. One bonus of the movie was I got to see James Vanderwhatever ... that dude that was in Varsity Blues ... make out with another dude. I can safely say that was something I wasn't expecting.

Similar day today - gym, then home for hoop watchin' and cat pettin'. I managed to get video of Batman doing his thing where he taps me with his paw when he wants more petting, but it keeps timing out when I try to upload it to Myspace. Frick! I do have visual proof in the form of pictures, but the video is even better. One of these days ...

I also didn't shower either day. Oh yeah, I stink like nobody's business! Sometimes, it's just fun to have a good funk going. Ok, it's a guy thing, what can I say? As a bonus, the hot neighbor wants to go for ice cream tonight, and I don't think I'm going to clean up at all. I'm very proud.

Congrats to George Mason ... that's some cool mofo stuff right there!

Ok, people, ok! The Vegas blog! Jeez.

But first, an aside. I've been drinking these protein shakes lately, and I had one right before my workout. Unfortunately, I had a tad too much, cuz they taste pretty fine, and I came quite close to hurling. That would've been pretty cool, too, right in the middle of the gym, spraying white foam. Ok, let's move away from that.

Vegas. I had a MUCH better time this go-round in Vegas, lemme tell ya. We'll do this systematically by days.

Thursday. We start off by cruising through the Dulles airport, which is easily the most ridiculous airport I've ever been in. There's construction everywhere, you have to shuttle to New Hampshire to get a plane, and there are people poking you with sticks the entire time. Ok, I made up the last part, but the rest is true. I'm traveling with my boy Ricky.

On the way out, we manage to get on one of the more rickety planes ever. I'm talking think of the oldest person you know, add 20 years, and put them in a windstorm with a cane. It was quite exciting. Luckily, I managed to get a seat in the very back of the plane, next to the can. A very important point, because I manage to get drunk on Bacardi and Pepsi on the way, and with all the water I'm drinking, I'm in the can every 20 minutes or so. The flight attendant even made a joke about moving my seat in there. Real mofo funny. By the way, Bacardi and Pepsi ... a vile combo. Bacardi is the ugly stepchild of the rum family ... actually, it's more like the drug dealing cousin ... and Pepsi doesn't go well with anything. Bleh.

We touch down, and quickly learn that the boys who were supposed to pick us up are quite drunk already, and they have women. They're so drunk that our buddy ends two separate phone conversations with Ricky by saying "I love you, man". Hmm.

Needless to say, Ricky and I have some catching up to do. We arrive, and these guys are completely trashed. As a bonus, so are the two women they are with. As a buzzkill, the two women aren't exactly Vegas showgirls, and they're both in college. Oof. One of them is in the Army reserves, and informs us that she does 32 pushups before every shower. Uh ...

We head up to the suite. Our buddy Ben has graciously gotten suites for all of us, and his is the master. This thing is amazing. I can't even describe it, other than to say that it's almost as big as my entire house, one wall is just windows with a view of the mountains, we have 3 huge plasma TVs, and Ben's ordered bottle service for the room. I'm grinnin' so wide it's a wonder my head doesn't fall off. You guessed it - I got drunk! In fact, I managed to stay drunk throughout the weekend until we were almost home. YES!

I'm really not sure what happened for a period of about 3 hours. We gambled a bit that night, Ricky and I got a fine breakfast at 7 am, and we crashed ... for 2 hours.

Friday night was a tad odd. We spent the day in Hooters, and I think my neck still hurts from watching beautiful, scantily clad women walk by. For the most part, Vegas was low on women because it was mostly guys there for the tournament ... which was why we went to Hooters. Big thinkers, we.

By the way, conversation topics for the weekend consisted of women, porn, gambling, sports, porn, booze, gambling, porn, women, movie lines, movie lines, and porn.

After a full day of drinking and watching hoop in the suites, we head out. Ricky proceeds to get famously drunk. At one point, we're in a joint called the Rum Jungle, and I'm talking to a couple of lovely women from the OC. I'm not even sure what that means, but I managed to work it into the conversation, and they both ran with it. Ricky calls the rest of the boys, informing them to come meet us. He does this three times. Each time, he mentions that we're talking to a couple of hot women (and he even barks at the ladies to say hello to the boys) yet he fails to mention where we are. Classic.

We manage to lose the girls, find the guys, and we head upstairs to a fine joint called Mist. I think. It's on the top floor of Mandalay Bay, and it has this incredible view of the strip. Actually, what's even cooler is when you go take a whizz in the men's room, it has an incredible view of the pool. Quite the joint.

Now, as I mentioned, women are in fairly scarce supply. Even though it's a little better in Mist, we're still looking at about a 70-30 split to the bad. As I'm cruising through the crowd to where the dudes are standing, I walk by this beautiful lass. Here's the fine convo I have with her:

Me: Hi! How's it going?
She: Fine! How are you?
Me: Fabulous! Are you having a good night?

Now, right about here, I'm thinking I'm in good shape. She's hot, I'm getting a good vibe, etc. ... yeah, I know it's early, but I have a feel for these things. Let's continue ...

She: Yes! I'm having a great night! Would you like to have a good time?

Ok, it's no secret that I can be a bit naive. Ok, a lot naive. Naturally, this hint flew right over my head. Further:

Me: Sure! Who doesn't want to have a good time on a Friday night?
She: Well, it's $1000 an hour.
Me: [blank stare]
She: [flutters eyes]
Me: [blanker stare]
She: Well?
Me: Um, do I look like I need to hire a hooker?
She: Well, no, but we could have a lot of fun!
Me: Um, thanks anyway. I can't afford to have that much fun!

Hookers 1, Me 0. Not only that, but I'm pretty sure the going rate for a hooker is $300/hour. Not only did I completely misread the situation, but I was getting ripped off to boot! Quality.

That pretty much did me in for the night. I managed to pull a full 6 hours of sleep that night. Very proud.

Saturday, I wake up at 8. Indiana is supposed to play Gonzaga at 9, and I've got to prep. I get myself situated on the couch with a drink and some chips, and I realize that the game isn't until 5. Friggin' 3 hour time difference. Yeah, I know 9-5 isn't 3 hours, but it's too long to explain.

We decide to go to Fatburger. Why? Why not?! Plus, it's just fun to say Fatburger. Try it. See? Saturday was very odd. I started drinking early, and I'm drinking a lot. No buzz. I drink more. Nuttin'. We're watching games, putzing around in the suite, ordering room service, I drink more and more ... nuttin'. All day this battle goes on, and I continue to lose.

Everyone's pretty well flat. I watch the IU game at the sportsbook (they lose ... cripes), everyone's gambling and putzing around, but you can see it's going to be a quiet night because everyone's hungover. So, I decide I'm going to finish the rest of the bottle of Captain. Hey, can't have booze going to waste, doncha know.

On the last drink, it hits me right smack in the head. I'm tanked. It's right about midnight, I'm wide awake, we fly at 6, and I'm completely ripped. Luckily, my buddy Dougy is up as well, so we end up talking in our suite for a bit. After what seems like an hour or two, the phone rings. It's Ricky's wake up call for our flight. Hours of sleep on Saturday ... zip. Zilch. Nada. Bupkis.

As if that isn't enough, we get on the plane, and I'm still drunk. As a bonus, we get to fly to LA to catch a connecting flight home. Oof. Best part is, they're showing Walk The Line on the way home. We're on one of these monster planes, with 5 seats in the middle and 2 on each side, and it's filled with some sorta field trip. At the end of the movie, when John asks June to marry him, I'm fighting back tears with 20 fifth graders from some Christian school around me. Classic.

So, final tally for Vegas ... down a few hundred dollars, no practice of kissing skills, plenty of visuals, one KO by a hooker, and a really pissed off liver. Done and done.

Anyone up for Vegas this weekend?

Ok, let's start off with something odd. There are times when you'll smell something in a place that just doesn't belong. F'rinstance, I don't expect to walk into Brittney Spears' house and smell brainpower. Well, I walked into the men's room today ... and smelled hot chocolate.

Yeah.

Hey, it's time for a new rule! Remember the rule from a few weekends ago ... the "going to bed at 5:30 am is a bad idea" one? Well, I've got one even better. If you're going to bed when the paper's being delivered, that's too late! Back to that later.

Ok, the weekend. Friday, started out doing happy hour at Claddaugh's. Apparently, it was "everyone in Baltimore come out for happy hour" night, because every place on the Square was packed. It was a little unnerving, considering that we basically had Looney's all to ourselves the weekend before, so we drowned our uneasiness in booze. Ok, I'm not sure what everyone else did, but that was my approach.

Now, I tend to talk a bit about Portside. It's my favorite bar, it's fun, it's the best bar in Baltimore, blah blah blah. So, a couple of friends decide they have to see this joint. So, after HH, I decide to show them the place where all my dreams come true. Heh. Ok, I'm going way overboard, but I have a tendency to have good times there.

We walk in ... I'm giving them the full tour. I show them where the young lady cut her foot and bled all over the step, I show them where I met this person and that, I point out my two favorite bartenders, Steve and Azure. I show them where I stand against the wall, where I sit in the window alcove, the bathrooms. At the end of the "tour", they look at each other, shrug, and both note that they thought it would be bigger. I guess I need to work on my tour guide abilities. To help my uneasiness, I drank more.

Since the tour was around 9, I was a little out of my element. Go time at Portside is usually around 11, so I'm a tad early. You guessed it ... I decided to drink while I was waiting. After a bit, the joint starts to fill and I'm talking to this person and that when I realize that Leah Hot is in the joint. You may or may not remember Leah Hot from earlier blogs ... her name's Leah and ... well, you know the rest. I walk over, tap her on the shoulder, wave ... and she grabs my hand and kisses it. Uh ... gotta tell ya ladies, there are cool greetings and there are cool greetings, but that one was near the top of the list. 'Course, then she proceeded to get drunk and forget my name.

The rest of the night was spent in some sort of hazy situation. I believe I got flashed at one point (by a female, thank you), but I managed NOT to fall down the stairs. I'm quite proud.

Saturday, headed down to DC to hang with the DC crowd. We hop in the cab to head down there, and $25 later, we pull up to the restaurant. I go to pay the fare and realize I've left my money clip, complete with dough, ID, and credit cards, back in Alexandria. Absolutely top notch work! I spent the next hour calling myself an idiot and trying to figure out why I would order a Red Bull and vodka when Red Bull does nuttin 'for me. It's really odd - caffeine drives me batty when it's in Coke or Mountain Crack ... er, Dew, but Red Bull is like sipping a glass of cool water. Go figure.
We hit an extremely average restaurant called Utopia for dinner and drinks, then head out to a joint called the Black Cat. The deal with this place is they're having a Battle of the Bands, 80s style, between New Order and Duran Duran. 'Course, I have to finagle my way in by talking to a manager ... who was pretty hot, actually, but it's not that easy to pick up a hot girl when you're begging to be let into a bar. Just a tip there.

So, we're chilliin' in this bar, and the Battle of the Bands is going on. They're playing some tunes that I haven't heard before, which is nearly impossible with Duran Duran being one of the bands. We're sorta standing around, watching people dance, when it happens. "Love Vigilantes" by New Order comes on, and it's like someone turns on a light. Fabulous tune. I'm so into it that I'm almost dancing, which is pretty big stuff. I mean, the only time I dance is if (a) I'm completely hammered, (b) Indiana wins a big basketball game or (c) uh ... I'm completely hammered. They follow that up with "Hungry Like The Wolf", and it's go time. Unfortunately, it's go as in leave, because our buddy Mark is under the weather ... but it was worth the $9 just for those two songs.

The rest of the night was spent back at my friend Ricky's joint. Our host even treated us to a tremendous air guitar/dancing jig which we managed to get on video. Unfortunately, Ricky's kinda like Superman ... he's mild mannered by day, and a bit on the crazy side at night, so the video's been locked away. I'm working on the key.

Ah, and to reference the above, as I'm going to bed, I hear this noise out side, which sorta freaked me out. I peek out the window ... and there's the paper dude. Oof.

I'm off to Vegas in exactly 48 hours! Boo yah!

Ok, break out your cracked ass jokes, cuz I've got one. We'll get back to that in a bit, but hold that thought ... or forget about it, and I'll remind you. I'm not picky.

Let's see ... Friday night ... we're in search of a decent place to go for happy hour. Tried Looney's , which wasn't too bad price-wise. 'Course, my question after going there is where do women go for happy hour? I seem to be developing this knack for finding places without women. Not a good knack. I'd like to get rid of that knack, in fact. I wouldn't mind being knack-less.

Went home after happy hour, and took a nice, long hot shower. The one good thing I like about winter (and there aren't many things) is hot showers. The bad thing about winter? Getting out of hot showers. Bleh. 'Course, I made sure I had a nice drink in the shower with me. I'd hate to sober up.

So, we hit some place in Federal Hill, and I'm standing around in the bar, and this woman comes up to me and tells me that I look like "the gay guy on the Real World". Unfortunately, I sorta skimmed the first episode just too see how the girls look, so I didn't really know if this was a compliment or not, so I just sorta gave her a blank look. It's entirely possible that I was too drunk to process this information, too. Hmm. There was very little progression in our conversation after that.

An aside ... speaking of the Real World, this Svetlana girl is way hot. Jeez. She's also 19. I personally think that no women under 21 should be allowed to look that good. That should be a law. She also wears hoop earrings. If she puts on a choker, I'm ... well, I have no idea what I'm going to do, I'm just a huge fan of hoops and chokers, especially on unbelievably attractive brunettes. Probably best to move on from this subject.

The rest of Friday was fairly tame. I did check out the karaoke joint, where I ran into two people I know. There was Miles, who was so drunk he couldn't see me, and Mark, who was completely sober (not a good state of being in that bar). Mark bought me a drink, which was cool. Miles ... well, Miles did what he usually does ... speak in some language that's close to English and scare off women. Split there, then I delivered some pizza from Maria D's to a friend late night, and crashed pretty hard.

Saturday, the entire day was planned around college hoop, as it will be for the next few weekends. Started working on the shampoo buzz at around 8. Had a shower, a nice long rock concert (learned to play the Tom Petty song "Wildflowers", which is just a cool song in general), then decided to skip all foreplay and go straight to Portside.

One of the odder nights there. I'll try to keep this story short, but it may bloat a tad. A few months ago, I met a young lady there named Darla. At one point in the convo, I got her number, but after that, the whole thing seemed to go kinda downhill. Hard to pinpoint why (one of those chemistry sorta things), but it just did, so I didn't end up calling her. Cut to Friday night. I'm in Magerk's, and I see this woman who I think is pretty toasty. I mention that to one of the ladies we're with, and she immediately grabs my hand, drags me over to the woman, and introduces us. Now, THAT'S being a wingwoman ... well, it's actually a little over the top, but still fun.

Anyway, right after the intro, Darla runs up, grabs this woman's arm, and drags her away. I didn't really recognize Darla, since I've only met her one time and it was a few months ago, and I think she got a little ticked about that. Sheesh. End of that part of the story.

Cut to Saturday. I'm in Portside putzing around, and the woman from Friday night that I find quite toasty comes up and mentions that she met me last night. I don't remember all of the details of our conversation (things got a little fuzzy after the Duke/NC game), but at one point, she mentioned that Darla said we slept together. WTF? I'm pretty sure those letters popped out on my forehead. I spent most of the rest of the night puzzling over this, and I don't puzzle well. In fact, I'm a really poor puzzler, and puzzling usually doesn't make me happy.

So, I ended up heading home, and this is where the cracked ass part comes into play. I'm walking down my stairs to get water or another hit of heroin or something, and right towards the bottom, I slipped and landed right on my hip. Ok, it wasn't my ass, but it sounds funnier that way. It was pretty comical at the time, and it still is ... except for the huge bruise I have on my hip. No wimping around on this baby - it's dark purple. Sweet!

'Course, I blame it all on Darla. Heh. Oh, the final beauty - I drove my car to the Square, then took a cab home on Saturday. Walked out Monday to go to work, and realized I had forgotten to pick up my car on Sunday. Kwality stuff! Nuttin' like a 10 block walk on a crisp Monday morning with a bruised hip. Hooah!

Listen to "Love Is (What I Say)" by INXS and you'll understand why I miss Michael Hutchence so much. What an incredible presence his voice brought to their music. He will never, ever, ever, ever be replaced. You hear me, remaining members of INXS and fake lead singer?! NEVER!

The New Adventures of Old Christine. What a horrendous name for a show. I mean, seriously, I would just love to be in the room when people think this stuff up, just to see which dopes really think it's a good idea. All those brilliant ideas, like giving Ashlee Simpson a reality show, feeding the tuna fish mayonnaise, and all that stuff.

Speaking of Simpsons, the video for "These Boots Are Made For Walking" by Jessica Simpson is quite the watch. I stood in the gym and just stared at the screen slack jawed when it was on the other day. The great thing about that was I had my iPod on, so I didn't have to hear the song, because it's one of the worst remakes I've ever heard. Just awful stuff. I'd rather poke myself in the eye with a stick than listen to that song.