I’m hoping this weekend doesn’t get spoiled by the weather; but when you live in Pennsylvania, that’s almost like pleading to the Reaper. Nothing you say or do is going to change the outcome.
Today’s my mother’s birthday, so I’m doing the whole “best-son-ever” bit and taking her out to dinner. Afterwards I’ll probably hit the bar with Haze and our friend “Gay Hulk.” [He’s not actually gay; but after a few days in the sun he’s pink, muscle-bound, and irritable. Hence… “You wouldn’t like me when I’m sassy!”] This plan is hardly cemented, though, so I could end up just saving myself for tomorrow.
What’s tomorrow, you ask? Only the 4th Annual Round Hill Park Picnic, a boozefest held by my friend K-Man at a large public park in sunny Elizabeth, PA. Cold beer, tons of food, beer pong, flip cup, and lots of cute girls usually means good times for all. Two years ago our boy Tony got so drunk at the picnic that, later that night at Todd’s by the Bridge, he leaned back and yanked two large rails out of the bar while falling backwards through the kitchen door. Last year, K-Man was hammered to the point where—in broad daylight—he began urinating on a tree that stood in the middle of the park, not hidden in the woods (where everyone else tends to do it). I hope to avoid both of those ends tomorrow, but I’ll settle for 1 of 2.
Not to mention: Game 4 of the Stanley Cup Finals, which is definitely going to add to my intake, no matter how it turns out. The Pens should tie up the series tomorrow; and if they play like they did on Wednesday, they will tie it up. And then the city of Detroit can collectively suck a fat one. Cheers.