What fucking chick invented men's stretchy-cotton? I hate it! Whatever happened to plain-old coarse, shrinkable, shape-retaining cotton shirts, shorts and pants? Now they need to stretch? Tell you what, next time I need stretchable clothes, I'll change into my sweats, grab a box of tampons [sponsor name name available here for adequate price] and curl up on the couch with my cat and a 5-pound bar of chocolate.
If dog owners have to pick up their pet's excrement in public places, why don't horse riders have to do the same? Afterall, horses leave a larger load. I'm tired of hiking trails covered in horse shit. Arnold, screw the budget, can't you get on the important stuff?
I hadn't been to a toga party in probably 15 years. Until last night.
I was up at the Lake Tahoe ski house all weekend and met up with other house mates Mike, Therese, Eric and Eric's friend, AJ. While skiing on Saturday, Therese's friend Jamie invited us to her ski house for a toga party planned for that evening. Toga party? When it's 25 degrees outside? We'll, why not?
We went back to our ski house around 4:00 and fired-up the recently cleaned hot tub. Beers were going down easy for the guys and Jamie and Therese split a bottle of champagne, then more beers. Eventually, we were all in the hot tub, and soon the pipe made a lap around the hot tub, too. We were feeling good, I even dropped a sand dollar in the box for Jerry's Squids, for the halibut. Wait, that's another story...
After Mike concocted his surf and turf birthday dinner consisting of prime rib and abalone, we raided the linen cabinet for our evening attire. I chose a cream color scheme, ala the SF Giants home unis. AJ went with a floral selection, and Jamie went with a white sheet over her ski gear. She promised to shed a few layers upon arriving at her house for the party. Mike went with a burgundy toga, with no support underneath. Mike would later confess that his thin layer of clothing revealed his arousal at the party when he and Jamie were getting close. Presumably Mike was able to lower the flag before we all piled in the hot tub at the party house, because at that point, there was nothing to hide anything on anybody.
After we cleared out of the hot tub and re-fitted our toga's, we returned to the party house. This place was a classic, complete with a PC full of MP3s and a dance stage with a pole. Jamie provided some solid entertainment as we slipped some $1's around, under and in her shorts.
Ahhh, nothing signals the beginning of spring (or the unofficial beginning of summer) like Opening Day, especially when it's 72 degrees without a cloud in the sky.
My brother Davi and I met on the train and got out to the ballyard at around noon. The place was hopping, every bar was spilling out into the streets. Therefore, we decided to head over to the Java House, which has almost become a opening day tradition for us. But it seems every year the Java House gets a little more popular, and this year was no exception.
No to be denied, I braved the beer line while Davi found a spot for us to imbibe. Before long, we were doing just that. Then we headed into the ballpark, taking note of the new billboards, vending stands and, of course, the inflated beer prices. Just for the record, you can get yourself a 14 oz domestic beer for $7.75, or upgrade to a microbrew for a cool $8. That's only a quarter more than last year, right? But I am going to start looking into a pair of bar-noculars...
Davi and I made our way down to our seats in time to see new Dodger Jeff Kent receive his San Francisco welcome. Then we saw Barry get cheered to tears and the traditional fly-over. Davi and I sprawled amongst the four empty seats to our right, but we knew our comfy accommodations would end at any time. Except it didn't. Believe it or not, the clown who owns the four seats next to us didn't even come to opening day. It was paradise! Who woulda thunk?
As the game went on, Edgardo Alfonso's 2-run HR plus a few Dodger errors were enough for the Giants to take the game 4-2. And guess what? My forrmer party-animal-brother-turned-mormon joined in the festival-like atmosphere and enjoyed two post-game beers on the Acme Chophouse patio and even indulged in a double G&T on the train ride home!
Whatever you do, don't give his wife the link to this blog.
Webster's Collegiate Dictionary defines oblivion as "the fact or condition of forgetting or having forgotton, the condition of being oblivious, the condition or state of being forgotton or unknown. Lacking active concious knowledge or awareness."
However, the interesting thing to me is the varying degree of states of oblivion.
The fat lady in the Expedition driving 60 in the fast lane of a six lane highway is certainly oblivious, but she is in a very different place from the college student who just took five bong-hits or the boxer lying on the canvas after the 10-count. Or is she?
