>> I had a fantastic time seeing everyone over Christmas break. Weisser, sorry I didn't make it downtown Saturday night, you're probably the only person I didn't get to see all week and I feel bad. After that many nights in Grand Forks, though, I was a little Bonzers'd out. Plus our blackjack table at Southgate was Hansel, I couldn't walk away from it. If we could've just figured out a way to hook up a tape recorder at our blackjack table on Saturday night, I could just press play right now and it would be the funniest shit ever. If you don't believe me,
Cheese was there, and he's a much more reliable source. I don't think I went more than like 7 seconds without laughing. I'd like to think that's what heaven is....just me and my friends playing blackjack, not winning a ton of money but never losing any, ordering drinks that make strangers question our sexuality (or at least look at us weird), doubling down on hard 14s, and making fun of anything and everything (but mostly each other.) Not that I need to concern myself with what heaven is like, since I'm clearly not ever getting that call-up to the majors.
>> I've gotten over my initial anger over the Yankees buying all these players this off-season. Fuck them. It's more fun when everyone hates the Yankees, and it's not like they've won anything since they started this philosophy of buying everyone in sight. I like how they wouldn't trade for Johan last year because they wanted to start building their farm system, then they missed the playoffs, and now they're spending $420 million in a single month. Nice one-year plan, you gaybots. Go fuck yourselves. Look what the Yankees do to me. They get me riled up and pissed off and now I'm sweating.
(For the sole purpose of pointing out how I lie to myself every day, I'm not going to edit that last paragraph. Look at the opening sentence. I say "I'm over my initial anger" then go on to bitch and moan for 150 words. So apparently I'm over my initial anger, but I've moved on to ulcer-inducing rage. Fair enough.)
>> My New Year's Eve is going to suck. Alex is still back home in NoDak, and I'm working on New Year's Day so I can take the 2nd off, so I can drive to Minneapolis to help Bergman move in to his new place on New Year's Day night and stay through the weekend. Yayyy more driving. But Bergman helped us move down here in 105 degree weather, so I suppose I owe him.
When I went to Vegas for New Year's in both 2005 and 2006, of course it was awesome at the time...but now it's ruined my whole perception of the day, like nothing I can do can top that, and so I don't want to do anything at all. So when that clock strikes midnight, and you're getting shitcanned and/or kissing your special someone (or getting shitcanned, realizing you're the only one at the party without someone to kiss, running into the streets, tracking down the shopping cart lady who lives under the Sorlie Bridge, and promising her a bottle of Cutty Sark if she comes to the party and makes out with you...man, New Year's Eve 2003 was a great night) think of me. I'll be on my couch- definitely giving my Playstation 3 a good workout; probably wearing my Elvis sunglasses I obtained in Vegas; possibly trying to get to second base with my piece of the 2008 Final Four court; and without a doubt softly weeping to myself.
>> Three mini-stories from Christmas break that made me giggle because of their stupidity:
1. We found out that a girl we graduated high school with is getting married this weekend in Minneapolis, while I'll be up there visiting. We're acquaintances with said girl, but we're not invited. Bergman's quote, said in complete seriousness: "Dude, we should totally crash that wedding! NOBODY would know!" Ummmm, yeah. Nobody besides around 50 people we gruaduated with, and the bride herself. If we can just avoid them all night, we're totally in the clear, bro.
2. Whenever someone from back home sees me chewing for the first time and starts to yell at me** I usually respond with some dumbass comment like
"I just went to the dentist today, this is actually gauze" or
"I got in a fistfight with my mom because she overcooked my steak, and she caught me with a mean left jab and it swelled up." I obviously don't expect them to believe it, it's basically just something to diffuse the situation or throw them off-track so I don't have to listen to a girl lecture me for 3 minutes of my life that I'll never get back. So when Hanna saw the bulge in my lip and started in with her lecture, I told her that I just got back from the dentist. Her reply: "And how is that an excuse to start chewing?!?" As I busted out laughing, she went right into her little schpiel about cancer....all the while puffing on a cigarette. When I was a 21-year-old girl, was I that ditzy too?
**unless of course it's another dude seeing me chew for the first time. Then I usually get a fist pound, or a comment like "You know, every time I used to look out at you, I would just get this overwhelming feeling, like I wanted to just kick your ass. Now you seem, I don't know....cooler. Or tougher. Have you been lifting regularly?"
3. Cheese mentioned this for just a second, but I'll expound on it: Ike, Bergman, Haley, and I went out for lunch one day. Then we helped Bergman haul furniture for the upcoming move...yada yada yada, we ended up at the blackjack table drinking beers at 2 in the afternoon because we felt we deserved it after our "hard work." Ike gets a call from Andrea, and he immediately starts lying about his whereabouts. After a couple minutes of dancing around questions, she gets him to admit that he's gambling and boozing. She then tells him it's their six-month anniversary. Trying to salvage the situation by making a joke, Ike exclaims, "You mean it's March 17th already?!?!"
Let's just say it didn't salvage the situation, and I see a flower shop in Ike's immediate future. I just hope that there will be a one-year anniversary. When all your friends start getting married, but all your friends are still idiots...good times. Good times.
Fotos de Ana Bárbara (Altagracia Ugalde Mota) - Cantante y actriz mexicana
FOTOS DE DINA PAUCAR 
