Weekend Re-cap
Friday, 07:30 pm: Arrive at Steak & Ale for my birthday 'celebration'. Why Steak & Ale? 'Cause I like steak and I like ale. And I'm not very creative. We're half an hour late.
Friday, 07:42 pm: With two kids under the age of one joining us for dinner, "So when are YOU going to start having kids?" is asked for the 297th time of the evening.
Friday, 08:04 pm: I've decided that I'm not going to drink tonight. I'm going to cash in on my birthday sex after dinner and I don't want any problems with my equipment.
Friday, 08:20 pm: Dinner conversations are pretty boring when I'm not drinking. Talk is about a man that thought he was a bear. Turns out that in a fight between a man that thinks he is a bear and a real bear, the bear wins. Who'd of thunk it?
Friday, 08:35 pm: Gift time.
---Flashback to Monday---
The Wife: Your parents and your sister want to know what you want for your birthday. I already told them that you don't want gift cards or cash.
Roman: Just tell them to put some thought into it. As long as it's not cash or gift cards, I don't care.
The Wife: Are you sure?
Roman: Yeah. OH! WAIT! Tell them I want Madden '06.
---End Flashback---
Friday, 08:36 pm: Open the gift from the sister and brother-in-law. It's a gift card to Sears.
Friday, 08:37 pm: Open the gift from the folks. It's a shirt that looks like a tablecloth and some cash.
Friday, 08:39 pm: Open the gift from my lady. Napolean Dynamite and a gift card to Sears.
Friday, 08:40 pm: Open the gift from my best friend and his wife. It's a gift card to Lowe's.
Talk about a twist. Before, they used to just get me crappy gifts. Now they're going out of their way to give me exactly want I DON'T want. Now THAT'S funny.
You might be wondering "Sears? Who the fuck shops at Sears?"
Not me, but let me explain. You see, the wife got me this workbench and a some kind of saw and drill (from Sears) for Christmas. Eight months later, the workbench is still in it's ridiculously large and heavy box in my living room. So I figure my loving wife told everyone to get me gift cards there so that I'd buy more tools and start using all that crap. What a peach.
Do they sell Madden at Sears?
Friday, 08:45 pm: My parents open their anniversary gift from me and the wife. It's nice bottle of tequila. They love sitting outside and sipping on Margaritas. Even my dad, which I think is kind of queer, but whatev. As summer comes to a close, a bottle of Don Julio is the perfect gift.
Friday, 08:46 pm: My sister informs the folks that she'll be giving them their gift "later." And she's their favorite. Good times.
Friday, 09:20 pm: Someone gets carrot cake for dessert. Which leads to talk of carrots. Which leads to talk of rabbits. Which leads to talk of, you guessed it, this damn bear-man. If you ever get in a fight with a bear, you might want to shoot him with a gun because apparently hitting him with a frying pan just makes him angry.
Friday, 10:07 pm: I get home just in time to catch the end of the game.
Friday, 10:08 pm: Spoke too soon. A two hour game? Wow. Sounds like Johan brought his "A Game". Haren too. I didn't expect for us to win this game, so I'm not too pissed. I'll catch the end of the Angels' game instead.
Friday, 10:10 pm: Willie Bloomquist sucks. I'm fairly certain the A's are kissing sole possession of first place goodbye.
Friday, 10:15 pm: JJ Putz sucks too. Bye-bye first place. Now I'm a little pissed.
Friday, 10:40 pm: I catch a Costas Now segment on Dock Ellis before retiring for the night. I thought I had heard it all. That might be the greatest baseball story ever.
Saturday, 09:00 am: Game time. My eight-year-old nephew has his first football scrimmage. In his short life, he's done Kung Fu, swimming, tennis and now football. I think he starts his guitar lessons next week. No baseball because it's "boring." What a dick.
Saturday, 09:15 am: It's apparent that the other team isn't showing up, so I'm in for a morning of drills. Even though my nephew has demonstrated over the past month that he's the fastest kid (by a long shot) on the team, it's been decided by his coaches that he's going to play linebacker. Outside linebacker. Guess who's playing tailback? That's right, the coach's son. He's the smallest kid on the team. Morons.
Saturday, 09:35 am: I'm convinced that my nephew can't tackle.
Saturday, 09:50 am: Now we're talking. One of these stupid drills has my boy playing tailback. Three carries, three touchdowns. He made some pretty sweet cuts too. And I'm not just saying that. Take note of number 63, you douchebags.
Saturday, 09:55 am: Now he's an offensive lineman.
Saturday, 10:00 am: Now he's a defensive lineman. This is a really stupid drill.
Saturday, 10:04 am: Now he's playing linebacker. He still can't tackle.
Saturday, 12:02 pm: I start cleaning out the garage so that I can put this workbench together. Guess the wife's plan worked.
Saturday, 02:00 pm: Game time. I have to listen (thanks, FOX). Actually watching isn't an option since I'm still cleaning this damn garage.
Saturday, 03:25 pm: Still cleaning. CD's I have found so far that I had forgotten that I even owned: Radiohead - Hail to the Thief, 40 Below Summer - Invitation to the Dance. I also found a dishwasher hidden in one of the back corners. An EFFING DISHWASHER! This garage is a fucking mess.
Saturday, 03:35 pm: I quit. The garage actually looks a little worse now than it did when I started. Looks like the toolbench ain't getting put together today.
Saturday, 03:40 pm: Since I'm not doing anything, the wife asks if I can "help her" wash the dog (the Rottweiler, not the Bassett Hound). Here's a little secret for all you single guys out there: When your wife asks you for help, she really wants you to do it yourself while she stands there and tells you how you're doing it all wrong. This can get particularly frustrating when your wife "needs help" moving furniture.
Saturday, 03:50 pm: It's raining now. And the dog still "needs another lathering". God is a pretty funny character.
Saturday, 04:15 pm: Time to get ready. My wife is trying to set up one of her friends with one of my dad's friends. There's only...oh...12 years separating these two love birds. The girl just graduated from college in May. The guy's been a lawyer for at least 10 years. I'm sure they're going to have tons in common. I'm getting dragged along to dinner and a concert on this little triple date.
Saturday, 05:30 pm: Arrive at dinner. The wife's friend isn't a bad looking girl, she's just a little chubby. She'd probably be pretty hot if she dropped about 30 pounds. Her juggs are enormous.
Saturday, 06:00 pm: My dad's friend arrives half an hour late. His juggs are enormous.
Saturday, 06:15 pm: It's pretty obvious that these two are completely incompatible. But the night is still young. Let's see what happens.
Saturday, 06:25 pm: Talk turns to the concert that we're about to go to. It's a Beatles tribute band that plays nothing but songs released in 1964. My dad's buddy is a pretty accomplished guitar player and could probably play every Beatles song ever. My wife's friend can't even name all four Beatles. She didn't know George, of course.
This is a disaster.
Saturday, 06:45 pm: "Did you hear about that guy that lived with the bears?"
Saturday, 07:23 pm: I've decided that our waiter is the best waiter in the history of restaurants. His name is Scott and he's obviously a gay. I bet he could bag my wife's friend before man-juggs over there.
Saturday, 08:05 pm: The concert is under way. The love birds are sitting next to each other and some jackass right behind me keeps yelling, "I LOVE YOU, JOHN!!!"
John's dead, asswipe.
Saturday, 08:10 pm: My wife leans over and asks, "Which one is supposed to be Ringo?"
Saturday, 08:27 pm: These guys REALLY look and sound like the Beatles. But I guess that's the point.
Saturday, 09:00 pm: Intermission and this recording keeps reminding people that "CDs of this performance are available in the lobby." Now why would I buy a CD of these jackasses when I could just buy a CD of the REAL Beatles?
Saturday, 09:15 pm: Concert's back on and "Paul" wants us to get on our feet. Good grief.
Saturday, 09:37 pm: I'm still standing. Paul is now officially my least favorite Beatle.
Saturday, 10:18 pm: Concert's finally over and we're off to get some drinks.
Saturday, 10:25 pm: Guess the wife's friend wants to send the message that she's not interested. She sits between my wife and my dad. Ouch.
Saturday, 10:43 pm: I think I just fell a sleep for a little bit. Guess the Red Bull didn't work. I wonder if the vodka cancels out the liquid Speed.
Saturday, 10:55 pm: This waiter sucks. He's gay too. My drink's been empty for like 15 minutes. Scott would have been all over this.
Saturday, 11:25 pm: No bear talk so far. We're all about insects tonight. Did you know that if a brown recluse spider bites your penis and it goes untreated for four days, that they have to cut off half of your penis (length-wise)? Yeah, me neither.
Saturday, 11:40 pm: I'm going home. The wife's friend goes home with us. No night cap for the two love birds. The wife asks what she thought.
"He's perfect... for my aunt."
Good times.
Friday, 07:42 pm: With two kids under the age of one joining us for dinner, "So when are YOU going to start having kids?" is asked for the 297th time of the evening.
Friday, 08:04 pm: I've decided that I'm not going to drink tonight. I'm going to cash in on my birthday sex after dinner and I don't want any problems with my equipment.
Friday, 08:20 pm: Dinner conversations are pretty boring when I'm not drinking. Talk is about a man that thought he was a bear. Turns out that in a fight between a man that thinks he is a bear and a real bear, the bear wins. Who'd of thunk it?
Friday, 08:35 pm: Gift time.
---Flashback to Monday---
The Wife: Your parents and your sister want to know what you want for your birthday. I already told them that you don't want gift cards or cash.
Roman: Just tell them to put some thought into it. As long as it's not cash or gift cards, I don't care.
The Wife: Are you sure?
Roman: Yeah. OH! WAIT! Tell them I want Madden '06.
---End Flashback---
Friday, 08:36 pm: Open the gift from the sister and brother-in-law. It's a gift card to Sears.
Friday, 08:37 pm: Open the gift from the folks. It's a shirt that looks like a tablecloth and some cash.
"I put the receipt in there in case you don't like it."In case??? You know you're not the favorite child when your mom finds a gift that she knows you aren't going to like and gives it to you anyway.
--Mom
Friday, 08:39 pm: Open the gift from my lady. Napolean Dynamite and a gift card to Sears.
Friday, 08:40 pm: Open the gift from my best friend and his wife. It's a gift card to Lowe's.
Talk about a twist. Before, they used to just get me crappy gifts. Now they're going out of their way to give me exactly want I DON'T want. Now THAT'S funny.
You might be wondering "Sears? Who the fuck shops at Sears?"
Not me, but let me explain. You see, the wife got me this workbench and a some kind of saw and drill (from Sears) for Christmas. Eight months later, the workbench is still in it's ridiculously large and heavy box in my living room. So I figure my loving wife told everyone to get me gift cards there so that I'd buy more tools and start using all that crap. What a peach.
Do they sell Madden at Sears?
Friday, 08:45 pm: My parents open their anniversary gift from me and the wife. It's nice bottle of tequila. They love sitting outside and sipping on Margaritas. Even my dad, which I think is kind of queer, but whatev. As summer comes to a close, a bottle of Don Julio is the perfect gift.
Friday, 08:46 pm: My sister informs the folks that she'll be giving them their gift "later." And she's their favorite. Good times.
Friday, 09:20 pm: Someone gets carrot cake for dessert. Which leads to talk of carrots. Which leads to talk of rabbits. Which leads to talk of, you guessed it, this damn bear-man. If you ever get in a fight with a bear, you might want to shoot him with a gun because apparently hitting him with a frying pan just makes him angry.
Friday, 10:07 pm: I get home just in time to catch the end of the game.
Friday, 10:08 pm: Spoke too soon. A two hour game? Wow. Sounds like Johan brought his "A Game". Haren too. I didn't expect for us to win this game, so I'm not too pissed. I'll catch the end of the Angels' game instead.
Friday, 10:10 pm: Willie Bloomquist sucks. I'm fairly certain the A's are kissing sole possession of first place goodbye.
Friday, 10:15 pm: JJ Putz sucks too. Bye-bye first place. Now I'm a little pissed.
Friday, 10:40 pm: I catch a Costas Now segment on Dock Ellis before retiring for the night. I thought I had heard it all. That might be the greatest baseball story ever.
Saturday, 09:00 am: Game time. My eight-year-old nephew has his first football scrimmage. In his short life, he's done Kung Fu, swimming, tennis and now football. I think he starts his guitar lessons next week. No baseball because it's "boring." What a dick.
Saturday, 09:15 am: It's apparent that the other team isn't showing up, so I'm in for a morning of drills. Even though my nephew has demonstrated over the past month that he's the fastest kid (by a long shot) on the team, it's been decided by his coaches that he's going to play linebacker. Outside linebacker. Guess who's playing tailback? That's right, the coach's son. He's the smallest kid on the team. Morons.
Saturday, 09:35 am: I'm convinced that my nephew can't tackle.
Saturday, 09:50 am: Now we're talking. One of these stupid drills has my boy playing tailback. Three carries, three touchdowns. He made some pretty sweet cuts too. And I'm not just saying that. Take note of number 63, you douchebags.
Saturday, 09:55 am: Now he's an offensive lineman.
Saturday, 10:00 am: Now he's a defensive lineman. This is a really stupid drill.
Saturday, 10:04 am: Now he's playing linebacker. He still can't tackle.
Saturday, 12:02 pm: I start cleaning out the garage so that I can put this workbench together. Guess the wife's plan worked.
Saturday, 02:00 pm: Game time. I have to listen (thanks, FOX). Actually watching isn't an option since I'm still cleaning this damn garage.
Saturday, 03:25 pm: Still cleaning. CD's I have found so far that I had forgotten that I even owned: Radiohead - Hail to the Thief, 40 Below Summer - Invitation to the Dance. I also found a dishwasher hidden in one of the back corners. An EFFING DISHWASHER! This garage is a fucking mess.
Saturday, 03:35 pm: I quit. The garage actually looks a little worse now than it did when I started. Looks like the toolbench ain't getting put together today.
Saturday, 03:40 pm: Since I'm not doing anything, the wife asks if I can "help her" wash the dog (the Rottweiler, not the Bassett Hound). Here's a little secret for all you single guys out there: When your wife asks you for help, she really wants you to do it yourself while she stands there and tells you how you're doing it all wrong. This can get particularly frustrating when your wife "needs help" moving furniture.
Saturday, 03:50 pm: It's raining now. And the dog still "needs another lathering". God is a pretty funny character.
Saturday, 04:15 pm: Time to get ready. My wife is trying to set up one of her friends with one of my dad's friends. There's only...oh...12 years separating these two love birds. The girl just graduated from college in May. The guy's been a lawyer for at least 10 years. I'm sure they're going to have tons in common. I'm getting dragged along to dinner and a concert on this little triple date.
Saturday, 05:30 pm: Arrive at dinner. The wife's friend isn't a bad looking girl, she's just a little chubby. She'd probably be pretty hot if she dropped about 30 pounds. Her juggs are enormous.
Saturday, 06:00 pm: My dad's friend arrives half an hour late. His juggs are enormous.
Saturday, 06:15 pm: It's pretty obvious that these two are completely incompatible. But the night is still young. Let's see what happens.
Saturday, 06:25 pm: Talk turns to the concert that we're about to go to. It's a Beatles tribute band that plays nothing but songs released in 1964. My dad's buddy is a pretty accomplished guitar player and could probably play every Beatles song ever. My wife's friend can't even name all four Beatles. She didn't know George, of course.
This is a disaster.
Saturday, 06:45 pm: "Did you hear about that guy that lived with the bears?"
Saturday, 07:23 pm: I've decided that our waiter is the best waiter in the history of restaurants. His name is Scott and he's obviously a gay. I bet he could bag my wife's friend before man-juggs over there.
Saturday, 08:05 pm: The concert is under way. The love birds are sitting next to each other and some jackass right behind me keeps yelling, "I LOVE YOU, JOHN!!!"
John's dead, asswipe.
Saturday, 08:10 pm: My wife leans over and asks, "Which one is supposed to be Ringo?"
Saturday, 08:27 pm: These guys REALLY look and sound like the Beatles. But I guess that's the point.
Saturday, 09:00 pm: Intermission and this recording keeps reminding people that "CDs of this performance are available in the lobby." Now why would I buy a CD of these jackasses when I could just buy a CD of the REAL Beatles?
Saturday, 09:15 pm: Concert's back on and "Paul" wants us to get on our feet. Good grief.
Saturday, 09:37 pm: I'm still standing. Paul is now officially my least favorite Beatle.
Saturday, 10:18 pm: Concert's finally over and we're off to get some drinks.
Saturday, 10:25 pm: Guess the wife's friend wants to send the message that she's not interested. She sits between my wife and my dad. Ouch.
Saturday, 10:43 pm: I think I just fell a sleep for a little bit. Guess the Red Bull didn't work. I wonder if the vodka cancels out the liquid Speed.
Saturday, 10:55 pm: This waiter sucks. He's gay too. My drink's been empty for like 15 minutes. Scott would have been all over this.
Saturday, 11:25 pm: No bear talk so far. We're all about insects tonight. Did you know that if a brown recluse spider bites your penis and it goes untreated for four days, that they have to cut off half of your penis (length-wise)? Yeah, me neither.
Saturday, 11:40 pm: I'm going home. The wife's friend goes home with us. No night cap for the two love birds. The wife asks what she thought.
"He's perfect... for my aunt."
Good times.
posted by Roman at 10:44 AM
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