Wrong Again

Headbutt.

Let's get this out of the way: Villanova: leading me straight to Vegas.

Remember a few weeks ago, how I told you that whenever I speak to my mom she's always right? She could tell me that tomorrow the sun is going to set in the East, a hummingbird will form it's own multi-national conglomerate, and Pennsylvania will take it's rightful spot down on the bottom of the ocean and she'd be right on all three accounts.

Well, I went against what she said again that few weeks ago. "I'm smarter than her this time" was my thinking.

I'm never thinking again.

Not that I'm complaining one bit about her being right this time. Her being right has led to a cold, a bunch of nights where I get maybe 4 hours of sleep, and seeing a guy pee in the middle of an intersection.

But if you knew what I knew, it's been oh. so. worth it. And trust me, you wish you knew what I knew.

So worth it.

K bye.

Absolutely Brilliant

The article about Victoria is absolute genius. Seriously.

Bring It On

A semi-dehydrated headbutt for you.

Let's get this out of the way: ice cream, while thought to be a good idea at the time, can only lead to certain tragedy.

First things first: I am going to die.

Now that we've moved the countdown to right around Joe Torre, I figure it's time to let everyone one of you in on the top secret festivities that are being planned for the week. Yes I did say week; you only get one birthday a year, you might as well celebrate for an entire week, just to make sure that there is absolutely no chance you'll be able to walk, breath, or function the day after.

Wednesday night: a nice, quiet dinner out, provided that Memphis didn't swallow someone whole with its sheer magnitude of delight. Just a note: sorry, you aren't invited to this one. You can try to crash the party, but I imagine that this guy might have something to say about it.

Thursday night: company happy hour. Unless you happen to work with me, or are very adept at disguises and espionage, you sadly are not invited to this one again. But once the company tab closes, you could probably join myself and the other lushes that like to stay out until we've closed down our mandatory three bars.

Friday night: an early birthday happy hour. Since it's more than three days away I don't know where it will be, but everyone is invited to this one. If you don't show up, again, this guy will be pissed.

Saturday: ahhh, the magical day. Shamrock Fest in Ballston is our starting destination, followed by a dinner, and then a night out on the town. Should you join us for one of the three? Yes, yes you should.

Sunday: funeral services will be held for me in my bedroom. Visiting hours will be from 3-5, bring flowers.

There's schedule, now you have no excuses (unless you happen to be in Myrtle Beach. I completely understand that one.) Join in the fun.

K bye.

We Can Form a Moped Gang And Call It Salt And Pepper, Since We Both Like Salt And Pepper On Our Fries

Headbutt.

Let's get this out of the way: the countdown's been set to Yogi Berra.

First things first: how does she do it?

I've come to a lot of realizations in my life. I'll never get the chance to play center field for the Yankees. I will always have a lazy eye in most pictures. However, one of the most important realizations I've had is that my mom is ALWAYS right. It doesn't matter the subject or the advice, she will inevitably be right.

I used to ask my mom for advice, mostly about girls (because she is a girl and all, and has some insight into their mysterious thinking and culture. I say these phrases are different words for "complete insanity", but I digress). Whatever advice my mother gave, I would always go completely against it, thinking, "this is gonna be the time that mom has no idea what she's talking about. I can't lose."

I always lost.

As I progress in years, I've come to learn that whatever my mother says, I should follow. For instance, she told me not to get that Burmese tiger a few weeks back. The tiger went on a rampage and destroyed half of Kuala Lumpur, so it looks like I made a good deal on that one.

Now, there are times when she might try to talk me out of something, like when I was contemplating buying that sweet bike to take over some jumps. I look at these moments as merely a test, with her wanting to see for herself the strength of my convictions. What do my convictions say?

I have finally not lost.

Either that or thank god baseball season is back. How I've missed you so.

K bye.