balding angrily

Jerry and I went out with Jen-An and Owen last night, and we had a wonderful time. I mentioned in passing our trip to Vancouver and some of the hijinks, and in Dallas we’re getting to that kind of weather we had last year in Vancouver. The days are beautiful, but they’re not so hot that you have to be indoors when the sun is out. Last night was the perfect meal because the sun went down late, we ate on a patio, our waitress was increibly charming, and we laughed a lot. We also went to a wine bar after dinner. Let me bullet my way through some key events.

• Jen-An in her final act of drunketude thought it would be really funny to slap me on the back of the neck and on the top of my bald head repeatedly. I think she did damage to my pituitary gland which caused me to have a massive muscle cramp/spasm in the middle of the night. This happens to me every so often; my calf muscle will, with a mind of it’s own, contract painfully while I scream, wake up Jerry, and sometimes cry. I looked it up, but there are a lot of things and words I don’t understand. So, I’ll assume that my big manly calf muscle likes to show off.
• We spilled about our moms, and fantasized of the days we will have to put them down. I’m hoping that the SPCA will do it for free if I put her in some stage make-up that makes it look like she’s got mange or rabies. Red-Haired Mom is coming on Monday, so we made plans for Jen-An and Owen to meet her. In our talking about family, Jen-An and I recognized in each other a kindred due to our families being drunkards. Jerry and I are already thinking about the amount of vodka we’ll have to buy to sate Red-Haired Mom and White Beard’s martini appetite.
• I zoned out at one point and had to come clean about it when I saw that they were looking at me for a response to whatever they were yakking about during my time in the stars. I said, “Guys…honestly, I’m sorry. I’ve been in a different place for the last two minutes, nodding and smiling on auto-pilot. What were you talking about?” This brought up the subject of my ADD tendencies.
• I had chicken wrapped in ham. Chicken. Wrapped. In. Ham, I tell ya. You could almost taste the decadent excess. It was yummy-delicious. Sorry, Crump. I loves the flesh of the innocent animal, the more innocent and cruelly treated during life the better. I kid. I can’t eat veal, even though I loves it. And the one time I had fois gras, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Then I found out about how they kill the duck to make fois gras. Never again. But, damn, it was good. How come cruelty has to taste so delicious?
• We got off on a camera-phone picture-taking bonanza somehow. Jen-An wanted to show off her pretty red phone, but then spent the next half hour trying to figure out how the camera worked. This was right before she turned into Neck-Fat-Slapping Berserker, so she was well on her way to Happy Dream Time where yellow flowers bathe tumescent purple octopii with joy and love. I would share our pictures, but they’re with Jen-An and Owen. Plus it was in this grotto-like booth without enough light. I remember one picture of Jerry looked like a red demon reaching out for a fresh soul.
• Jen-An was in full Screaming Baby Hands Mode. That’ll never change, but I noticed last night that Owen has his own gesture. It’s a kind of I’m-going-to-shoot-you-in-the-foot-with-both-of-my-partially-closed-hands. And he does it aggressively, with an attacking body posture. It would be very frightening if he didn’t have such a generous smile on his face while he did it.
• Jen-An and Owen love being celebrities on my blog. Every single time we see them, Jen-An says, “I can see him writing his blog right now.” This is, of course, code for, “You are going to write about me, right? I’m too delightful not to, right?”

Happy St. Patty’s Day, friends. If I’m not as up on blogging next week, please forgive me as I’ll be entertaining Red-Haired Mom and White Beard. We’re planning on doing this. Jerry says you get to see testicles out of the scrotum, and they’re frozen in time flying apart from each other like a couple of clicker-clackers.