San Diego was sunny as predicted, and I had a wonderful time with Mike and Jessi… as predicted. While I was there the world of Whazzmaster was introduced to two very special people who exist on two very different planes of existence: MOG, straight outta the Ay-Zee, and Gino the Ginny, from god-knows-where-but-sounds-like-the-bronx.
To MOG, two items: I wish more than anything to be able to attend Brewers Spring Training in Somewhereican’tremember, AZ, but due to my work/moving/travel schedule in March I probably won’t be able to this year. Please spare me a couch next year; I promise I won’t pee on Barrie’s chair.
To Gino: I can’t feel my legs!
Wwhazz, bellygirl, and I had a GRAND time after she got off work at 4:30am on Sunday morning. We ended up calling the sceizzer concerning tiny Gino, and Scientist was slightly taken aback at talking to three people screaming and having fun at 7:30am, Frozen Minnesota Time.
I wrote down all that happened in my gournal, but I probably won’t get around to truly transcribing it here. Wwhazz or bellygirl, feel free to spackle any holes that need spackling (not my butthole, though).
Friday night was fun, Fun, FUN in Ocean Beach. Two dollar Miller Lites? Gimme two. We met up with Steven Ejercito and Friends, who were also awesome. Ate fish tacos and had a drink at the mysterious Oggie’s.
Saturday we fought dogs and men, played poker at the small-but-impressive Palomar Card Club as The Corporation (ended up $32), and ended up drinking the majority of a 30-pack of Miller Lite and watching True Romance (I’d never seen it) and The Self-Destruction of the Ultimate Warrior. Quick review of the latter: holy shit I have never witnessed such a hatchet job in modern times. I mean, the U-Warrior is probably a grade A nutcase, but they go to such effort to tear him down bit by bit that you gotta feel sorry for the kook by the end.
Sunday we awoke and created a grand meal for the ages, ate it, and then I flew back to Nor*Cal.
An overarching theme of the weekend was the Donkey Konga playing that permeated every spare moment. I left my Gamecube with the kids with the only price that they get good enough to challenge me by the time I return to collect my property.
I’m moving this week and next weekend, so posting may be light. I’ll apologize in advance and you scamps’ll still complain. The world will keep turning, and somewhere some song writer will rhyme “turning” with “burning”. Bye-bye.
— to everything turn, turn, turn