Screwing around with this blog/internet thingy--no freaking clue as to what I'm doing. Anyway, apologies for the buffoonery.
Tonight: meeting another couple (she was a h.s. classmate of the missus) for dinner at Sullivan's and to listen to Beto y Los Fairlanes who are playing in their lounge. At last Saturday's WSL Gala which we attended (the first thirty minutes of which my fly was open) a guy at our table moonlights as the band's drummer while not otherwise being a lawyer and suing people. He encouraged us to come, so the wallet opens again. The gala was an excuse to enable females to purchase evening wear, force their spouses to haul out the tuxedo and pray it still fits, and hopefully allow hubby to slam back enough Jack Blacks in order to place idiotic bids on silent auction items. Check, check, check, and check. Damn it!
Saturday: going to the UT/Baylor game. It's an 11am kickoff which screws up the tailgating aspect to a significant degree. Sitting in some choice seats courtesy of a customer and will be flinging my green and gold afar amid a sea of burnt orange. Sic 'em and here's hoping Robert Griffin doesn't suffer the removal of a limb during the festivities. Not good timing for dear old Baylor, coming off the UT loss to Texas Technical. Hopefully, will have time for some time on the patio and grilling of dead animal flesh Saturday evening.
Sunday: working out and performing feats of strength for la senora Denise for the remainder of the day.
We'll see how it all works out.
2 comments:
I'd say you're doing a fine job. Weekend looks chock full of fun things to do, tightly scheduled. I'd bet my own remaining manhood that a woman had something to do with much of it. And speaking of manhood, or lack thereof, an 11:00a.m. kickoff justs means you man up a little earlier than usual. As a girlfriend's dad once told me, it's always 5:00 p.m. somewhere in the world...
Tailgating at 8:30am at a corporate tent. They'll have booze there and then also at the game. It could get interesting. Thankfully, I'm not driving.
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