11:26 a.m.
I have awakened in many a place before: the humidity engulfed Mississippi, the fog blanketed London, the mist sprayed shores of South Beach, the buffalo roaming South Dakota, on a couch in a frat house wearing my super cute outfit I wore to the football game the night before, in gay Paris, in the back of my CRV... but the most wonderful place to wake up (in my opinion) is in the clean, crisp, pristene air of Colorado.
Well, maybe waking up in the arms of Paul Rudd would be better, or waking up in in a pile of money and diamonds, but you get my drift.
After hitting the snooze button a time or four, I roll out of bed to drive Stefano to work. Next stop: must have espresso and lots of it. After a triple shot and a bagel the size of my head, it's time to hit the gym and work off the schmear.
(ok, bigger than my head)
The sweat session starts out okay, but after about 20 minutes something funny starts to happen. I don't know if it was the altitude or the fact that the View was on t.v. but all of a sudden I wasn't feeling so well. Apparently mixing no dinner with one (or 5) bourbon drinks, espresso, and slightly too much movement may have stirred things up a bit, thus causing my throbbing brain to tap my skull every 30 seconds and cause several hundred tiny dots to fill my retina. Anyway, I had to cut my workout short and exit the gym immediately.
A quick purge and shower later, I was once again ready to take on the world. Or at least I was ready to take a couple of dogs to the park. As Jain would have it, my dear friend A.cat lived only a 7 minute walk from Stefano's. And also a 7 minute walk away, my god-dog, Bailey. I have never been greeted with more love and affection than when I opened the door to their condo. You would think after not seeing me for 3 years, she may have forgotten me. Wait. No. It would be impossible to forget me. What am I thinking? Don't answer that. So after a quick sniffing of the butts (I had another dog with me. I don't go around sniffing the posteriors of canines.) we were off to the park. Running, chasing sticks, splashing in the water, following strange men around in the sunshine...what a great day. And I'm pretty sure the dogs had a good time too.
After an hour or so of frolicking it was time to head back and pick up Stefano from work. While we were out and about we also picked up his friend, Juice Box, and took a detour to his house. J.B. lives in a pretty sweet place, however, something not so sweet recently took place outside of his home. A couple of weeks ago an "accident" occurred. While watching Judge Judy or Jepordy or something on his super fat screen t.v., Juice Box hears a car speeding by out front, a loud thud and some screams. The car drives off, leaving a dying barefoot man in the street and an emotionless wife by his side.
Here's what I think happened...
This hobag wife was having an affair with some skeezebag, probably a meth-head or crack dealer. Or maybe he is her pimp.
Anyway, the husband was catching on to what was happening and was trying to put an end to it all. Rather than have him foil their plans of dealing or selling tricks or interfering with their adulterous relationship, they decided to kill him. So, one night while the wife is getting into the car with the boyfriend/dealer/pimp, the husband sees what's about to go down and runs out of the house without his shoes. He sticks his head in the passenger side window and begins to yell, "What the hell are you doing with my wife?" and so on and so forth. Enraged, the thug rolls up the window with the husband's head inside and takes off down the street. He starts off slowly, but then accelerates, dragging the husband along with him. After pulling the poor man for miles and miles, he finally slams on brakes and rolls down the window. In shock, the screaming wife jumps out of the car and the man speeds away. The husband dies and the wife is taken to jail. And scene.
That's probably nowhere close to what happened, but it makes a better story.
Anyway, where was I? Oh, so we leave Juice Box's house to pick up Karlos Santana Moss and head out for some delicious raw fish. Speaking of fish, it was just announced that Phish will be reuniting in Hampton on March 6,7, and 8. All of the hotel rooms are already booked and I'm sure all of the tickets are already sold. So, if any of my readers live in Hampton, I'm calling couch now.
After our delicious dining experience, I had just enough time to swing by the drive-thru liquor store to pick up a bottle of wine to take to A.cat's for our girls only fantasy football draft.
I know none of you really care who I have on my team and are probably totally over me talking about it, but I'm going to tell you anyway, just because I am slightly obsessed.
Romo Cops:
QBs: Tony Romo, Phillip Rivers
RBs: Julius Jones, Steve Slaton, Jamal Lewis, Michael Pittman & Jerious Norwood
WRs: Santana Moss, Vincent Jackson, Amani Toomer & Mark Clayton
TE: Jason Witten
K: Nick Folk
DEF: Minnesota
So, I picked the winning team, tried not to vomit during McCain's speech and strolled back to Stefano's house to find him already sleeping like a little baby. Good night.
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