Turkey Day with the fam was uneventful, but good. That night I changed into my pajamas and prepared for a long night of digestion and TV watchin, but got a surprise phone call from Alan and Mullens who were out boozing. I changed out of my pajamas, picked up Angie, and headed down to meet them. It was a good time.
Last night was the Fry-Day Friday party, minus the Fry. The food was good, the people cool, and the brew plentiful. I decided I'd play a round or 2 of Asshole until I kept winning the presidency and kept going one more round. Eventually I bowed out of my position to give someone else a chance of glory. I thought that was considerate of me.
Today Alan and I continued the weekend of tasty, but completely unhealthy food with a trip to Hooters. Since then, I've done some sitting around, some portrait work, some webpage work, and some music-listening. Tonight is National Treasure, but not until later. I have some time to kill.
Interesting thing I learned this weekend: A guy I went to gradeschool with, and who attended several of my parties on Underhill, is a major suspect in the serial killings of druggie hookers around the area. True story. Apparently he recently disappeared when the fuzz started knocking on his door.
Fact: Before Pearl Jam was my favorite band, the spot was held by Poison. Before them, I don't recall.
Memory: On some random 4th of July, we were in a field playing with fireworks. Fabish lit a Roman candle and started trying to hit Callahan as he ran around avoiding the firey balls that were being launched at him. He ran behind Stephanie, and Fabish was a bit slow with his reaction time, apparently. The great ball of fire landed directly in her hair. She tried to laugh it off, but was visibly pissed. She only got more upset when clumps of hair started falling out and a chunk of what remained was black. It also stunk.