Last night I went to band practice for the first time in years. I like to noodle on bass and drums, and a new friend of mine plays guitar. He invited me along to try out/ sit in for a while, and it was a total blast. The musicians are all pretty top notch, and I would have been really intimidated if I didn’t get to learn a few tunes and practice up aforehand.

I pulled into the driveway around 10 at dark, and went to retrieve the empty trash bins from the roadside. My neighbor across the street heard the rumbling BigWheel wheels and burst out of the house shouting, “HEY! Git over here and bring yer bottle!”

Uh, ok. I was looking forward to a lil peace and quiet nestled in front of a roaring fire teevee, but hey, I’m neighborly. I gathered up the bride, blended some vodak and fruit and juice, and made for the door. Before making it through the living room, Tiff got a phone call. It was the neighbor, demanding we bring her some beer ’cause she’d run out. We happened to have one lonely diet beer left over from Tiffoween, so we nabbed it and finally made it across the street.

We reached the steps and before knocking, three people shouted in drunken non-unison, “COME IN!” I guess they had been having a party for at least a moment, because the living room was full of people, empties, and smoke. Settling into an open spot on the couch, we heard all about the day’s exploits and the news from PCG (Porn Couch Girl). She’s back in town after a stay with her mom, and crashing at the Neighbors’ until she gets on her feet. I figured Mojo would be interested in hearing about her, so I took notes. Unfortunately, I left ’em at the neighbor’s house, which may be mortifying if PCG finds ’em. Tiff tells a bit of the story already, so I’ll make this next word a link for you.

Mrs. Neighbor was reported by at least 4 of the party guests (including Mr. Neighbor) to have never been so drunk before. She sat on everyone’s lap repeatedly, insisted that I try this new lotion she got (while squirting it liberally on my wrist and Sam Adams jacket – grrr!), and was showing everyone her tattoos. Yessir, that’s a party. She sat down to refill her belly with alcohol, and spotted my pants. It’s not as if they were hidden, she just noticed them, of a sudden. They happened to be on Tiff at the moment, because they’re very comfy Guinness lounge pants with big shamrocks and the Harp logo all over ’em and she likes comfy (she’s a ninja). Mrs. Neighbors eyes went as wide as bloodshot bagels and demanded, “Give me your pants! I’m part Irish, so I must have them!”

Once that lady gets an idea, she does not let go of it.

She spent the rest of the night trying to get my bride out of her pants, which could have made good video. However, this being an all-ages site, I won’t be posting it here (at least not for free). She sent us home with another pair of lounge pants and stern instructions to bring her pants over as soon as they were off the wearer.

I haven’t seen her today, PCG announced from the front porch that they’re all nursing monster hangovers… we’ll see if she remembers.

*****

Went for a Shrinking Piggies walk last night, covering about 2 miles of hilly town terrain. It was refreshing until that wrong turn up a steep hill which turned out to be an unmarked dead end.

The calories burned will be quickly replaced, for today on our doorstep arrived a styrofoam box from my new brother and sister-in-law. They sent us a pile of goodies from Omaha Steaks, including a Chocolate Lover’s Cake which shall be nigh unpossible to resist. Time for another few laps around the city.

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