February 22, 2005

I decided to give the MIA a break this weekend since it was already crowded enough with the 600 festivals & bgillion tourists down here, so I jumped in the whip & traveled up the turnpike to Gainesville to visit Trey, with an added Gillespie bonus. [Side note: must buy SunPass.] Rolled in to Trey's crib on Friday night and was almost instantly handed a 40-oz bottle of "Boo Yah Death Mix" (grain alcohol, lemon-lime Gatorade & Red Bull). If this doesn't set the stage for the weekend, I don't know what does.

Never having lived in a college town in the true sense, I have been deprived of certain weekly specials that I'm sure would take another 5 years off my life. Of course, I refer to "Free Beer" at the Grog House. Two glorious words, until you insert "Natty Light" between them. Thought we'd take advantage of this free beer by doing a Power Hour...that lasted approximately 7 minutes before we decided we were "too old for this shit" and started taking shots of Patron. (My dad says our generation drinks too much. He may be right.) But I'm mentioning all this not to show you readers how W&L kids dominate the college drankin' scene, even as alums, but rather to explain how I ended up in my current state, i.e. bruised, scraped & blistered.

As we all know, after I have a little too much liquid fun, I tend to think I am some sort of superhuman cross between Carly Patterson and the Karate Kid (only much better looking). It all started on NYEve 2K4 when I thought I could front flip over a couch & ended up briefly unconscious. Since then, I have hobbled into work on a twisted ankle more than once after trying to do backflips & aerials on the beach at 3:30 in the morning.

Anyway, this time I had a partner in crime because Trey, being related and all, shares my passion for kicking ass when intoxicated a.k.a. invulnerable. So, we busted out the sparring gear & nunchakus (that I, naturally, keep in my car at all times...hey, you never know) and proceeded to have one of the most ultimate, epic fights of all time. This is the first time that blood has been drawn during one of these episodes. Trey, to his credit, did not have the slightest reservation about wailing on a girl. Gillespie was more of a gentleman, but still got his fair share of contusions.

Injury inventory: quarter-sized chunk of skin missing on sole of right foot, bruise on left hip, countless scratches on both arms, chest & forehead, skinned left elbow, bloody wound on left thumb, strange grayish-purple bruise on right palm and tender bridge of nose caused by nunchaku to the face. Whew. Trey & Gillespie convinced me that most of the damage was self-inflicted as I kept trying to deliver roundhouse kicks to Trey's head and ended up slipping on the wood floors. In any case, major ass was kicked. See pic alllllll the way at the bottom of Trey with weapons. Kind of grainy, but you get the idea. Trey is stacked, but no match for The Jill. Believe me, his injury inventory is much longer & bloodier.

Aside from all this, we watched a baseball game between UM & UF, which, sadly, the Canes lost. This is the first game I've been to on the Gators' home turf & I have to comment on their appalling cheers & songs. No spirit, guys, and questionable lyrics, too. Got back to Miami & checked out the Coconut Grove Arts Fest & hit up the beach later in the afternoon. Every single parking garage on Miami Beach (7th, 12th, 13th, 16th, 17th, etc.) was full. Of tourists. No comment. But, apparently, I could've had a spot if I had an "Access Card," whatever that may be. People who have these are the VIPs of the SoBe parking system. Anyway, I had to go to 85th & Collins. BFE, but still sunny.

Now, it's back to work. Except I can't use the mouse because my palm hurts too much. Also, A-Lo wants me to go to French Tuesday tonight at the Biltmore. Not sure if this is such a good idea because I haven't spoken French since Winter Term 2K3 & the thought of being surrounded by 50 Fabrices is not too attractive. However, the invitation promises a "Complimentary tasting of the vodkas of the world with The Cellar Club," so maybe I can handle Fabrice apres some Grey Goose Le Vanille. I am, though, a little disturbed by the dress requirement: Glamorous & Chic...?