Monday, August 13, 2007

Oh, right. The rest of the weekend held a pet parade led by a guy dressed as Flash Gordon, an all-nighter at the speakeasy, during which we ran out of money and I decided to go over there and gamble with those guys' money, and a miniature sidewalke parade with a unicycle and a saxophone, viewed from above during the worst margarita I've ever had. And, today, the near total loss of my voice, which I'm blaming on the awful margarita, rather than, say, all the whiskey and the six million cigarettes I smoked on Saturday night. I totally should have predicted all of that.

It was one of those great weekends where, out of nowhere, everything just got increasingly weirder and more out of control. Certainly worth spending the whole day communicating mostly via hand signals and facial expressions.

No comments: