My name is...My name is...!
So I traveled back to the ‘ville for some Homecoming fun this past weekend. And, yes, fun was had by all. I’m slightly disappointed in the quality of the floats though. They seem to have declined since I was a freshman. The best one was the van turned into a tank. Major points for that.
Driving by McD’s was a bit nostalgic for me. I meant to stop in, but the people I would know the best work in the mornings, and usually not on Saturdays. I did see some of my regular customers at Walmart though. I saw one lady who always got a number 10 (back when it was the nuggets), and a large Dr. Pepper, two BBQ sauces. We were good buddies, but alas, when I saw her there was no recognition. I guess without my McVisor, I become a normal citizen. Kinda like Clark Kent and the glasses. Ah well.
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I’m rooting for the Astros, but they’re letting me down big time. They hung in there last night, but come on, bases loaded, ONE stinkin’ out and you can’t get a single person across the plate? Obnoxious. I do like the parts where the pitchers hit the batters. I saw (not heard of course) some ‘language’ being used after Crede got hit. Surprisingly, I saw about 3 people use the same word to expres their anger, just in different forms. Creative! Anyways, I think a good hit in the arm to back someone off the plate isn’t so bad. That’s old-school baseball right there. Around the 4th inning, some of the White Sox needed to be backed off a little. I did see ol’ George’s wife Barbara in attendance, although I couldn’t figure out who she was sitting next to. Maybe she has a new man in her life. She didn’t seem very energetic at first but I did see her join in with a hearty “DEO” during a rousing crowd chorus. Well done Barb!
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So I think I’m going to become a mail-order bride. I figure it will kill two birds with one stone – solve the “who are you going to marry/why aren’t you married yet” question, as well as the “what are you going to do with your life?” question. It could work.
I’ve been craving sushi lately. And Eminem.
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