The wife and I spent the weekend gallivanting around Boise, Idaho and visiting with family. Some highlights:
- Taking your intermediate level skiing wife down a run called Widowmaker first thing in the morning does not help her psychologically for the rest of the day. It just scares the bejesus out of her.
- My wife’s grandfather, aged 97, to me regarding the Boise State Fiesta Bowl victory: “It was the best thing to ever happen to this town.”
- A hotel room sink packed with ice can hold a twelve pack of Alaskan Amber nicely.
- My wife’s grandfather, aged 97, to the jabbering ladies on stage during Robbie Burns Night: “Get on with it!”
- Haggis and Scottish shortbread cookies make for a fine meal.
- If the United Nations would only listen to heavily intoxicated, foul-mouthed artists and German citizens working towards Ph.D.’s in brain cancer research than this world would be a much better place.
- I was recognized as “That guy from the Boise State parade” twice in the same night. Once next to the urinal in the men’s bathroom at the Bittercreek Alehouse and once outside the Bittercreek Alehouse by a throng of intoxicated college girls.
For the next two weeks I will be going on tour like a trashy hair metal band in 1988. Early tomorrow morning, my lady and I are off to San Diego where we will walk on the beach, eat fresh sea bass, patronize the new Padres stadium, visit the San Diego Zoo, watch a live donkey show in Tijuana and drink our body weight in margaritas. Sunday night, my lady flies back to Denver and I will stay in the OC for the 2004 HOW Design Conference. The HOW Design Conference lasts three days and I will be attending sessions, chilling with my old boss Michael and last year’s partner in crime Scott from Minnesota (who won a free pass to the event and will be crashing in my room, assuring me he will not go all Fear and Loathing up in that bitch) and kicking it California gangsta style by the pool with chocolate honeys and bottles of Courvoisier.
After the HOW Design Conference wraps up, I will be catching an afternoon flight to Las Vegas where my good friends Kaye and Aaron will be getting married. I will be staying in Sin City for one night, winning big at various gaming tables and drinking free watered-down whiskey as I insult professional card dealers for giving me trash.
I arrive back in Denver Thursday evening, only to catch a plane to Boise, Idaho the following morning. In a state that is synonymous with potatoes and the white power movement, I will be attending my lady’s grandfather’s 95th birthday celebration.
On Sunday, May 23, I finally make my way home to Denver exhausted and battered from almost two weeks of traveling where I plan on crawling into my king size bed and sleeping until Armageddon.