That's not what the Death card means

The poisoner and the tax man
written 2008-06-30 08:41:09

So, rather than sweat to death in my overheated apartment, I thought I'd drive up to Jersey City and see how ol' Jess was doing. She was doing well, it turned out, has a ridiculously nice new apartment, and had a birthday party. I decided to stay.

With me for the ride were Kristy and Terry and Mr. John Jameson and His Sons. Kristy and Terry and I mixed with the other guests, but Mr. Jameson only mixed with ice. This turned out to be a terrible move on my part. But, one cannot learn that one is no longer in shape to drink straight whiskey all night until one attempts to do so. The Master has spoken.

Nils who was Hobie was there, and I apologized for not putting Nils and Hobie together at the last party. We talked a little old school and I met his gal. Ray was there, and is pursuing a doctorate these days. Well done, sir.

Someone named Jean-Luc who reminded me of the Waffle King was there, and his girl Molly listened to me describe the works of Mark Helprin. And, as an added bonus, she didn't just take the first opportunity to leave the area, she actually responded and offered conversation. Somewhere around this point I thought calling the Waffle King would be a good idea (clearly the work of Mr. Jameson) but did not have his number in my phone.

Cat was there. She remains cute and cool, but on this occasion busted out both geek cred and highly intelligent conversation. She did not fall into my arms this time, much to my dismay. Next time, I'm wearing Chuck Taylors.

The next day saw hangovers, gastrointestinal dysfunction and massive amounts of self-pity. Thank goodness K-Bar drove. Neither I nor Terry was in much shape to attempt it.

So, back in the 215 and back to work. There's law that needs to be practiced.

--8:37 AM, EDT, Holland, PA, with cream filling, icing, jimmies

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