I would just like to preface this entry by citing my last entry regarding how my mom dressed Maggie and me up as twins - and in all sets of twins, there is always an evil twin and a good twin. The "good twin" is usually the evil twin, and the "evil twin" is usually the good twin, and the other twin purposely made her look bad.
Well my lovely mother wrote some snotty facebook remark about how I actually WAS an evil twin, and Maggie was so sweet.
All I have to say to that is FALSE. Was I a snotty bitch? Um no surprise there, always have been, always will be. Embrace it. Love yourself. However, Maggie always got what was coming to her...she deserved it every time, she started every fight we ever had. Basically, she was a conniving little whore, painting me as the Bad Guy.
When I die, my tombstone will read, "She started it!"
Partly why mom sides with Maggie is because like Maggie, she is also a younger sister. I'm sure Mom played Grandma and Grandpa and everyone in her family like a fiddle (except for her older sister Tish who was too wise to fall for that shit, and Tish probably got in trouble for calling her out about it, only to be labeled a demon child). So, when my feelings were hurt for a split second regarding my mom's comment, I had to stop and consider the source.
Thank God Maggie grew out of that stage, mostly. Well somewhat. KIDDING.
This weekend taught me a number of things.
1. Collins can and will survive being without me for 12 hours.
I, on the otherhand? Well I had Clayton take me back to Nebraska City Saturday night. Now I realize that I have been taking the blessings in my life for granted, ie., my husband and baby girl, and how hilarious she is and how she likes to grab my face and give me her version of kisses, which is just her breathing heavily with her mouth wide open on my cheek.
2. I can still be counted on to pull a Houdini around mindnight.
Clayton happened to be right outside the Rail when I was talking to him on the phone after he left the game, and I decided I was ready to go home and see Coco. One one hand, at least I know when to say "when"...on the other hand, it's usually several drinks later than when I should have said "when" in the first place, and I usually don't know to tell my friends that the time has come for me to make my exit.
3. Lincoln is the cheapest place to drink in the world. Nay, in the universe.
I spent $14. For an entire 10 hours of drinking.
4. It is possible to eat Lazzari's till you puke.
I obviously don't need to elaborate on this.
5. Just because Kari did it, does not mean I should do it.
In fact, it probably means that I should NOT do it.
As we were walking to the Red House, we were outside the stadium and some gentlemen offered us pieces of meat on toothpicks. I guess they were touting it as Nebraska corn-fed beef. Kari takes a piece, and starts raving about how wonderful it is, and how I have to try it. So I look into the plate this guy is holding and it's now clear to me why everyone in America is fat. Honestly, a 1/2" X 1/2" cube of meat would have been sufficient. But no, everyone is bigger in Nebraska. I get the smallest piece on the plate, which is about 3"x3". In my whole life, I have never had a piece of meat that big in my mouth. If you just said "that's what she said," I award you no points and may God have mercy on your soul because that was way too easy and obvious.
Well, I will never just stick a piece of beef in my mouth ever again. As we are walking up the hill over the train tracks, I'm like, dry heaving because I couldn't swallow this piece of beef. My eyes were watering, the smell of beef is flooding my olfactory senses, and it was just a mess. Eventually I swallow this shit down, but once we get to the Red House, it becomes clear to me that I have the smell of meat on my breath. I've had beer breath, hell, I've even had barf breath. But beef breath? That was a first - and a last. So I do what any normal person would do - make a whiskey and Dr. Pepper, and do a beer bong, obviously.
All in all, Saturday was a good day. Sunday of course sucked. Mom hangovers are especially painful, mostly because my baby A) is not hungover so she wants to play and squeal and B) hasn't mastered the motor skills to hold my hair back and rub my back at the same time.
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