The laptop is sitting on the kitchen table, so this isn't really "from the cave." There are pumpkins in front of me, and unpacked groceries on the counter. The lawn is freshly mowed, and my wife is completing her female duty of folding laundry.
(That's a little joke, by the way.)
Have I ever mentioned that I am totally disinterested in football? College, NFL, high school, whatever the level, I find it not at all exciting. In fact, I always get irritated this time of year at how much the sports news gets controlled by football. This disinterest in football must be Prosecution Evidence #273 for why I'm a bad American.
Cook-out this afternoon with the in-laws. It's overcast and cool, but frankly - at this point - I'd take that over 95 and humid. This has been the first real "autumn" weekend in these parts. It finally cooled off this past week, and yesterday was a beautiful 72 with sunshine.
I attended Happy Hour with my co-workers on Friday night at a club at Newport-on-the-Levee, which is a swank shopping and restaurant district in Kentucky, right on the Ohio River opposite downtown Cincinnati. Out of our group of people, which waxed and waned throughout the night, swelling up to maybe 12 or 13 souls, I was easily the oldest. In fact, I think there was only one other person there who was even past 30. I was the only one married with children. Several people in our group are young enough, biologically-speaking, to be my daughters.
In short, I was the creepy, old, fat, married dude among the young, hip party crowd.
I joked about it all night, but by the time the festivities were over, I was left with a legitimate feeling of being too old for this shit. The bar crowd was a touch on the trashy side, and the average age was probably 24. I saw some guys get carted out by the bouncers after jumping onto the stage during intermission, and around that same time, I saw a girl bare her breasts at the foot of the stage, Mardi Gras style. Those were both firsts for me, and I've been in a club or two in my life. There was also a tall, blonde drink of water who jumped onto the stage during the first set to dance and gyrate her hips in a very good imitation of sexual intercourse, holding her hand in the air, a drink in the other, and getting all orgasmic as the cover band played "Crazy Bitch."
I think this really was the first time I have ever been out in a setting like that and thought that I was basically too old to be there.
I also did a "Four Horsemen" shot while I was there, and I felt like I had battery acid in my stomach until about noon the following day. The Four Horsemen, by the way, is a shot made up of equal portions of Jack, Jim, Johnny, and Jose - i.e., whiskey, bourbon, scotch, and tequila. In other words, hairspray.
I found a big snakeskin in my yard about a week ago. How disturbing is that? With the trees and the horse pastures behind us, I've always been aware that snakes were not only possible, but probable, but it is still disturbing to finally see the evidence. I have no idea what kind of snake it might have been, but it was not exactly small. I'm guessing there probably aren't poisonous snakes back there, but of course I don't know that for sure. In any case, it's getting cool now, so they'll be retreating to their dens.
We also have bats, screech owls, raccoons, and of course horses back there. And just to remind people, I live in a metropolitan area of over 2 million people.
Apparently, the plural of "raccoon" is "raccoon," because Google Chrome is telling me I spelled it wrong above. I'm leaving it, though.
The dog is scratching his water bowl, so I suppose I will sign off and hydrate his annoying ass.
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