How were your weekends?

On Friday my parents and I went to the Tremont neighborhood and had a fancy dinner and did the community artwalk. What? But that's cultured. And I wasn't drunk. Sarah, how is this possible? I don't know, but it is. Between the four of us we managed to spend $1,000 in like 4 hours. Listen, guys, we are no amateurs okay. We can spend money with the best of them. Some of the art gallerys were really weird. I've said this before and maybe this makes me an uncultured oaf, but I like art that makes sense to me. I like pictures. Paintings of things I can recognize (unless they are experiments with color-sometimes those are okay). But when I say to my mom, "Man all this stuff is so weird. I don't like it." and she says, "Then don't look to your right." and I see a giant picture of a man with one head and four naked bodies, I don't get it. And I don't want to spend money on it. I'm sorry, gallery owner. But I will drink your free wine. And like you saw when we all walked in, my family and I will make a bee-line for the free cheese and crackers.

Also I'm sorry to the gallery owner at whose home we walked through the backyard completely uninterested in your sculptures but totally enraptured with your backyard setup. I would absolutely love to throw parties back there, but maybe it was rude of me to start screaming out how I would set it all up including when I said, "I'd get rid of all this stuff." while pointing to the art back there. Hopefully you didn't hear me. But if you did, can I throw a party at your house?

We stopped by the bar, The Flying Monkey, for a minute because Steph, Christy, Mariella and Lisa were in there doing happy hour. I didn't see them when we first walked in because their collective high pitched screams of recognition temporarily blinded me. I'm not kidding when I say they screamed so high and so loud when we first walked in that the glass around them almost shattered. Apparently it was half price martini night until 9pm, and we were walking in at 8:55pm. So you know. I got a text from Steph later that said, "tell your parents i am sober at least every wednesday." I'm not sure they bought it, Steph, but it was a nice try.

Saturday we played football, and the women dominated. Three of our touchdowns were scored by women: me, my sister and Meg. Oh yeah. For mine Gordo threw the ball really hard at my chest, and Lefty took a hit, but it's okay. She's fine with taking one for the team. It was worth it to see the other team's face when Meg yelled out, "How are your boobs!?"

Then we headed off to Willoughby for a wedding reception in the Metroparks. It was awesome. Casual dress and fun games. Oh and free wine and beer. As we were walking in to the party, we saw they had ponies there to take the kids on pony rides. So obviously Drew wanted a pony ride. I think his actually ended up being a horse and not a pony, and they took one slow lap around the parking lot, but the way he talked about it the rest of the day you'd have thought he rode Seabiscuit around the track and won. We played bocce ball and volleyball and basketball and our favorite game-one armed football catch. That's where you have to hold your drink in one hand and throw and catch the football with the other without dropping it. If you do, you have to drink. It's so much fun. Unless Sharda is playing because she CHEATS! Yes I said it, Sharda. Cheater.

I was so drunk at this wedding that yesterday I asked Diane, "Okay...do I need to apologize to anyone for my behavior on Saturday? Did I make a complete and utter idiot of myself?" and Diane started laughing hysterically and said, "You were really drunk." Um...what? That's not an answer, Diane! What did I do? I heard a few stories, and some of it is coming back to me, and I just want to say to Becky and Steve and the other people at the wedding: I'm sorry. I swear I'm not that big of an asshole all the time. Only like 80% of the time. And I'm sorry if you were one of the lucky ones who got to see the shorts part of my skorts when I lifted up the skirt part and wore it around my upper body. Actually while I'm at it, I'm sorry to my mom and dad, too, since I was doing those activities while using the family name.

I've asked this once, and I'll ask it again: What the hell is wrong with me?