A girl with whom the roomie, Ross, and I are friends with was in town last night, and consequently I stayed up wayyyyy too late last night. We just sat in our apartment and BS’d for a few hours while she drank the last three beers we had in our fridge. As a result, I’m a cranky old bastard today. I’ve been heckling everyone I’ve seen today in my head, when I really feel like I should be up in the balcony with these guys:
Sadly, Statler still has a better mustache than me, and he’s a goddamn muppet. Fuck.
I’m going to the Blazers/Spurs game on Friday night with the roomie and my boss—look for me in the upper upper upper decks on ESPN!—and thus, I come to the next big test of my sobriety-chops. I’m going to get a stadium dog, loaded with kraut, and…a Coke? I obviously hate America, because no God-fearing American would go to a nationally-televised sporting event and drink anything that wasn’t at least 4.63% ABV, even if it is priced to the point that no one making less than $100k a year can afford to drink more than two. At least it’s not a baseball game, because we all know the odds of me not drinking at the ol’ ballpark are slightly below the odds of Glenn Beck saying something non-inflammatory the next time I flip past FOX News.
I’d like to take a moment to congratulate Clay Zavada, relief pitcher for the Arizona Diamondbacks, for winning the American Mustache Institute’s 2009 Robert Goulet Memorial Mustached American of the Year award, who struck out 52 batters in 51 innings with a 3.35 ERA all while wearing a glorious Vaudevillian mustache. He beat out such other great Americans as Attorney General Eric Holder, Captain Sully Sullenberger, and Brendan Ryan of the St. Louis Cardinals. The quote I saw last night said “Clay was the only person in the NL to wear his mustache in a non-ironic fashion,” which is a real tribute to his dedication to the great and noble culture of mustache-ism. I’m sure as hell not doing this in any non-ironic fashion, that’s for damn sure.
Good news, everyone! My mustache now looks like “an odd shadow on my upper lip” according to one of the gals at work. I’m moving up in the world! I’m just not moving up in the world of the labia sebucula (Latin for “Lip Sweater”) very quickly is all (and for the record, I definitely stole that “Lip Sweater” joke from the AMI, of which I just became a member).