dragonlady7

So yesterday Z and I were sitting around the living room taking ridiculous photographs of ourselves with our built-in iSights. (Have I explained that we have twin Macbooks? His is black and mine is white and their specs are sort of opposite, but they're the same model. It's kind of disgusting to be in a room with us.) I've decided that I'm going to maintain my e:strip blog by posting the daily photos I take of myself with the iSight webcam (I cannot stop. It is a filthy addiction) there, by the way. (The entry linked-to is a recounting of the IM conversation I had with Z, so if you want to see a couple of the photos, there they are.)
But we're sitting there, and then Z mentions that we're invited to his mom's to watch the Bills game. His sister and her husband are in town from San Diego, by the way.

So we go over there and nobody's home. Shrug: it was a nice walk. We come back and start playing with our cameras again. Then the phone rings. It's his mom. She's just back from lunch. When we come over, could we bring tequila or some light rum?
We're out of both, so we go on a liquor store run-- how delightful is it, by the way, that New York State law no longer prohibits liquor stores from operating on Sundays?-- and, $100 later (I always think of other things we'd better pick up), we show up.
It's halftime. The Bills are sucking.
Eric is doing his usual bartender thing, where he's making extremely elaborate trendy drinks to exacting recipes with four thousand ingredients. We started off with pomegranate cosmos-- vodka, pomegranate juice, lime juice, off-brand Grand Marnier, and some cranberry juice because the pomegranate isn't sweet enough. (Also, he has actually made up a saucepan of simple syrup-- wow.)
Then we had some sort of applejack thing involving copious amounts of lemon juice. Eric turned the manufacturing process over to me for that one. Then we had some pomegranate margaritas-- tequila, Grand Marnier-esque, lemon juice, simple syrup (2:1:1/2:1/4 are the rough proportions on that, with a splash of pomegranate juice as well but I don't know the quantity).

Meanwhile the Bills are sucking. Krista and Eric have a friend visiting-- actually their roommate in San Diego coincidentally posted to Rhode Island for a couple of months (Navy training) happened to be swinging by Buffalo this weekend, and they invited her to stay the night. So she hadn't heard many of the family stories, and she had to hear some of the classic ones. Z told the one where they went on a road trip to Baltimore in two cars, and Krista's car was so small that in order to be comfortable in the back seat, Z put the back of the seat down and put his legs in the trunk. At a gas station, he crawled into the trunk and had Krista pop it open. The trunk lid rose, Z put his head out of it and asked plaintively, "Can I come out now?" The trunk lid thunked shut again, and the lady at the pump behind them nearly fainted.
As he was telling this story, he was laughing so hard he could barely speak. His mother was actually holding her sides because she was laughing so hard she was hurting herself.

Meanwhile the Bills were sucking, but we really weren't paying attention.

At that point we realized that we'd need to take two cars to the place we were going for dinner. So two of us had to sober up. I was elected to be one, and Eric the other. So we chilled out a little while before setting out bravely for the Dave & Buster's in Eastern Hills Mall. Eric and Krista were meeting one of their friends there-- actually a woman who had been a co-worker of both Z and Krista. She was wickedly funny and, by coincidence, works for my company. I exclaimed in astonishment, and she said, "Oh, do you know someone who works there?" "I do!" I said, "well, ok, I do but only for the Travel Hospitality Services division at the airport." And she laughed and laughed, and we traded stories briefly of what idiots they are there.

Dinner was ok, the drinks slightly watery, but then we went and played the games. They were ok-- I didn't play any because I'm sort of not into that. But we laughed at each other, and won some tickets. The remaining hilarity occurred when we all went in the little store where you trade in the tickets for hokey tchatchkies. They had those Chinese finger traps in there. And, of course, Z stood there like an idiot while Krista put finger traps on all his fingers, and his thumbs.
Then he tried to free himself. And he was laughing so hard he literally could not stand up. His mother was gasping, leaning against the counter. We couldn't stop. Everyone else was like averting their eyes, trying to ignore these crazy people-- lots of parents and kids in the place, and you could tell they were like, "Ok, obnoxious drunks, don't encourage them." And there's Z, with his hands trapped in the finger traps, convulsing. Oh god. And Krista's telling the story of the time she wrapped him up in a sleeping bag and threw him down the stairs. Many scenarios were proposed with combinations of finger traps and sleeping bags. "I hope you have fifty tickets, guys," Z says glumly (the traps cost ten each). Envisioning him being forced to go out into the game room, traps still on fingers, and try to play enough games to win the fifty tickets. Can you kick the skee ball? Oh god.
Laughing too hard now, remembering it.

I actually have sore muscles in my belly today from laughing.

We went home and watched the end of the Chargers game, intending to drink more, but the food there had been so salty that we all were thirsty and sat there drinking gallons and gallons of water. We watched the Padres lose, rather bitterly-- Krista and Eric and the friend visiting them had met playing softball, so they were rather invested in the sport.

But then we watched the Chargers not lose, and that was more cheerful.
I still don't understand football.

I am still tired today-- sleep deficit from this weekend. But I have so much to do today and it's gorgeous out and... I don't want to move. Zzzzzonk.