Thursday night was my idea of the perfect date.

It started out with a short bus ride – 15 minutes instead of 40 – after which Darren picked me up for happy hour at Rudolph’s. Happy hour at Rudolph’s consists of two-for-one tap beers and $3.75 appetizers. Oh yes. And do you know how much beer and appetizers a $25 gift card can get you with prices like that?

After our free dinner, we headed to the Twins game with the two $26 tickets my co-worker gave to me. Just GAVE to me, despite my offer to pay for them. We went to find our seat at the game and were greeted by our host, Shaun, who is also like the second in command at the hotel. I love that kid.

With Shaun’s assistance, we found our seats, which were more or less just up from third base, meaning I got to admire the wonder that is Nick Punto all night. Nice. (Side note that may have already been inferred: In addition to Shaun, I also love Nick Punto.)

I’m sure you already know this, but Brad Radke started on Thursday. It was a magical evening and everyone was audibly thrilled to have Radke back in the rotation. He pitched an impressive five innings, allowing only three hits and one run.

But do you know what really sucked? The Twins didn’t score any runs. Not for eight and three quarters innings. Not until the bottom of the ninth with two outs when Joe Mauer popped one (just barely) out of the park. And THAT is why you don’t leave until the last out has been recorded. The Twins went on to win the game in ten innings to pull into a first-place divisional tie with the Tigers. Torii Hunter said Thursday night was the loudest he has ever heard 25,000 fans before. You’re welcome, Torii. We’re glad we could do you proud.

So, in short, wings, beer, barbequed rib tips, a dramatic Twins win, a hoarse voice and getting to bed after 11:00 on a school night – ALL FREE OF CHARGE.

Sometimes life just rules.

A few weeks ago when I was planning my weekend in Duluth with Darren, I decided that it was going to be just the two of us. We would maybe see Angie for dinner one night, but that was it. With the weekend now past us, I think I spent about 75 percent of my waking hours in Angie’s presence, but it was pretty flippin’ sweet.

I took a half day off on Friday so we could get to Duluth earlier. Upon arriving, we met up with Angie and played in the rain a little bit because it rained ALL of Friday and Saturday. Darren and I later checked into the hotel and took a nap on our wooden block of a bed. It wasn’t wonderful, but we were asleep so we didn’t really care. When we woke up for a nap it was back to Angie’s where we were later met by a few other folks. I wasn’t really feeling the evening, so we only stayed until one or so. But, in all honesty, one in the morning for me is like seven in the morning for others, so I was pretty proud of my performance. Anyway, we walked back to the hotel in the rain, which was quite refreshing, and stripped off the bedspread, per Brian’s recommendation, hopefully also stripping the bed of bed bugs. I spazzed at every itch throughout the rest of the weekend, so thanks for that, Brian.

The real fun came on Saturday when we went to Outback to eat food and pester Chad. For whatever reason, we didn’t bat an eye when we were told the wait would be 60 to 90 minutes. Ninety-four minutes later, and only after Darren bitched, we were seated and so continued our three-hour Outback affair. I ate too much, which is typical, then gassed Angie and Darren with garlic mashed potato beer burps throughout our game of Monopoly, which went absolutely nowhere. However, I have not have that much fun with something that went absolutely nowhere in a long, long time.

On Sunday Angie and I even got to have a Lakewalk photo shoot while Darren watched football, just like in the good old days. I miss that city terribly and our stroll by the lake didn’t help my longing to move back at all. We even hit up Super One, but we were disappointed that Lurch wasn’t shuffling around the parking lot, making children cry.

I love Duluth. The end.

A couple of years out from finishing college, I can actually feel myself getting stupider every day. Is it weird that I miss learning? Perhaps it’s being able to hold a conversation about more than the weather and last night’s episode of Deal or No Deal? that I miss. I know I could learn stuff on my own, but what good is knowledge if I don’t lose thousands of dollars in the process of gaining it?

Now, in addition to being stupid, I’ve become forgetful. I just stopped mid-action and looked over my desk with glazed eyes for, I kid you not, the FIFTH time today and muttered, “What was I doing?”

Sometimes I wonder how I get anything done around here.

The cities has got me down. All the cement, all the cars, all the ever-loving PEOPLE. Fall is my favorite time of year, mostly because of the beautiful colors and cool weather and four-wheeling to the shack and taking the dog for quiet walks where she can run free and shit wherever she pleases. Fall isn’t the same in the asphalt jungle. The weather is cooling off, sure, but I can hardly even bring myself to go outside for a stroll along that paved trail. Maybe because I have to stop every three blocks to wait for a stoplight to change. I don’t deal well with stoplights. Maybe because there aren’t any colors here because there aren’t any trees because why have trees when you can use the space to build an apartment complex to house the 14 million Somali children in the area. MAYBE because there is so much traffic and I know I should be counting my blessings that I haven’t gotten hit by a car yet and putting myself out there “just because” is really asking for it. Maybe because I have to go through five doors just to get outside and who puts forth that type of effort for exercise anyway?

Also, paved trails? Part of he fun of going for walks at home is wondering at which point I will trip over a tree root and eat dirt, and also how badly I will be hurt. It’s a small price to pay to avoid death-by-pollution. Let’s put on our hiking boots and take on the paved trails. Fuck yeah, I’m a cidiot now.

There’s a northland void within me that needs to be filled. Next year I’m moving to Duluth. I can’t take this shit anymore. This fall is the final straw. There’s just no FALL in the fall here.

I miss home. I miss the shack and my dog and my parents and my sister and trees and four-wheeling and bon fires and walks in the woods. I miss trips to the club and rides around the horn and stalking Beeb and Auders and English-speaking American citizens (yeah, I went there). I miss peace and quiet and knowing everyone and scampering outside to see that one ambulance every six months fly by the house and my mom’s cooking and Gooty waking me up at 6am looking for Snausage,

This sucks. I’m 23. I’m not supposed to be homesick. Life is just too damn short to wonder if I could be happier.

Today I did laundry and ruined three, count 'em THREE, shirts. One is a very cute sweater that I've only worn twice. I want to give it to Angie, but it would have 3/4 sleeves at best on her.

On a brighter note, I'm in love.

The hostess that works days at my hotel’s restaurant is an absolute hoot. She has the filthiest mouth of anyone I have ever met, which says something, she encourages us to call her Big Mama, and she busted out in one of Ice Cube’s songs when she delivered room service to him a few months ago. She is a woman to be admired, to say the least. We visit daily, but when she comes bouncing into the office with that mischievous smirk on her face, I know she’s got something good to tell me. This happened last week, and boy did she ever have a doozie.

The way the story went, I thought for sure it was a joke. On the contrary, the whole thing is true.

The subject of the story is a guy who is a relatively high-level attorney, apparently bringing in about a half-million dollars a year. He is fifty years old and very much likes his women younger, and I assume he doesn’t have a problem getting his filthy old man hands on them with that kind of income. He frequents the restaurant and the staff, particularly the hostess, have gotten to know him well.

As the story goes, the guy is in Target and he spots a knockout. She is an absolutely gorgeous young woman and, being the pervert he is, he takes to following her. Eventually he catches her eye, at which time she smiles and motions for him to go over to her. The guy is thinking he has hit jackpot, and he gladly approaches her.

“Do I know you?’ he asks the beauty.
“Well, yeah,” she replied. “I have your kid.”

The wheels start spinning in the guy’s head and he is trying to place her face. He was married to a 26-year-old, but he cheated on her frequently and they had since divorced. Really, there were a slew of women who could have his children. After a several seconds of trying to place her, his face broke into a sly smile.

“I remember you now,” he told her. “You were that stripper I had on all fours on the pool table. I was spanking you with that celery stick.”

The woman looks blankly at him for a moment, then said, “No. Your son is in my class.”

True story.