Weekends like the one I just experienced are setting pretty high standards for Duluth. When I move there, it certainly won’t be this wonderful every weekend, every week, every day. I just need to keep reminding myself of that.

I should have known it was going to be a good weekend when, on the walk from work the Greyhound station, a very thuggish negro type told Darren, “You better watch out or I’m gonna steal that white bitch from you,” then apparently yelled obscene things about fucking me with a broomstick. And then when I reached the Hound station, I was sent to the wrong gate and nearly boarded a bus bound for Fargo. Here’s to you, downtown Minneapolis.

On Saturday I found my ability to walk severely retarded by one very fucked up big toe, which was especially discouraging because Angie and I had planned on taking a nice, long walk to fully enjoy the beautiful spring day. We did some shopping and I sprung for another pair of sunglasses, which has already lasted longer than the last pair, and once I had mastered walking on the side of my foot, we set off on our walk. I only fell once on our walk, but I fell again today, ripped my jeans and drew blood to make up for it. I would like to point out that I didn’t fall at all while drunk this weekend. I think it’s clear what state my body functions best in.

After the walking came the booze. Angie and I decided to go the fruity route this weekend and were soon turned off by the heartburn and tooth rot that accompanies too much Boones and Smirnoff Twisted. However, we stayed on her deck and ate tender white popcorn and tipped back alcoholic Kool-Aid until we could see our breath. Abby joined us just in time to hit the bars and hit them we did.

We found friends at the Radisson, as we do. Nigel, the Scot; Jim, the Alabamian; and Dave, the guy who didn’t talk. They all seemed very nice, which they were, but we realized Nigel had ulterior motives when he attempted to lick the insides of our mouths, groped our rears, and gave us creepy hugs accompanied by a very noticeable erection. I’m sure glad we gave THAT GUY our cards!

We also saw Angie’s stalker and Hatchet when we were out. They’re both pretty good kids, but the one we truly love is Jason, the new former Pioneer bartender. Catch that? On the note of Angie’s stalker (not to mention Nigel), how in God’s name do guys think that getting on me will make Angie jealous? Hint, guys: if she’s not making out with you, she doesn’t want to make out with you. The girl gets what she wants and if it’s you, you’ll know. If it’s not, well, why don’t you just shut up and buy her drinks? I’ll take one too, thanks.

Pops joined us yesterday and I was glad that I dodged a hangover, though Angie may have gotten hit double for my miss. Hanging out with dad in Duluth is always a pleasant experience, though considerably more pleasant when not overhung.

Today I had an interview for a new job and they are hiring for 10 open positions. If that doesn’t help my odds, I’m not sure what does. I will know on April 15 if I will be hired – two years and one day after my first day at the hotel. AND I took my permit test again and passed, though I almost failed the seeing portion. Who needs eyesight anyway? But do you know what a having new photo ID will mean? I won’t have to present my passport at bars for at least a year.

Sweet mama.