Mother's Day weekend was pretty phenomenal. I celebrated the usual way -- an eight-mile walk, a Japanese sword fighting class, and a day at Busch Gardens with my little family.
We had such a great day there - the weather was perfect and we even ran into my friends (and some of my very favorite people), Ira, his wife, Amy, and their kids. You may remember Ira from when I talked about him here and in one of my very first blog posts here.
I have not seen them or some other mutual (and equally hilarious) friends of ours from Virginia Beach in way too long, so Amy shared a story about the other friends because they had all just gone to dinner together. (Mutual friend will remain nameless in case he ever comes across this blog. Let's just say I've also known him since about 4th grade and that he went to a very good school and owns a very successful business. Let's also say that he is married and has two young kids, and that the following is pretty out of character -- because all of this information makes the story even funnier.)
When Ira and Amy met this friend and his wife for dinner, he was not drinking alcohol and they asked him why that was (with our women friends, we always assume pregnancy would be the only reason...with a guy friend...you gotta ask, because there is no good reason). He mentioned that he had been on the wagon after a particularly bad episode on Halloween...
The story goes that he had begun the evening with some grain alcohol (re-living your youth, nameless longtime friend?) and ended the evening by getting worried that he had drunk too much, and calling 911 on himself to report an over-imbibing emergency. You can imagine his wife's surprise when the police and an ambulance arrived at their door (you see, she was not privy to the fact that her drunken mess of a husband had called the authorities on himself) and she had to get up to speed on the situation while a) not having a heart attack and b) refraining from throttling him on the spot.
Said friend did go to the hospital where they found...(wait for it)...absolutely nothing wrong. I guess the utter humiliation of the episode (which, because he is awesome, does not prevent him from sharing the story) caused him to re-think his intake for several months.
(As an addendum to this story, Amy noted that when they went to dinner, they were instrumental in getting our friend back off the wagon, something that not even a recent class reunion was able to do.)
We need to get to Virginia Beach much more often.
4 comments:
Wow--this sets a new floor for me. Every time I have a bit too much, I can now say, "Well at least I didn't call the cops on myself!" That is, until I call the cops on myself. Then I can get comfort from the fact that I'm not the only one.
All I can think about is you twittering me now. Tweet tweet Canedo it's the next best thing since sliced bread. Actually I only have a few followers. I mainly "twitter" (Is that a verb now? It's about time we get a new dictionary) to follow sports writers that I like and sports shows. Its the best way to get up to the second updates on players and games. Plus Bill Simmons is still the funniest guy around. You, however are reigning champ of the chicks in that department. Keep up the good work. Oh and I have finally gotten back to writing columns. All that complimenting you was just so you would go to my page and read my shit, BTW. But you know me so you knew that. Haha. No, you are pretty funny. That random dude who wrote a blog about your blog said so. Therefor it be. I'm off to twitter. Mucho love to the Tims, both big and little.
I just realized that people who do not know that I call your daughter little Tim might think that in my previous comment I was giving much love to your husband (big Tim) and his penis (little Tim). This post is to clear the air. I no longer give love to "little Tim," since the marriage.
I just assumed "Jeff" (if that's his real name) new about your lover, Tim.
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