After running the Twin Cities Marathon warm up 5K race this morning, I believe I left the remains of my tainted liver on the sides of Summit Avenue (the results say 36:59, but I didn't get to the starting line till four minutes later with the kiddies in their mobile fun bus, and I suck at running).
A gracious thank you to Al who host of all host to this party of all parties, and opened up his house for this degenerate (but since I couldn't hang as long as Al, so the G-Vegas folks were kind enough to offer real estate on the floor of the fleabag hotel). I truly suck at things like staying conscious.
Write up the Pub Olympics and my Dancing With the Stars audition tape later at night?
Maybe.
Blessed with friends who have recapped the festivites leave me with only a few more tidbits of non-Captain soaked memories. But, those memories I'll hold onto just like the jaunts to Key West last year, Chicago, and all the blogger hog piles that have been and will be.
What amazes this gentleman sitting watching SpongeBob Squarepants in a Gophers jersey after their first "real" victory of the season (and first one since the new coach proclaimed a new era), is that despite our meetings via online poker dwindeling into a few hours a week, the friendship across the board has never been questioned.
For that, I am a lucky guy to have met such people.
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