a required taste for the pretentious as all get out





Weetacon: The Wrath of Con, Part Two
March 25, 2005, 1:30 pm

Oh dear, it has been a while...and Diaryland, it seems, has "shit the bed", thus taking all of my archives with it.

Build on, you say? Alrighty.

Weetacon: The Wrath Of Con The Second.

Saturday saw me take a pilgrimage to the holy mecca of football for anyone who respects the game: Lambeau Field. I strained my neck in vain for pics of the Favre-One, to no avail. I will say that I bought far more Packers merchandise than a Ravens fan ever forewarned.

We also ate scrumptious burgers a la Joe Rause's bar, and I, due to a technical glitch, obtained not four, but TWENTY tries in the claw machine, so I scored beer coozies for Jake, Mare, and two for Thumper when I returned home.

Here's what you want: The Bad Bar. Good God Almighty, was there EVER such a sinful place of 60s-70s paraphenalia and bally-hoo? Will it ever be the same after I somehow coerced BettyBigHead into flashing her boobs in the photo booth in what I'm calling my good deed for the year? I vaguely remember dancing on the bench by the window and getting groped by Chauffi, who, at that point, was clutching anything in his path to keep him steady: purses, shoulders, breasts, what-have-you. Jake and I, in keeping with our tradition, managed to molest the Ms. Pac Man machine in lieu of statuary for our bumping and grinding pleasure. (I'm thinking we go to New York and hit up Carson Daly, or something.) I kind of remember having an intense football conversation with Scotty Boom Boom and Eric putting "Gin and Juice: Bluegrass" for me to dance and sing to...I remember Trance looking hot, Mare even hotter, and putting my tit stickers on Minarae's bosom. I think at some point I taught DebSiobhan the GB Butt Dance, because us Marylanders have to stick together. I also vaguely remember stalking the Earnhardt, Jr.-jacket-girl, and telling Hot Nancy I wanted to marry her, but details are sketchy, at best.

Sunday we had brunch at a greasy place, saw the Taco/Brats Dyke sign which made me laugh, and bid everyone a tearful farewell. At the very least, there are some people shaking some Old Bay on thei r seafood compliments of moi, and I have my big sister Weet to thank...even if I am stealing her husband, Esteban, and running off to the islands for a hasty marriage.

I have to admit, I was so delighted to see Thumper when he arrived at my baggage claim that I threatened to do a running leap into his arms...common sense prevailed, thankfully, and he only strained his back carrying my swag-full bag to the car.

"I missed you, Biscuit."

"I know."

Life is, for lack of a better term, outstanding.

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