Weekend of May 30

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(today half-assedly in the style of I count the days)

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I bought a bike.

I ate six gourmet sandwiches with sopressata, provolone, liverwurst, mustard, miracle whip, cucumbers, lettuce, onions, prosciutto, gorgonzola, and fresh basil; fifty-three tortilla chips with salsa and guacamole, one grilled tuna steak, slightly overcooked, one salad with lettuce, spinach, goat cheese, and dressing, one banana stuffed with chocolate and grilled, one vegetarian bratwurst, one orange, one apple sliced and served with gorgonzola cheese and hot sopressata, two and a half tilapia spring rolls, one Vietnamese sandwich, and one half of a mushroom and garlic pizza.

I played tennis.

I drank four thousand forty seven beers, six cups of hot coffee, one cup of iced coffee, seven gallons of water, two shandies, one cup of tea with milk and sugar, one anise-flavored cocktail, four sips of dry sherry, one sip of sweet sherry, three sips of incredibly flat beer, three-fourths a pitcher of moderately flat beer, four glasses of orange juice mixed with club soda and ice, and the blood of six sacrificial calves.

I smoked marijuana once or twice.

I concluded that dry sherry is barely drinkable, while sweet sherry is disgusting.

I rode my new bike ten times or so.

I fell in love ten times with my new bike.

I went swimming twice, under two aliases.

I kissed someone seven times in a large men's shoe closet.

I watched two innings of several baseball games.

I did some stuff that is Private. The number of times I did the stuff is Private.

I called my parents and told them I loved them, and they told me they loved me.

I felt thankful for my loving family.

I held a lit cigarette in my hand once but did not smoke it, even a little bit.

I watched a local Iron-Chef style competition for two hours.

I coveted a friend's roast beef sandwich.

I wore pants but no underpants for three hours.

I mentioned my lack of underpants thirty-one times.

I concluded one movie I didn't like when I saw it was great after reading about it and thinking about it for a week.

I got twelve flies in my nose, seven flies in my mouth, and three flies in my eyes when I rode my new bike through two swarms of flies.

I thought about sex fourteen million three hundred thousand thirty eight times.

I felt awkward nine times.

I felt embarassed thirteen times.

I recorded three short pieces of music.

I checked the number of views on my youtube movies fourteen times.

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Jesus, keepin' stats is hard.

Which reminds me of a vernacular addendum newly introduced this weekend: 'stats' from here on out refers only to penis size. As in, hey, you know that dude? Ya, I know him. How're his stats?

I'm gonna go buy a tent.