I feel a billion times better than I did when I went inside last week, but I’m still fairly exhausted and have only just about enough energy to hit power on the television remote. But I should be back to more regular posting soon. In the meantime mad props to Clareified’s rockstars: Jamie, Gib, Karol, Sabaka, G-train, Mary, Dawn 2, KJ, Pi, Elena and Jake. Thank you all soo much.

And also look forward to the introduction of Carlos. He’s coming.

HUUUGGGGEEEEEE GRRRIIIINNNN (Unlike certain other posers I become a fan and then wear the gear.)

Unfortunately, the bag didn’t come with a card or a note or anything, but I figure it’s someone that reads my blog, so I just want to say thank you. You have no idea how much it totally made my day. And I’m wearing it now and since I won’t be going anywhere for the forseeable future, I shall probably be wearing it all weekend and definitely for the game!

A Million thanks!

So my new bestest friend is Ari, though looks like I’m going to have to explain to her that New England is not Boston. New England is all of us.

Nurse: Do you have any allergies
Patient: Yes. Aspirin, Iodine, latex, anesthesia, AND ephineprine. (Emphasis mine…chick is allergic to the thing that counterracts the effects of allergic reactions!!!)

What a glorious weekend. I promise, we’ll get to the title, I mean I have to if I want to make sure that someday, even if I’m long gone, Mary will go to some blogger convention of some sort and say “Hi, I’m Mary,” and the listener will say “oh, you’re the one with the magic butt.” Everyone needs to leave a legacy. That will be mine.

I wasn’t sure how much I’d be able to do for the long weekend in all my gimpiness:

But at some point on Friday afternoon, I decided I was going to enjoy the weekend up. (Actually I know exactly the point: it’s when I arrived to find a ghosttown down my entire hallway, an email from my secretary saying she decided to take the day off and then was hit with the realization that it was the Friday before a three day weekend and no self respecting slacker should be limping her way to her desk. Insert fist shake.)

So, I weaseled my way into getting Alceste to pick me up on his way to Atlantic City and met up with all manner of folks down there whilst not getting drunk and winning money. (How many Irish whiskeys can one girl drink in an afternoon?) I returned to Brooklyn in the wee hours of the morn, watered the plants and went to bed.
I woke up to the sound of F-train calling to figure out when we’d head over to the Meatfeast at Ugarles’ former Jerk Castle.
“How are you feeling this morning,” he asked sinckering.
“Fine. Dude, have we met? I have never been drunk and I didn’t start yesterday.”
He laughed. I told him he could bite me and we decided to meet at 4. I texted Alceste and told him the plan, though he was going to meet us at the JC.
He made his patented F-train chilli, though not the patented F-train apple cake. We picked up Mary and drove over to the Castle of Jerks, so named for the seasoning of much of the food in the neighborhood and not because of any flaws in the character of Brother of Chugarte or his charming fiancee (or Ugarles before her). Last year the fest of meat was held in mid October, the weather was cool and a bit rainy, so most of the guests congregated downstairs in the livingroom. This time, when I walked inside, there were only a handful of people downstairs and I wondered why attendance was so low given these perfect cookout conditions. Of course, as I surveyed the scene a little while longer and noticed that nether Mary nor Ftrain were present — and I had personally dropped them off before searching for parking, I figured the party must be outside this year.
I climbed up the stairs to the phat roof deck, and found myself a plate full of meat and a seat in the corner with Mary and Alceste who were hiding their pale skins from the sun.
White people.
“Hey, black people get sunburned too,” Alceste protested.
“Nah,” I said, “that’s just something white people tell themselves so they don’t feel so bad about all the advantages black people get.”
“Yeah, cause if the hypertension and diabetes don’t get you, it’s the police shootings,” Ugarles chimed in.
Ouchie.
Damn police shootings.
Every now and then, a stray meatfest partygoer would make the mistake of trying to join our conversation.
“Hey, you guys are Ugarles’ poker crew?” one such victim asked.
“Yeah.”
“You know how I know,” he continued.
“How?” I said putting my recap of two weeks ago’s High Stakes Poker on hold.
“Cause you guys are four jokers,” he finished with a big smile.
I smiled. Blinked and went back to telling my story.
When I was done, F-train said “Dawn, that guy was totally trying to talk to you and you just ignored him.”
“Yes, and now he’s gone, let’s thank our lucky stars and never speak of the unpleasantness again…plus, there are only two jokers in a deck.”
“You are the worst,” he resonded.
I know. Dead alone with my plasma. Got it.
We all tried to convince F-train to stop being a loser and start playing Scrabulous with real people on facebook. Hmm…okay, now I know that playing Scrabble on facebook doesn’t on its face look like it would be the opposite of being a loser, but trust me, it is.
Alceste then proudly proclaimed that his highest scoring bingo was fisting. To which I uncharacteristically replied “yes, yes fisting in a three way with me and Ugarles.”
“WHAT? It’s like I don’t even know Dawn now,” F-train replied.
“What? I didn’t play it. Alceste did,” I protested.
“Not you. Dawn 2, his girlfriend.”
“EWWWWWW,” I said covering my ears.
“DUDE. Dawn 2 is going to kick your ass. It’ll be 120 pounds of fury versus your 130,” Alceste said.
Umm…personally, my money on Dawn 2.
And then Mary knocked Alceste’s sausage into the tree…which led to ten minutes of sausage in the bush jokes.
Though, I am hoping to see the tree next year when the sausages grow in.
When the sun went down, and my undead friends were able to join civilazation on the uncovered part of the roof, we got up from the area where we were sitting and the back of my pants were completely coevered in soil from where I was sitting. So was Alceste’s. Mary’s not so much as a spot of dirt.
“Wow! Mary’s butt is magic,” I exclaimed.
Ftrain turned around…”well, now, I’m sure that’s true, but why are you saying it out loud.”
I laughed.
And then at some point someone started to do a “Mary’s little butt is magic, everything it does just turns me on” riff.
“HAHAHHAA…see I guess you should have done the bottom half of that bacontini (by the way, go vote for her in the contest)
She laughed. “Dawn, there’s not enough bacon in all of Brooklyn to make the bottom half of the bacontini.”
And then, inexplicably, I looked up into the sky and actually said “dude, is that a bird…or a plane”
and Alceste and F-train simultaneously said “IT’S SUPERMAN”
I covered my face, Jesus! Who actually points to the sky and asks if something is a bird or a plane.
Mary started fiending for some ice cream, and I really wanted Ftrain apple cake, so we decided to head out in search of dessert stuffs.
And then Fiancee of Brother of Ugarte magically brought out a plate full of watermelon!
YAY!
Shut it. Yes, I like watermelon. A lot. Bite me.
We hung out for a little while longer, in all honesty, although the stairs were fairly easy to climb up, I was dreading the walk down.
“Look, I’ll just move in up here…there’s a bathroom, a bedroom, lots of outdoor space…I’ll just write the Ugarles’ brother a check right now.”
And then the cat emerged and tried to kill me and I managed to scramble downstairs to safety.
Shortly thereafter, a slug tried to kill Alceste and he stomped it with his foot. He then explained how you can break the bones in an adult foot if you aim your heel between the right bones.
This frightened us. Alceste, noting the look of terror in our eyes said “hey, when you’re a skinny guy you need to know these things.”
“Um…I’m 130 pounds and I didn’t know that,” Senor Fury said.
We decided to go back to Chez Summers for some Scrabble and on the way much sport was made of my music…as per usual.
“Dawn has Belle and Sebastian on her Nano! They must feel so lost and lonely.”

“Shut it, Alceste. I’m sad. I can’t find Poddy anywhere,” I said.

“Did you find the suicide note,” Mary asked.

Grrr. Kill you. Kill you all.

We called it a night after I put F-train on Dawn is the Scrabble master tilt, though Alceste came gut wrenchingly close to pulling off a tie and making me cry the tears of the damned.

It was a good night and great day and, well, a not too shabby weekend for her highness the Gimp.

That made me laugh. Alas, I think the first third of Dawn sympathy comes to a close as I return to work. I’ve been mightily awed and touched by all good wishes and company during the past…dear lord, has it been three weeks?