god love pancake day.
god love winning a free ticket to a fundraiser. i ate safe in the knowledge that i was gorging without my money helping anyone anywhere with anything.
the place was packed with 10,000 of my favorite duluth strangers and about a handful of friends who literally mark this day on their social calender. this was my first time.
"i dare you to yell 'tony stewart sucks'" jcat said, surveying the hordes of people cramming flapjacks into their orifaces and mangling sausage links with their canines.
that seemed dangerous. so did getting seconds, which i did, then stood dumbfounded when they asked for a quarter per extra piece of meat. i'm a cheap bastard. the greeter ponied up and so my quest to not have any of my hard-earned money go to a good cause remained in good standing.
in other penny-pinching news:
jcrew called around 11:30 p.m. to check my status. justin timberlake was salivating in the background. she was at the pio, but it sounded suspiciously like the kind of place where you could earn a bachelor degree in pervo-tology.
a cop checked my id at the door.
this, despite the fact that the owner of chef yee's had vouched for me.
clearly he doesn't know that i spent years "darkening" his doorstep.
there was so much testosterone in that bar that i started to grow back hair.
on thursday night's at the bar-formerly-known-as-the-pio, you can buy a $5 keg glass and drink grain belt until you can go whitewater rafting on your own spleen. i did a version of math and deduced that if i had two glasses and did not tip the bartender, i'd make a profit on the venture.
i forked over the 5-spot i'd saved by helping myself to pancakes without personally contributing to the lions' club fundraiser.
smart move, i thought to myself.
i had four glasses.