Tonight, we are going on a date to Buffalo Wild Wings to celebrate the 40th birthday of our neighbor. No portion of that sentence should be surprising. So I am showered and looking okay. Heather is super foxy, of course. This is unusual for a weekend. By way of background, I wear a suit every day because I am a man and I work in a city. My job usually requires one but I think i would wear one no matter what due to my aforementioned gender and place of occupation. I sometimes dress casual and I am never comfortable. One time I met up with Geoff (Barnes from the Internet) and Jon (Dascola, ditto) and I was in khakis and a golf shirt and I did not enjoy being in public On a work day without a tie, even though they are somehow comfortable going to work dressed like dainty little hobos.

Point is, on the weekends, I consider myself to be in a shabbiness contest with my neighbors and I ALWAYS WIN. Today I was wearing my undershirt from yesterday and gym shorts and crocs in the yard, using my ergonomically dandelion puller, with severe bedhead and my 10 year old glasses. Soon I had mud and grass stains on my shirt and face, and was loudly swearing at Jesus for the calamitous weed situation in my front yard. I still managed to smile at passersby and their dogs.

Now I am showered and ready to eat wings in a decent but moderately priced shirt and jeans. I have more to say on the party but I am not sure who I can trust.