I’m not sure if this is an old guy thing or not, but twice in the last two weeks — including last night, unfortunately — I’ve been absolutely unable to go to sleep. It might be that the brain won’t shut down; it might be that the cat is washing while he’s leaning on my leg; it might be a cough by Mrs. Crappy; or it might be that I’m just too hot or too cold. Whatever the reason, I keep looking at the clock, and it keeps getting later and later. Last night, I know the last time I looked before I fell asleep was 5:30. I had to be up at 9:30. This is no fun.
Know what helped (besides two cans of Pepsi Max)? A bowl of Count Chocula for breakfast. Thankyouthankyouthankyou Target.
On Friday night I met a bunch of the Pittsburgh crew at Las Velas for dinner on its opening night. I knew the company would be great, and I’m pleased to say the food was just as good. I had two of their excellent margaritas — which is probably one more than I actually needed — and a Burrito Cancun with luscious marinated pork. The house salsa might be the best I’ve ever tasted and the desserts we had at the table, one of which was a flambe with strawberries prepared at our table by the owner, David, were spectacular. Mine was a banana-caramel cheesecake thing wrapped in a tortilla, fried and drizzled with chocolate sauce. I don’t remember what either was called — did I mention the excellent margaritas? — but you can’t go wrong with either one.
Saturday afternoon and evening were quiet — I took in as much college football as I could until it was time to head to the airport to pick up Mrs. Crappy. We had a great time back at the house talking about her trip, going through the stuff she brought home and drinking the bottle of Bigger Hop I had ready for her arrival.
No. I didn’t burn the house down.
The Buckeyes continue to improve. The Browns continue to suck. There you go.