It was a long weekend and I have the scars to prove it. It all started Friday with a four-beer lunch at The Bungalow in SoHo, followed by a trip to the causeway where I joined coworkers for way too many mojitos at Oyster Catchers and then way too many beers at Whiskey's Joe's. Wine was consumed back at my apartment. Becasue, well, I felt like I had to hit all the major food groups.
Those wounds I refer to in the first sentence? They're on my forehead. I scraped my head against the bottom of a pool while trying to do a handstand. Twice. Yeah, I took a dip Saturday after Creative Loafing's terrifically hedonistic Beer Fest, held in downtown St. Pete at Jannus Landing. CL publisher Sharry Smith, pictured next to me at Beer Fest, did not join us for the after party. Thank gawd! I might have tried to push her in the pool or worse. I'm not revealing details about the after party. It was fabulously wild. From what I recall. We'll leave it at that.
The next morning, we, as in my fellow pool party felons, had a boozy Sunday brunch at Fresco's and then cocktails at Pelican Pub and then ended up back at the pool where another demon handle of vodka reappeared.
I finally tapped out and watched the Rays beat the BoSox curled up on my parent's sofa because I didn't have the fortitude to make it back to Tampa (they live in St. Pete), and my own place in SoHo.
Tonight, I'm off to see Dolly Parton. If I stay awake the entire show it will be a near miracle. Or Parton will have to perform topless. Which will be weird, because I'm bringing my mom to the show.
Top 10: Hurting songs