Spinning up to 33 rpm….

This entry rated minimum one cup of caffeinated beverage of choice required.

I Am Over 18 and Have Had at Least One Caffeinated Beverage, Thanks, Now Let Me Proceed.

I prefer 3-cups of tasty-caffeinated beverage at once, in what would call my new Flerly-green coffee tankard, which was one of way too many thoughtful gifts by one of the most thoughtful gift givers I happen to know. Well, last night we discovered that you can go to a Polynesian restaurant, but you can’t make them have pu-pu platters — what a let down. Perhaps Trader Vic’s would have made a better impression on a night other than “Hula-ween”, where only the Bill Murray-esque (thanks Brad) voice of the opening lounge act managed to carry over to the restaurant. We’re still trying to figure out his song choices, which were all equally frightening due to his voice, though not Halloween-related choices such as “The Grinch” and “I Want to Be Sedated.”

We wanted to be sedated, and Trader Vic’s certainly tried hard enough to work alcohol into every item on the menu. Won’t you try our honey-baked (brandy-filled) bread? Need some salt (somehow actually particles of solid vodka) for your entree? Won’t you have some rum ice-cream (looks like vanilla, but is actually a shot)? Well, I exaggerate, but at least one of those is true (the solid vodka one). Strangely, though, when you actually ordered alcohol there, it came watered-down, or rather sugared-down, in the proper fruity, Polynesian style, complete with pointless, fruity garnishes (on a steeek) and in coconut- or tiki-god-shaped containers.

Post pocket-gouging Polynesian palatables and palavering, we set off in search of more P-words to complete the evening. Parka would have been good, as was cold. Planned/path home would have been good, as we hopped right on the interstate going south instead of north, though — considering we zipped on, found an exit, and got all greens to get back on going north, taking us only a couple minutes — we probably shaved 20 minutes off hunting the proper northbound onramp in that part of town.

Afterwards, though it was going on midnight and we were fat and lazy from alcohol and sugar, and I decided that, with Halloween approaching, that we’d best swallow our lethargia and head to the “House Arming/Zombie Defense Seminar” to which we’d been invited. It is, afterall, a matter of personal safety, and since The International House of Blasphemy (IHOB) and the newly formed Zombie Infestation Preparedness Team (ZIPT) had taken such pains to prepare such an event, we should, at least, stop by. Besides, had late birthday presents to take . Despite ‘s explanation of our zombie-confusing rap and dance routine, the ZIPT found us decidedly lacking in natural zombie-fighting preparedness and quickly armed us with solo cups full of ice and alcohol. Poki, not just a chocolate-covered stick-shaped biscuit treat anymore, was also in abundance, and apparently, in a pinch, can also be a useful anti-zombie tool, if you can stand not to eat all your arsenal before you spot a zombie.

Alas, though, the only zombie even reported while we were in attendance was a 7-month old that they had “put to sleep upstairs”, and shortly after overzealous members of ZIPT started seeking non-zombie volunteers to “practice fighting techniques on” (also known as poke with the pitchfork) we decided to risk going out into the zombie-infested darkness and head home. Despite the fact that it was 2 AM, I think we expected the boys of the 30338 to be wide-awake and up for something, but we arrived to find they had mostly given in to their lethargia. Seeing thus, we feared giving in to our own, so headed home (before I could put the new, giant, creepy, wooden-chicken statue in her car).

In retrospect, not a terrible birthday celebration, for a pre-birthdate event. Today is sort of a “last day of freedom” as I try to decide what evil things I’d like to chew before my dentist appointment tomorrow — something more birthday-treat worthy than that shot of ice-cream, I’m thinking. The last wisdom tooth has got to go, and if my jaw ends up as sore on that side as it did last time, I’m not looking forward to the following week. I can only hope that I will be back up to prime concert-crowd-singing mode in time for Wednesday’s Queensryche show. I will also have a Pile^TM of work to do that is due Friday, making me a not so very happy camper over my actual birth-date.

Hrm… thinking of the dentist…. perhaps I’ll see if I can get any of those folks who mixed up the fake blood and created those zombie-attack wounds for the party last night can help me with a costume idea…. Dentist Visit Gone Horribly Awry. Wait, perhaps I should wait until after Monday to start thinking about things that could go wrong at the dentist.

Anyway, today I think I’ll make take me to see Shaun of the Dead since I got to sit through a high-school football game and two marching band performances last Friday night, whilst he relived his childhood. Must remember to ask his mom for one of those cute pictures of him in his band uniform. This one time… at band camp… my wife annoyed me so much I stabbed her in the eye with an unpolished trumpet.