Presentation of the Presents. Thanks for the sweater Sofia. Papa and Mama, thank you for the kicks.
Texas won, big deal. They're no match for the mighty Choctaws.
Pastor picked us up and whisked us back to the apt. They sang me Happy Birthday. A note on my shirt: I still am unsure of the true meaning, but I know it's not nice. Blame Javier. He sent it to me one day and I don't want to hurt his feelings by never wearing it.
We went to dinner at an Australian restaurant. We planned on going to Zum Schneider, a German joint, but it was a mad house. But we did make it there after dinner. It was pretty good until a herd of jocks showed up. They were all wearing white shirts and soaked to the bone. We left.
Ernest knew of a dive down the street. I liked it, they were playin' all the hits. Cristy was nice enough to ditch her friends and come hang out with us.
The last place we went was a total dance party, which was perfect for Ernest. Ernest feels he is the great white hope of the dance floor. And you know, I might agree. After dancing with him, Sofia said, "Wow he actually knows how to lead." Great, but I bet he can't ollie a nine set.
Coverage overload!
4 comments:
I'm glad you found the stupidest looking picture of me dancing to post.
Unless of course that was the good picture.
In which case I'm in trouble.
i miss you guys. looks like it was a good one bro. i'm going to have to make an effort to make it down there soon . . . peace
aaron, you can't even ollie a nine set.
You got that right Anonymous.
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