Apparently I was hit (repeatedly) by a huge fucking truck this weekend. I still can't put the occurrences of the weekend in chronological order, but have a charming series of Altmanesque vignettes that string together into a semi-coherent narrative.
Buy me a drink, and I'll tell you a story.
Lesson learned this weekend: Drunk girls are the North American equivalent of the pickpocket monkeys that plague India.
If you're out drinking heavily with a group of young ladies, expect to have every item in your possession removed from its rightful place and explored thoroughly. It is then YOUR responsibility to make sure you get everything back, for the safety of everyone. I came out of this weekend with one less pocket knife, and Kimberly got the full-treatment from the TSA folks at the airport (much to her surprise).
Good times, great stories, stubborn stains.