viva italia

On Sunday morning, I was cramped into a loud tiny bar for the World Cup final. I drank a beer-mosa (the white trash version of a mimosa consisting of light beer and orange juice--it's a lot better than it sounds), jumped, sang, cheered, cursed and got knocked in the face by an errant inflatable soccer ball. I think everyone in town was there, including the hottest waitress with the best legs ever. But even better than that, Italy won the match, and afterwards, we ended up next door at a friend's Italian restaurant--he's a natural born Italian--for a pretty loud celebration. It was such an exciting game and I think I shook like a leaf for the last 30 minutes. But the Cup was great overall this year, I thought, despite all the drama. There was great goals, better acting and a really vicious headbutt. I can't wait for 2010. Even though by then I'll be REALLY old.

I drank champagne, beer, rum and a shot of Jagermeister. All that and the hot weather was making me woozy. My shirt was drenched and I generally felt like a human sponge, albeit a happy one. But I was a tired sponge too, so around 3pm, I decided to walk home. It was probably 200 degrees and I went from sponge to liquid form rather quickly. My sweat, I'm sure, ran about 80 proof. But I made it home--air conditioned bliss--and passed out on the couch.

It was nice to have such a fun and relaxing day, because I had to use the memory of that to get me through today. Work has been very troubling and way too much for me to handle lately. There's too much for me to keep track of. Too many projects to flesh out and stories to write. There was some good stuff, though. I watched David Wright advance to the finals in the Homerun Derby and came home for lunch and watched a couple episodes of Entourage. I hope the people in Italy are still drunk, partying and conceiving children that they'll name after members of their 2006 World Cup team. At least then I can live vicariously.