Last night, we attended our very first Saint Paul Saints game, thanks to our employer, and we were able to invite NeeNee and J-Dizzle, two friends with whom we haven't chilled in FOR.EV.ER, and it was awesome because my boss was like, "You should pool your money and bet on the trains, I think 8 trains will be the ticket tonight!" and I was all, "Awesome, thanks for the tip!" except I was thinking, "Wait, what the hell trains is he talking about? Isn't this a baseball game?" and then somewhere around the fourth inning, I realized that the stadium is sandwiched between two working railroad lines and those trains I keep seeing go by? Yeah, I'm pretty sure those are the trains my boss was talking about.
It was kind of hard to pay attention to the game because NeeNee and I were gabbing away like old friends are apt to do, and at one point we both looked up and went, "Oh my god, it's only the third inning? BASEBALL IS LONG", and then Gray made out with Madonna, except is wasn't really Madonna, it was Mudonna, and actually, thinking back on how many pigs we saw, I'm starting to understand the weird dream I had last night, which - DON'T WORRY - I'll get to that in a moment, but first I must tell you that I ate potato salad, chips, a chicken sandwich, several cheese curds, half a bag of peanuts and most of a bag of mini-donuts, and then in a stunningly brilliant finish, I washed all that down with four keg beers.
J-Dizzle, who recently dropped a shitload of weight - we're talking a me-sized amount of weight - commented that the ONE cheese curd he ate nearly put him "over the edge" into gastro-intestinal distress, which maybe should have been my queue not to continue ingesting deep-fried ballpark food, and which certainly proved to be a glimpse into what was coming for me overnight. That, my friends, is what we English majors like to call "foreshadowing".
I spent the hours between 1:40 am and 3:24 am moaning in the bathroom, ruing the day I'd decided to put onions on my sandwich and sending angry vibes to Gray in the next room who was obliviously and painlessly sleeping through my ordeal. When, at last, I returned to sleep, I dreamt that I'd been house-sitting for some guy who owned two big pigs and two full-grown kangaroos, and that one of the kangaroos had begun vomiting so I locked him in the bathroom to minimize the fallout, and when the guy came home he was like, "Oh my god WHY did you lock him in the bathroom? Hear that pounding? That's him punching holes in my bathroom walls!" and then he lectured me on responsible kangaroo care, and all the while I was thinking, "DUDE. You left me alone with your animals. Forget about the drywall, you should be thanking me for not eating your pigs."