Fucking snow. I knew I should have never moved back from Oklahoma. Seriously, it’s like 60 degrees down there right now. Here’s my weekend in a nutshell:

Friday night: The BnFnH crew all had the night off of work, so we cruised out to Lucky’s in Novi to play some video games, drink some beers and just cause general havoc. First, let me say that if you’re at a place like that, keep a close eye on your video game card (which contains all the credits you’ve purchased to play games). I left two sitting in the machines, essentially wasting $20. While there we met up with the Mizzi’s ex-beau, Jill. She’s a cute girl, well, except for her pumpkin-head. Seriously, there’s got to be plastic surgery for this. Cranial-reduction, maybe?

Saturday: Holy crap, where the hell did all this snow come from? Beaker, Do and I were supposed to go put together the paperwork for the new townhouse but Mother Nature sort of put the kibosh on that. The blizzard kind of limited my options for entertainment, so it was spent just kind of laying low. Loc and I did end the night, however, at BW-3 with the second-to-best line of the weekend (see Sunday for the best).
Super hot waitress: What’ll you have?
Loc: Silver Bullet?
SHW: What’s that?
Loc: You don’t know what the Silver Bullet is?
SHW: Other than the fact that it’s the name of my vibrator, no.

Sunday: Beaker, Do and I got over to see the townhouse, turn in the paperwork and put down a deposit. Hopefully we’ll know today that it’s all set. Now it’s just a matter of figuring out how to get Beaker to agree to delaying the move-in date a month. Other than that, I just hung out with Franco for the NFC championship, gossiped with my favorite Englishwoman and then had a hockey game. We lost a heartbreaker to the Lawrence Tech team. We were up 4-3 with three minutes left. They scored on a power play to tie the game up then scored again at the one minute mark to take the lead. The curse continues. The best line of the weekend comes from earlier, at the beginning of the NFC championship game at Franco’s. There was some 12-year-old looking kid singing the national anthem, and doing a terrible job at it. He was stumbling over the words and honestly, the kid would have gotten the William Hung treatment on American Idol had he tried out.:
Franco: Who is this kid singing the national anthem? He’s terrible.
Me: I’m not sure, he doesn’t look familiar.
Franco: Is he “special” or something?
Me: I hope so.