"J.J., it's Christa. I'm pregnant."

It took me three days to figure out why my fridge smelled like dog food.
It was because . . . someone stuck a can of dog food in there. Now, not currently owning a pet of the canine persuasion, I can only assume that the offending can of mutt meat did in fact belong to one Trevor (Red Cheeks) Thorburn, who was kind enough to leave it in my icebox during his weekend visit. The visit where, when I was at work, he and Miceail (aka the Chinese Driver) crashed (no pun intended) on my couch to watch football for four hours, and quite possibly, pleasured themselves while reading "50+: The Mature Porn Mag."
(And JJ shudders.)
At least this time, Karma — Trev's chihuahua/german shepherd mix — didn't crap under my futon as she usually does. It must have been the food ...
Anyways, the plan to "get Irish" on Saturday night after I got off work went off without a hitch. We did indeed get Irish, hitting up the peeler bar and the club. As the snow fell, we got a good laugh seeing all the scantily clad women trying to keep warm in the line outside, as the temperatures plummeted to -20. We did the usual VIP move, marching by the line and nodding to the bouncer, who raised the velvet ropes to let us in. It's great having some juice. Or, failing that (like me), having friends (like Anj) who have juice.
The bar was, well, the bar; a little drinking and a little dancing. Miceail did much more of the former than the latter, and ended the night passing out listening to Enya. You know, some people just shouldn't drink.
We had, of course, previously made the obligatory Denny's stop, where Trev, Irish, Clarence and me ingested some greasy late-night fare. Actually, all of us except Trevor, whose master plan was to pull a dine-and-dash; except he didn't order anything, so it was more of an aborted dash than anything.
It was cool seeing The Boys again, hearing Miceail's stories of getting into five accidents in ONE MONTH (and JJ shudders), laughing about stupid text messages (JJ, it's Christa. I'm pregnant.), then not laughing at some not-so-funny text messages (JJ, it's Christa. I'm pregnant.) Ahh, I guess you had to be there.
I'm worn out after a marathon day at the office, so I'm heading home for another marathon session with Prince of Persia: The Warrior Within.