tequila is spelled P-I-S-S O-F-F

it's a pretty well known fact that if you're one of the only people working on a holiday, the productivity level is going to take a hit. that being said, let's kill some time.

friday night was a blast. there was great pizza (hawaiian!), multiple stellas, a roofdeck in beacon hill with a great view, mild temperatures, and random backbends to make life a little more exciting. two or three hours of sleep and a full day at the barn later, i thought i might be ready to do it again.

hauled my tired bod back into boston in time to catch the beginning of the pats debacle (this is where things began to go awry). as there was ZERO action in the game, manning and i went over to lucky's, part of a set of trendy hipster dives that have popped up around boston in the past few years. a friend of his from law school was getting engaged, he said, and this get together was just to have a few drinks, chat, and watch the game. great!

i've often said that i could talk to a wall about nothing for at least twenty minutes. i even managed to get excited over some girl's library sciences degree on friday night. after saturday, however, i am forced to retract that statement.

manning and i arrived at lucky's and were immediately introduced to everyone...in pairs. unless we were all being loaded onto noah's ark, this was a married party. i grabbed my margarita with both hands, licked a chunk of salt off, and took a big, long drag. "jeffandkate, roryandjulie, johnandeve..." i repeated after manning's soon-to-be-married friend. i backpedaled for awhile, surviving on "what do you do?" conversations which inevitably turned into "how long have you guys been together?" within three minutes. "we're not. we're friends from high school." "oh." they'd respond, looking at me as though i had leprosy and my scales were showing.

"hi, i'm julie!" said a petite brunette with a big smile. "hi, i'm alannah, nice to meet you," i said, wagging my tail and shaking her hand as i glanced at the score of the game and threw up a little in my mouth. "what do you do?" julie asked. "i'm in PR, what about you?" "i'm a MAHM!" she squawked in excited, midwestern tones. ::salt lick, gulp:: "that's wonderful! how many?"

she beamed at me. "one little girl. anita marie. she's one. our biggest challenge right now has to do with breast feeding. let me tell you, lactating..." an hour. this discussion continued for an HOUR. lactating? hi. i don't have children. i'm not married. i don't even have a boyfriend. i have a DOG, and i'm not even doing a good job with that. dear god. get me out of here. ::salt lick, gulp. gulp. gulp.::

i looked at manning in panic, but, fascinated by a lovely but married irish girl, he misinterpretted my "i'm miserable" face as "the patriots are dying a slow and untimely death."

three margaritas and four turnovers by the pats later, even manning was ready to leave. "did you notice that they were all married?" he asked. i glared. tequila makes me grumpy. lactating makes it worse.