cheese is good.

I discovered yesterday that I cannot partake in the citywide wireless service. (Yet.) The transmitter is north of me on Colfax, and my windows only face south. After explaining that fact to the technical support guy three times (he didn’t seem to understand the concept of an apartment made of materials other than glass), they finally told me that I wouldn’t be able to get a signal. Therefore, I’m stuck with Comcast for now. Man, I hate those jerks.

When Wendy told me that Northwest Airlines rescheduled our flight to Fort Lauderdale, leaving us with a 12-minute layover in Memphis, I was pretty sure Minnesota’s most-hated companies were out to get me. However, I called them this morning and they were not only very, very friendly, they switched us to the newly-added flight that will get us to Memphis on time. Hopefully. It’s still free, so that makes me very glad. Also: the cruise is in exactly two months. Yay!!

Anyway! Now it’s time for My Awesome Weekend, by Jenni Ripley.

We headed to Mankato immediately postwork on Friday, armed with two kinds of caffeine and a deep, burning need to see the Gophers beat the Mavericks. We convened at our awesome hotel bar, the Blazer Lounge (which was full of Gophers fans already), then headed over to the arena via the skyway I’m pretty sure they built to skirt the crappy strip club next door.

Alltel Center is pretty nice, though half the size of Mariucci. When I bought tickets, I was picturing section 214 in, you know, Xcel Center. We were about 8 rows off the ice. It was weird to be sitting and watching the Gophers in person (I’m kind of hoping we never do get season tickets, because I won’t know how to sit down for hockey). It was even more weird that they didn’t have a band, and instead played the greatest hits written by white people in 2002. But the weirdest thing ever? They sing a soccer chant when they score. You know that song that goes: olé, olé olé olé, and will now be stuck in your head, too, for at least a week? THEY SING IT. Don’t they have a school song or something? We were dying.

Also, I’m concerned about the ticket thing. I could not, in 14 million years, call the Gophers and purchase a pair of seats, much less seats for six people, within 10 rows of the ice. By the time tickets go on sale to the public, there are scattered single seats and standing room. The UND game sells out completely within a few days. Mankato fans, you need to fix this right now.

Anyway! The Gophers won. There was no real fighting (a group of rowdy U of M students at the front of the section drew attention away from us, plus there were a ton of Gophers fans there), though Cindi did elbow a dude in the nuts for calling Frazee gay multiple times (the term wasn’t that nice, and she warned him first). The guys in front of us really, really wanted to have words with Matt at the end of the game, but we did a good job of feigning obliviousness. Lots of people yelled at us out on the street, but we had the best way to shut them up: we won.


We saw the Jack Brass Band at Pub 500, which unfortunately served Hpnotiq. We came up with several amazing realizations about lesbians and Serbians, none of which any of us can explain now. Cindi had a taco in a bag. Then we headed to another bar down the street called Mum’s the Word, which was brightly-lit and alarmingly similar to the Harbor Bar in Matt’s hometown. Wendy and I sat at the table having a very serious conversation about something, I’m sure, while Cindi and Matt owned the naked lady machine. Two seconds after returning to our hotel room, we got a noise complaint from security. Since only Bill and Katie were in the next room, we figured they probably just followed us up. They probably hate the Gophers.

The next morning, Cindi and Matt and I went to Happy Chef for brunch. It was fantastic in the way that Happy Chef has to be, and also I just learned that it’s the last one that has a real Happy Chef statue. Why I didn’t take a picture, I do not know. Wendy informed us that the same guy who owns Pub 500 owns that place (and perhaps half of Mankato), so all was right with the world.

We spend as much time on the couch as possible Saturday afternoon. I knitted a hat that Mary requested, we ordered pizza, and then headed to Mariucci for the second half of the home-home series (that page made me sniffly, by the way). We were looking for spots right at face-off, and the next thing we knew, people were booing and we saw Justin Bostrom storming off the ice on the TV overhead. He was apparently called for checking from behind in the first few seconds of the game, and ejected. Mankato got another 5-minute major soon thereafter, and it was instantly the craziest hockey game ever. The Gophers returned to looking like the Gophers, Okposo got two goals, and all was right with the world again.

Cindi was too riled up by hockey to stay home, so we met her at Nye’s, the best bar in America. God, I love that place, even though you’re guaranteed to hear at least two people destroying ‘Piano Man’ every time you’re there. Not that that song really needs ruining. It sucks.

Yesterday, we did gloriously little. I finished knitting the socks for Matt’s mom for Christmas, we made ghetto cheeseburger pie with fake meat, and we watched a lot of futbol and football. Also The Next Iron Chef, the outcome of which made me very happy. I can’t wait to see the new episodes.

And since that just got really, really nerdy, I’ll go. It sounds as if there will be a boy waiting for me at happy hour very shortly.

Olé, olé olé olé!

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