Last weekend, to put it mildly, rocked out loud. I caught up with friends I haven't seen in years. I realized that maybe I had been out of touch for too long when Matt Koon informed me that he just kind of assumed I was dead. For any of you that knew me in high school and early college, that's not too much of a stretch. We did some inebriated math, and figured out that the last time we saw each other was sometime in 1999. We also, through drunken chemistry and physics, accomplished cold fusion, thus solving the energy woes of the Earth.

Friday night started off innocently enough. I met my friend Kyle and his girlfriend Ashley at his house, and we went to his friend's house for dinner and a few drinks (translation: too many drinks before dinner and Kyle and I forgot to eat). Kyle and his friends Brian and Neil have started a weekly beer tasting group. I had been looking foward to participating at some point, but this took a turn for the worse when it turned into an Irish car bomb fest, intermingled with vodka shots with Brian's wife Sarah. Without going into too much detail (because I don't have many to share,) Kyle at one point was wearing a kimono, and I was wearing a beer helmet while crouched in a three point stance. Some other highlights involve a rousing game of leapfrog in the backyard, a video of Kyle and I dancing, and eating mayonnaise straight out of the jar with chopsticks. I would like to thank Ashley for having the patience to put up with us, and Pam brand cooking spray for coating Kyle's face when he fell asleep. If I had the pull, I would award her (Ashley, not Pam) with a Congressional Medal of Honor.

Saturday started off like almost any other Saturday, with Kyle, Brett and I bleaching our beards and then dyeing them green in honor of St. Patrick. We then proceeded down to 5 Points (a small Irish borough in Columbia) to pay way too much for beer. Four dollars for a ten ounce cup, to be precise. Luckily, I ran into my boy Honeycutt, who told me that the gas station on the corner was selling double deuces for three dollars. Like a champ, I rocked a double deuce of High Life for the rest of the day. It is the champagne of beers, after all. Some great bands played that day, unfortunately, it just wasn't possible to see them all. Villanova rocked as always, and I was introduced to a band I hadn't seen before, The Movement, that I will not miss if they're close by. Then, just for good measure, I made my way to Goatfeathers to catch up with my old friends Joye and Mike T, and close the evening out with some nice Scotch. It was right around this point that I lost my hat, but gained a friend. Cat, the bartender that night, rocks, and I plan to drop in and say howdy again soon. How much does she rock? She took my phone and started dialing (sorry Hook) until she made sure I had a ride home (which I did, but in her defense, I'm guessing most drunks always claim to have a way home). Kyle eventually came to get me, and then, in retaliation for the Pam dousing of the night before, applied lipstick, eyeshadow, and blush once I passed out. I love that kid. All in all, a weekend of epic proportions, and one that made me realize just how out of touch with my friends I had become.