I hereby attribute the fact that Sunday was a completely wasted day to the effects of Daylight Savings Time. Who’s with me?
Okay, it didn’t help that our party of revelers was ejected — after we paid — from Tijuana Taxi on Saturday night. Fortunately it had nothing to do with several members of our party (both genders) drooling over the exposed flesh of the wait staff — I think I’m the one that ordered the second pitcher of “Dos Equis Cleavage I mean dark! Dark! Dos Equis Dark!” — I get the impression that sort of happens a lot out there.
No, Management was peeved because we smuggled in a flask of tequila and acted just a trifle too blatant in its consumption. Next time we won’t ask for the extra limes. But really — is it our fault this fine Mexican dining establishment offers only crappy tequila like Cuervo, Senor Rattler, and Montezuma’s Revenge? Get real. We’re Partida people, and have the liver damage to prove it.
No, it’s the damn clocks. We have an assortment around here. Some work on satellite and are supposed to change on their own. Well, some did, and some didn’t. Others are programmed by the manufacturer, but remember, former President Monkey Boy changed the date of Daylight Savings Time, so they’re off by a month. The clocks on the oven and the telephones do their own thing — we never know which one does what.
This meant for the entire day, we just don’t know what time it is, which turns out to be disorienting. E.g., I was late for my afternoon nap and that delayed dinner. I suffer so.
So I got nothin’. Sorry. Will you settle for a rerun from an abandoned blog?