Nicole and I took our first couple's vacation last week to Charlotte, and I wish I were still there having fun and ignoring the grind of daily life here.
The intended point of the trip was to watch the Saints in action on the road. I'm trying to make a tradition of going to a road game every year, though so far it's been every other year: Tampa in 2010, Denver in 2012 and Carolina in 2014.
It's also supposed to be a group outing, but my friends apparently don't like the Saints. Or don't like me. Hmmm.
Anywhoozles, Nicole and I had a grand old time watching the Saints whoop that ass at Bank of America Stadium, except when she dropped her phone and the glass cracked.
We saw a Saints fan get kicked out after a verbal and somewhat physical confrontation with a Panthers fan -- he nonchalantly knocked off the other guy's hat. Ooooo. I told Nicole he was definitely from the West Bank.
We went briefly to a Saints tailgate before the game -- we were told about its secret location by another Saints fan in our hotel lobby. We saw Saints fans dancing in large groups in the street after the victory, which brought my record to 2-1 in road trips. Next up, Washington, D.C.
And I took these photos.
Bank of America is 20 years old and doesn't look a day older than five. It's aging like Jennifer Aniston.
The concourse is huge, with no traffic to sift through at all when walking about. Wouldn't that be nice at the Dome? They also have a giant screen that shows the replay of every play immediately after the play from two separate angles.
Calling Mr. Benson. Calling Mr. Benson. Time to join the 21st century.
Champions of what? ... I should have asked a worker if only Saints fans were allowed to enter.
We were in the sixth row of the end zone. Anyone know why Brees always stands away from the huddle? Does he smell?
This is at a cozy little park across the street from the stadium after the victory. Pretty cool looking, eh?
Sam Mills and I the day after the game.
THE TINA CURSING CORNER
The nurse, who told my mom a month ago that she had a couple weeks left, told her this week that she's nowhere near dying and that she's just fading slowly. Thanks for the emotional roller coaster, lady.
Mom enjoyed some medicine. "Fucking Valium. Make you not give a shit about nothing."
Here are two of my favorite quotes from mom from last month.
"I'm scared to look at my breast. Probably some fucking tumor sticking out."
This one is a classic when she was letting out her frustrations on me. "I'd like to take these fucking tumors I got moving in me and put them in you for five fucking minutes."
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