WAITING BY THE PHONE

THE WORST YEAR

The past month or so has been a mix of highs (anniversary dinner, engagement party) and lows (Nicole's car crash, my best friend at work being let go), but the thing that's been on my mind the most is my mother. 

Tomorrow marks one year since I got the call. The call that signaled the official beginning of mom's deterioration. The call that said from now on any call could be the death call. 

I only remember that it was Sept. 12 because of prep football. Every year when prep football starts, we say 12 weeks of prep to go and at the end of each Friday night we say how many prep Fridays left. 

Because for the longest time in my work career, prep Fridays were by far the hardest nights of the year. Not so much now -- a story for a different day -- but I still count them off. 

The call came on the second week of prep Fridays last year. It was 10:30 p.m., just before the rush of prep actually happens and right after the time I go to the vending machine to get a bag of cookies and a coke -- my prep adrenaline. (Back in the day, this time would also be reserved for me and Lopes to do our prep chant: an old wrestling catchphrase parodied into being about prep football. Are you ready? ...)

I was thinking the other day: What was the actual date of the call? I only remember it as the second prep Friday, but since today is the second prep Friday of 2015 I realized that tomorrow the 12th is the one-year anniversary of the call. 

Anyway, mom called at 10:30 p.m., and I knew that wasn't a good sign. She was diagnosed with inoperable cancer in April, but her body was still operating normally through the summer. She didn't have a doctor and wasn't on any medication. 

The call ended all of that. Mom thought that night was the end. She couldn't stop throwing up. She begged me to come home immediately. 

I updated Katie on everything I had left to do, and she took over my duties. I raced home trying not to cry and/or drive my car off the Earhart. 

We got her under control, but that night began a steep decline where every step of deterioration down seemed like the end. Except it's not. 

There was the time I found her naked on the hallway floor gasping for air. There was the week of "vacation" at the hospital where she lost her mental capacity and said the most random, fucked-up shit imaginable (babies in the freezer, the cop getting murdered in her living room, etc.)

The two weeks where all she did was throw up. The nine-day stretch when she didn't eat anything -- and I don't mean she nibbled and barely ate, she literally ate nothing for NINE days. 

The growing tumors on her neck and back. The constant pain in her arms is the latest thing. And don't get me started on her cough. 

But she's still here, and as I try to cherish every waking moment I have with her, it just keeps getting harder. And not just because the process is taking longer than a college football game -- I mean, seriously those games are now almost unwatchable they take so long. 

It's that she's so miserable there's not much to enjoy. You can be having a good convo, she's laughing, and then bam! a shot of pain or throw up comes, and the good mood is gone. And the good part happens not often enough. 

You just hope it's over soon. She begs for it every day. But over means death. 

And that's a hard thing to hope for. 

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom has never lost her cursing ways.  She recently played some music with the volume turnt up. 

"People in the neighborhood probably thought I was fucking crazy. I had it cranked up so loud. But what do I give a shit for?"

Mom says dad's hearing is so bad you can call him names to his face and he won't hear you. "Like you little shithead. You little asshole."

HAPPY PICTURES

Here's a photo essay from the good times in the past month. 

My Loyola monthly dinner group had our nine-year anniversary dinner on August 4th. It also marked our 100th dinner. Wow! A lot to celebrate. 

We went to Dick and Jenny's, and I had the black drum. Very good.

The nine-year anniversary gift is tin. So I ordered these little tin men online, and Nicole made them into key chains for the group. Rachel made everyone tin foil animals, and I got a dolphin that sits on my dashboard. 

I had a contest to see who could get closest to guessing how many of the 100 dinners they've attended. Kelli guessed 81, one off from her 82. She won a small bottle of wine. 

Nicole's aunts threw us an engagement party on August 8. Ninety-eight people attended, and I think everyone had a good time. So much food. So much dessert. This was our cake, the top half of which was chocolate. I ate the chocolate. 

Couldn't ask for a better group of groosmen. Well, unless, one of them hit it rich, and gave me a mil or so. Get to it, guys. 

The theme of the party was to wear your favorite jersey or favorite team colors. 

I ordered a jersey for the party. Alas, it didn't arrive. But it was waiting on my porch when I returned home from the party. 

Tyler is still my favorite. 

Nicole and I went to the beach for two days and stayed with Paul, pictured with me in the water. Nicole fell asleep in her chair after taking this pic. Hehe. 

Nicole turned 30 on Sept. 6. I told her I was trading her in for a newer model, but I would never. Well, probably not. 

After dinner at Amici, we went to The Bulldog, where I took this terrible photo. 

NO ONE SAID STARBUCKS

PARTY ON, GARTH

With my move to a new house complete and most of the stuff put away, the pace of life has slowed for a bit. But alas, there's a wedding to plan and football preview sections to make and other shit. 

So before we get too busy, let's go back over the past six weeksish and see what happened in my life besides selling my house and traveling to Boston. Who's with me? You, you and you. Good, here we go. 

3:30 IN THE MORNING

Garth Brooks had about 13 shows in one weekend about three-plus weeks ago. Nicole was about excited as I've ever seen at just the thought of seeing Garth. And she was almost as excited for we to see him, too. You know, cuz Garth is the greatest. 

Reluctantly I tagged along with her, and her two friends and their husbands. Yes, I made fun of the situation of seeing live country music. Yes, I wrote my own partial country song to mock it. 

I got my pickup truck 

And a beer in my hand

But I ain't got no girl 

It was a one night stand

Got her a pizza pie 

And an ice cream cone

But she robbed me blind

Now I need a loan

Pretty good, eh?

Anyway, Garth certainly isn't my type of music, but I did like a few songs besides the three I knew, especially People Loving People. And boy, did that man bring some passion and energy. 

Even more so did the audience. It was the best concert crowd I've ever been a part of. I've heard it that loud before but only at the beginning or for the biggest hit or two. 

But that night at The Blender -- that's what Joe calls the Smoothie King Center and I like that -- Garth's fans were out-of-control loud the entire time. If only the Saints crowd sustained that volume the whole game -- you ever notice it's not that loud at the Dome in the second and third quarters?

These maniacs cheered at the top of their lungs just by Garth pointing at their section. You could tell this tour was something special and not just a normal concert. 

So I was impressed with Garth the performer. You can tell he genuinely enjoyed his four days in our city. And I was impressed with the crowd. Can't say enough about those people. 

I still don't like country music, though. 

I'M THE CHAMPION

Every year, the state has a sports journalism contest for writing, design, photography and headlines.

In 2009, I won second place for a headline. That has gnawed at me for five years -- the awards are given the following year so I actually got the award in 2010. 

I felt like my headline on a severe drought that was messing with hunters -- Wanted: Rain, deer -- should have won over Bear Necissities, on what the Saints had to do to beat Chicago in an upcoming game. 

I don't remember what happened in 2010. In 2011, I had some decent entries but didn't place. 2012 was a clusterfuck, and we didn't enter. 2013 I again had good entries but was shutout -- the winner was actually a less clever headline of a similar one I wrote but didn't even submit because I had better ones. 

But 2014 was different. I knew I had the winner. And even the moron judges could not deny me. My victory wiped away my previous disappointments like the Saints Super Bowl made me forget all about that NFC title game loss in 2006. 

So LSU lost the golden boot trophy to Arkansas in a 17-0 defeat. It was an embarrassing loss just falling to the lowly Razorbacks. But it was a blowout, and they played like shit. You can even say it was A SHUTOUT TO BOOT. 

Get it? They lost, and it was a shutout to boot. And they lost the boot. Boom!

In their comments on the category, the judges said it "was a really clever play on words that still makes sense even if you don't know the teams play for the golden boot."

BABY FEVER

Chuck's little man, Ethan, made one in early July. And they let him eat cake. 

Laura got him a party hat to celebrate. He does not like party hats and threw a fit until she removed it. Hehe. 

When Nicole and I got back from Boston, we went to dinner with Paul and Leigh, who gave me some photos to keep from their wedding 15 months ago. 

Stuck in the middle was a positive pregnancy test. I just stared in shock for several seconds. Nicole thought it was an ad -- silly girl -- before realizing and shrieking in the restaurant, "Are you pregnant?"

They told Kelly and Bert later in the night by putting the test in the window of the driver's door of Kelly's brand new car. 

Kelly upon noticing something on her window: "What in the fuck?" She then approached the car and realized what it was. "Oh my god! Are you pregnant?!?"

So yeah, we're pregnant. Oh, I'm gonna pretend like the kid -- definitely going to be a boy -- is all of ours. Excited for the journey. 

On a serious note, congratulations to the new parents. Ya'll are gonna do great. 

And if not, eh, no biggie. 

OH CAKE. I MISSED THEE. 

My mom was feeling frisky the other day and made her classic chocolate cake. First time in at least a year. Still so good. 

She was proud of her handy work. "Not bad for being fucking blind, huh?"

I'M HOMELESS

MOVE IT ALONG

When I sold my house the day before putting it on the market a few weeks ago, the process of moving in with Nicole was only just getting started. 

There was the garage sale. 

Then there was the moving. 

And saying goodbye to my old house. 

Don't forget the signing over of the house. 

Of course, there's the unpacking left. 

The process started with selling my washer and dryer. I put it up on Craigslist for $400 with the intention of settling at $350. 

Mike saw the ad and offered $300. I said $350. He texted back a few days later and then a few days after that, offering $300 both times. So no deal there. 

Three others contacted me but couldn't fathom coming all the way to River Ridge to get it. Here's my favorite text convo:

Are you serious, bro? I get that the north shore is probably too far to drive from for a washer/dryer, but he never heard of River Ridge. Come on now. 

I ended up selling it for $350 to an old grammar school chum. I had it on Craigslist for five days but sold it about one hour after posting it on Facebook. 

Nicole sold the fridge to her parents' neighbor for $300 -- pretty good considering I never paid for it myself as it came with the house -- and I sold my beloved couch -- I miss it so -- to the new owners for $500, which I then flipped into this TV stand. 

Next came going through the house. I had three categories: trash, keep and sell.

I filled five garbage bags and two recycling bins with trash. It was fun going through my old shit, but I determined maybe I didn't need that scantron test from the 10th grade. CBACCB. 

The keep stuff went to the new house, and we brought that over slowly and surely. Still unpacking it all. 

And the sell pile went into the garage for a sale on July 18. Bert and Paul joined in to sell some of their crap. 

I wish I had sold more, but overall I did OK. Childhood dresser, $30. Childhood bed set, $50. Table, $5. Storage draw thing, $5. Pots and pans, $5. Bunch of different stuff, $1 a piece. 

The customers were, predictably, entertaining. There was the Hispanic lady who was bringing my clothes to Costa Rica the next week and kept lowering the price each time she went over what she was buying. 

There were the two dudes in their early 20s who showed up looking all kinds of out of place and bought Bert's complete works of Shakespeare for $2 after trying to get the monstrous book for 50 cents -- I saw the same book on sale at Barnes and Noble last week for $20. 

There was the marble lady who narrated her adventure through our tables, as if she were the star of a reality TV show about people who shop at garage sales. "I ended up not getting the knife set because the asking price was a little too steep. I liked some other items at this stop as well and got some good deals. OK, onto the Kenner sale."

She bought a bag of marbles from me for $2. And she couldn't have been more excited, pulling some out and informing everyone of the names of the different kinds of marbles. 

I had some bouncy balls from Mardi Gras parades of yesteryear also in there, and she told her camera crew that she felt she was being gypped, as she took out several and bounced them around my garage. 

After she left, three other shoppers asked, "Do ya'll have any marbles?" Maybe we should have spread all my marbles into several bags, but we weren't prepared for the marble demand at a garage sale. 

Then there was the couple who looked a little on the trashy side and had in fact brought a comic book found in the trash to my garage sell in order to possibly trade. Which Paul almost did. 

Good times overall, and I was sad when it ended, wishing we had done it for more than one day. The rest of my stuff -- some of it pretty good shit -- ended up at Goodwill. Wonder how much they are selling it for. 

The next day we moved my big stuff to the new house. Nicole's family and her friend Bridget as well as my dad helped out big time, and we moved my bed set, etc., in under two hours. 

The sale of the house went through the whole process basically without a hitch. 

The act of sale was July 24. I was expecting a bigger check but didn't factor in shit like county taxes. 

Plus the agents' cut was bigger than I anticipated and the amount I owed on my house was more than my last statement said. It all factored into my check being $2,000 less than I had hoped. 

But what ya gonna do. I made money on the sale, I'm moving in with my love, and I'm writing this as I'm upgrading to DirectTV. So life is good. 

There's other shit going down for real, but let's save the rest for another post. Time to channel surf. 

BOSTON: THE FINISH LINE

BAAAAWWWWSTEEEENNNN

It's been a few weeks since we returned from Boston, but there's so much I have written about. How bout the best of the rest in pictures?

Yay!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Jeans weren't ideal to run the 26 miles, but I made it work. 

Nicole pointed to those right-field bleachers and said, "Is that the green monster?"

I grabbed her hand and guided it over to left field, you know, where there's a pretty big green wall. "No, that is."

I had a Fenway Frank. So good. Nicole got a hamburger. So not good. Always get the Fenway Frank. 

Big Papi homered, and the Sox won 5-1. That was wicked awesome. We bought a green Red Sox hat and a Boston Strong T-shirt that says "Strongah." 

This was our condo. Really cute and in the middle of a nice neighborhood with easy access to the rest of town. 

There were no trash cans. We just threw our trash bag on the street. That was the only non-clean thing about the city. 

The Charles River with the city in sight. Oh, Boston. 

While no one knew my name inside, I was totally giddy to go to the bar that inspired one of my favorite shows. 

The next morning I called my mom. 

Mom: What you been up to there?

Me: Well, last night we went to Cheers. 

Mom: Oh yeah?

Me: Yes. It was so cool. 

Mom: Did you get some pants?

Me: Pants? Why would I do that?

Mom: You went to Sears, didn't you? Did you get some pants there?

Me: No, ma. We didn't go to Sears. We went to Cheers. You know, the bar. Sam, Dianne. Norm. 

We stumbled upon an outside public viewing of the U.S. Women against China in the World Cup quarterfinals. 

This is the map I used to navigate our travels. I only messed up one night, where we got off at the wrong stop twice. But we blame that on Christina being with us. I was flawless the rest of the week. 

A week subway pass is $19.00, and Nicole and I used it 22 times each. It took us from the airport to our condo and back and all over the city for the week. Cheapest public transportation ever. 

So goodbye, Boston. You have beans and citizens with cool accents. You have Fenway and the American Revolution. You have good fish and a sweet-ass part of town with all Italian restaurants. 

We'll remember you fondly. 

BOSTON: TOURS EDITION

You can't properly learn about a new city without locals showing you around town and telling you about their town's history. And so it was in Boston on our three tours. Here's a closer look at 'em:

1. Boston Duck Tour

On Thursday the 25th of June, we scheduled a duck tour at 9 a.m. The web site said to get there a half hour early, but we misjudged the timing of the subway and arrived around 8:55 a.m.  

And we didn't know where the tour started, just the building where it's setup. After asking the front desk person, we had to scurry all the way around the building to reach the boat with a minute to spare. 

The other problem was that I didn't have a ticket. You are able to show it on your phone, but I mistyped my email and didn't receive the ticket. Luckily, they were able to look it up and see that I had paid for the ride, so they let us on. 

Anyway, the Boston Duck Tour is on a $400,000 vehicle that runs on diesel, but turns into a boat and can navigate water. 

Our tour guide was an entertainer/informer who started with some magic. I'm still not sure if it was an actual card trick or not, but he did correctly guess the five of hearts. He said he gets it right about one in 52 tries. 

He -- I forgot his name, as I have all the tour guides -- pointed out many of the landmarks we would later visit in person. He dropped some decent one-liners, like "Why are there 239 beans in each can of Boston baked beans?" "Because one more would be too farty." 

Get it? Of course, you do. It's a fart joke. 

The circus was in town last week and there was drama. It was in tents. Get it? Like intense. In tents. Oh, the hilarity. 

My favorite bit was after we were on the Charles River. He had the children on the boat take turns steering and before giving them a sticker, he asked them their favorite ice cream flavor and football team. 

All the kids were tourists and would say their hometown team. He would blink in atonishement and mutter Patriots. They would say their team again. He muttered Patriots and repeat. 

We got a sticker for being from Louisiana. Yes, everyone on board got a sticker. 

We also said "Quack, quack" fairly often. Being on a duck boat and all. 

2. MASSACHUSETTS STATE HOUSE

Later that day, we stopped at the state house, where the governor and the such do business. 

The top is made of sheets of gold that has to be replaced about every 20-25 years. In 1997, it cost $300,000. 

Our tour guide was short enough for me to make fun of him. 

That's a statue of George Washington. Short stuff explained that Washington was made to look regal, but folks in the new country were leary, obviously, of kings, so the government said Washington was actually wearing a blanket and carrying battle plans in his hand. 

Don't know who bought that load of crap. It's clearly a toga. All hail, King George. 

The shrimp explained that JFK is shown walking in this tribute statue as a way to say that his legacy continues on. No sitting U.S. president, including Massachusetts native JFK, has visited the state house since William Howard Taft in 1912. 

This is where the votes are cast to implement important laws. I was not allowed to partake as part of the tour. Boo. 

One of the potraits up there is of Sam Adams -- who else? -- arguing for colonists' rights. 

These two were seen talking in just about every room we passed on the tour. Were they following us? Were they on their own tour? Were they fucking with me? Were they just plain fucking?

Don't remember why this is specifically hanging in the state house, but I did learn a fun fact. You see that Honest Abe isn't showing one arm?

Well, that's because the cost of potraits used to be determined by the amount of limbs showing. So by hiding his left arm, Abe saved some dough. And that's how we get the expression "it'll cost you an arm and a leg." 

Also of note, the members of the tour were Nicole, myself and about 30 Asians. 

3. HARVARD

On Friday, we took a tour of Hahvad, the oldest university in the country. Shit, it's older than America. 

Our tour guide was a handsome rising sophomore who kept lightly clapping his hands as he told stories. 

He's studying applied mathematics. What's that, someone asked. "I don't know. I've only taken the introductory courses." Also, Harvard doesn't call it a major. They call it a concentration. Well. 

That's the oldest academic building in the country. Guess who once lived here? Don't know? C'mon, didn't you learn anything from our previous post? 

Sam Adams and John Hancock. 

The statue of John Harvard is the third most photographed statue in America, right behind the Statue of Liberty and the Lincoln Memorial.

I'm almost touching his golden shoe for luck. Almost because our guide said you don't know what Harvard students have done to that toe in the dead of night. Yuck. 

We learned that that is not John Harvard, as someone else was used as the model. Probably some random student of the time. 

The Harvard library just made 100 years old. It has like a zillion books and goes underground for like a mile. It was dedicated in honor of a Harvard bookworm who died traveling back from Europe. The guide asked if anyone knew how he died. A voice rose up. 

The Titanic. 

Correct. 

That was me. I nailed it. Woooo!

So the kid's mother gave Harvard $3.5 million in 1915 to build a library under the condition that every Harvard student pass a swimming test before graduating because she thought her son would have survived -- he couldn't swim -- had he just did the breast stroke to New York. 

The guide made four boat puns -- rock the boat, ship has sailed, etc. -- during his story, the corniest being that with the library, the dead Harvard student's heart will go on. 

We also learned about how Harvard students go streaking together before finals. Hmmmmmmm. 

BOSTON: HISTORY EDITION

I WANTED A SONS OF LIBERTY SHIRT. THERE WASN'T ONE IN ANY SHOP. 

More than anything, our vacation in Boston was a trip down history lane. Beantown almost had too much a part in the American Revolution. Like the other colonies weren't really even involved. 

My head was spinning a bit trying to retain as much knowledge as I could about New England and its patriots -- see what I did there?

But what I mainly picked up on is that Boston and, really America, owes its existence to three men: John Hancock, Sam Adams and Paul Revere. 

Everywhere we went, there was a monument, statue or something named after one of those three. It became almost comical. We would pass some historic thing and I would say:

Nicole, guess which three names this thing mentions? 

Nicole: "Gee, let me guess."

A brief lesson: Hancock -- most famous for signing the Declaration of Independence first and the biggest -- and Adams -- notable for being the second president -- were the leaders of the Sons of Liberty, and therefore, the leaders of the Revoultion in its early stages. 

Revere -- well known for riding a horse to warn everyone that the British were a coming -- mainly helped stir the thought of starting the Revoultion through propaganda against the British he made as a silversmith. 

Revere actually went on the midnight run to tell Hancock and Adams that the motherland troops were heading to Lexington to take all their ammunition and arrest the duo. 

Now that you've learned something, let me show you some pictures from our days breathing in the history of Boston. 

On Saturday, we walked the 2.5-mile Freedom Trail from the Battle of Bunker Hill to the Massachusetts State House, which sits on what was once Hancock's massive estate. 

That's the monument to Bunker Hill in the background. We walked enough over five days, so we didn't climb the 200-something steps to the top. 

The statue is of the patriot general who led the troops against the much larger British army. The British came across the river from Boston to Charlestown, as we headed to the top of Bunker Hill to make a stand. 

The patriots held off two waves of troops but were forced to retreat on the third wave. But the Americans had shown that they could hold their own against the world's No. 1-ranked army and they stopped the depleted British from being able to penetrate farther. U-S-A! U-S-A!

There's Paul Revere and the horse he rode on, Brown Beauty. Though he didn't get the horse until he crossed the Charles River, so he didn't actually ride the horse in the area where this statue is located. But oh well, I guess. 

Around the corner from the statue is Revere's house, where he had two wives and like 16 kids. It was built in 1680, and he lived there from 1770 to 1800. The foundation and main structure are still the same! Fucking crazy!

They said no photography allowed in Paul's house, but you know what they say about rules. 

All three first sons of Boston are buried in Granary cemetery. Yeah, these dudes from the late 1700s, all three bodies in the same little area. Boston! History! Go Sox!

There's Paul. His descendants still live in Boston. So look up Paul Revere if you're ever in clam chowder city and tell him his ancestor was a wicked pissah -- ah, local dialect is funny. 

There's Sam Adams. Don't think he ever drank his own beer. But when you drink a Sam Adams -- always a good choice -- remember that you're drinking freedom.

Didn't get a photo of Hancock's tomb. But I did note that his name wasn't written big enough on the tombstone. Disappointing. 

That's the mark of the Freedom Trail. You follow it like Dorothy did the yellow brick road. Every building on the trail is the place where this happened during the time before the actual war and the next building is where that happened and so on. 

It was all too much to keep track of. So I didn't. 

Not on the trail is the Boston Harbor, but it should be. It would just make the walk too far, I guess. But we went there on Sunday to partake in the Boston Tea Party. 

At the Harbor, there's a presentation of the town hall meeting where they decided to dump the tea into the water. You know who was in charge of the meeting? I'll give you three guesses. 

So the dude playing Sam Adams called on my character, Thomas Porter, and I yelled that line above with all the fervor Portry probably did in 1773. Even slammed my hand down on the pew in front of me to cheers of "here, here!"

Then we all took turns dumping fake tea crates into the Boston Harbor. No taxation without representation!!!!!

If King George could see me, he would have me hung in the street for treason. Yikes. The patriots were brave souls. 

So if you don't remember anything else about Boston, remember Hancock, Adams and Revere. 

Thanks for all my liberty and shit, guys. 

BOSTON: FOOD EDITION

WE DIDN'T HAVE BEANS OR CLAM CHOWDAH

What trip to a great city would be complete without a discussion of the cuisine. I didn't have a favorite place or dish in Boston, but I did enjoy just about everything I gobbled down. 

So let's look at a few of my favorite places from Beantown's famous seafood restaurants to their epic Little Italy in the North End. 

Late Friday afternoon, we stopped at Atlantic Fish Company on Boylston Street where I ordered the blackened halibut with broccoli and corn pudding. 

Nicole got the fried haddock platter. She didn't particularly like it, so she ended up eating a good chunk of my halibut, which we both enjoyed. The halibut had just the right amount of chewiness and spicy kick to it. 

The haddock wasn't too bad, either. It wasn't too much different from fried catfish. My biggest surprise was the corn pudding. Didn't know if I would like it, but it's my new favorite side. 

On Thursday night, we went to Grill 23  after some thorough research on Google into the steak scene in Beantown. 

We both got filet. I was more than satisfied. Nicole said her order of medium rare wasn't cooked right. 

You might be starting to notice a theme, but those were her only complaints on the trip. Her leftovers made a nice snack for me later in the trip while chilling in our condo. 

Perhaps the coolest part in all of Boston is Little Italy. It has 90 Italian restaurants and pastry shops all in one neighborhood. 

On Saturday night, we walked down Salem Street where it's just one Italian joint after another. Basically, it's a little taste of heaven. The only problem is picking a spot, which I left up to Nicole, who picked La Famiglia Giorgio's. 

It had a 30-minute wait despite being surrounded by several other places with no waits. 

And I knew we were in good shape when our waitress approached. She belonged in both Boston and Italy, with her thick Boston ascent -- I like ya nailz dalin'-- and her Italian mother presence -- I thought I had warped back to being at my grandma's table and not in a fancy restaurant. 

I got the veal/eggplant parm combo pictured above, with homemade angel hair pasta. In the background, you can see Nicole twirling her spaghetti, with Italian sausage. 

We both loved it. It was probably the best veal I've ever eaten, and we both had full Sunday lunches off the leftovers and still didn't finish all our food. 

On Sunday night, we were joined by Christina -- in town for a wild bachelorette party -- and went to America's oldest restaurant, the Union Oyster House. 

You could just feel the history in there -- OK, not really, it was like any other slightly nice restaurant. 

Christina enjoyed her lobster ravioli, Nicole's daring choice to order the butterfly shrimp was not a disaster, and I sort of enjoyed my scrod -- a bit too chewy, and just not in the caliber as the halibut I had two days prior. 

And what adventure with Nicole and me involved would be remotely believable without a solid run of pizza excursions. 

How many pizza places did we eat at? Go ahead and make your guess. We left at 6 a.m. Wednesday and returned at 11 p.m. Monday. ... 

Keep thinking. 

Keep in mind all the other places I just talked about. 

Final guesses. Pencils down. 

The answer is ... 

Five. 

Wednesday: We stopped in Astoria, New York, during our layover and had pizza with her aunt and uncle at Rosario's Italian bakery. 

All four of us got a slice, and then we ordered two more. Pretty good. 

Thursday: We went to Picco's in South Boston -- called Southy by the locals. 

Also pretty good. I got pepperoni, mushrooms and roasted peppers. 

On Friday, we started the day with a tour of Harvard, and Nicole thought it would be fun to eat in a Harvard cafeteria. And it was. 

We dined at the Science building. It was far better pizza than I expected. Fuck yeah, Science!

On Monday -- yes we skipped two whole days -- we stopped in Little Italy one more time before heading for the airport. 

We ate at Regina Pizzeria, the most famous pizza place in Boston. And the first bite explained why as my pizza was rich with flavor from their special sauce, with a nice follow up push from their little, but thick cheese. 

I got pepperoni, mushroom and artichoke  hearts. Not to mention a souvenir cup! And just look at how loaded it is. 

The place was near empty when we walked in right before noon. When we left, the line just to get in the building was wrapped around the street. 

The fifth pizza was in the Chicago airport, where I was trying to give Nicole a taste of Chicago-style pie. Alas, my efforts were unsuccessful as the airport express version was only a hint of the magic that is Windy City deep dish. 

But here's to you, Boston. I came expecting to learn some history and explore a revolutionary American town. And I did. 

But I left mainly with thoughts to plan my next trip to Little Italy.