Dwight tried to kiss me. And I didn't tell anyone, because I'm not really sure how I feel about it.

Last night I came home from the bar with sand in my shoes. And in my pocket. That pretty much sums up last night.

Not really. At all. But, wouldn't you rather imagine how I managed to get sand all over me in the middle of a city in Ohio? The real story, as usual, is not that interesting. I played cornhole on the sand volleyball court that was part of the bar we went to, after getting silly on margaritas during dinner. I could have taken my shoes off, but the sand was really cold. Not like . . . frostbite cold, but cold enough to make me complain loudly enough that I was told to just put my shoes on already.

The not wallowing, in case you were interested, turned out really well. Best. Cinco. De Mayo. Ever. Tequila, I've found, solves most problems.