Foolishly I'm going to my personal trainer tomorrow for a session of endurance conditioning, a session that will make me rethink that last cigarette.

Oh dear lord, this weekend.

Saturday was another one of Mistress's semi-annual blowouts, a party where patrons bid farewell to pants. The theme would've been more poignant if the men followed Sampsonite's lead by wearing just a towel, but nonethelss the ladies looked lovely in their free-flowing dresses.

Equally as free-flowing was the fine tequila and toxic jello shots. Jello shots may seem like a bad idea at first, but I have to admit it got the party off to a good start. The night before as Kevin and I followed orders to mix the jello shots at a 1:1 water to Grey Goose ratio, I had my doubts that anyone would eat something so, well, VILE. But by the time we showed up, around 10 or so, the telltale signs of empty dixie cups and roarious laughter told us it was a hit and time to move on to patron. It's been a while since my party favor for the night was tequila, and now I remember why I don't drink it all night.

So. Very. Hungover.

But thanks to the good people at a local Indian restaurant, our savior was delivered in the form of a small feast while we watched Mr. Double help the RedSox slaughter Baltimore on Sunday.

It was good to see the irreplacable Kevin Millar back in Fenway this weekend. Of all the guys we lost last year, I miss him the most. His antics as the RedSox funny bone made watching more fun, as he will always be the player we loved to laugh at and laugh with. It was plain to see how much he misses us, and likewise, when he tried like hell to fight back emotions as RedSox Nation gave him a standing-O.

I hope there's a KFC in Baltimore that will give him a commercial deal.

As for the other former RedSox player who returned to Fenway last week, he got what he deserved.