What was supposed to be a typical weeknight blogging night instead turned into a three-martini Monopoly match with the Bride, the Brother-in-Law, and his Girlfriend.

The Girlfriend kicked all our asses. In my defense, I was the last one to drop. Early in the game, I'd traded her Park Place (she already had Boardwalk) for one of the purple properties and some cash. A stupid move? Think again. I had a monopoly on the cheap-to-develop purples, and she was down on cash holding the expensive-to-develop Boardwalk and Park Place Uber-Blues. What should have happened is, I should have had a nice steady stream of income with which to imrove my postition, while Desiree struggled just to put a house or two on her Blues.

Then she hit Free Parking twice while I was stuck with purples no one would land on. OK – Melissa and Rick landed on them just often enough to keep them from competing, and only Desiree failed to land on them at all. So our trade did little other than to ensure that I'd be sucking hind tit all night.

The good news? Dear god, man – aren't you paying attention? I already said I had three martinis during the game.

Speaking of overindulgence, I suppose I should say something, anything at all, about the Blogger Bash on Friday night. Except that Gary Farber already said it better. There are, however, a few details Gary left out:

1. Don't get between Jeff Goldstein and the tequila. It's not like he'd hurt you if you did, but we'd all miss out on the singing of the TV show themes.

2. Jeralyn Merritt is, in person, exactly what you'd expect after having watched her on Fox News – charming, witty, attractive, and not always completely in the know about the blogger people around her. Also, she bought me a martini.

3. Mr. Zomby Boy can hold his liquor. He could probably hold yours, too. He's the last guy I'd trust with the keys to my liquor cabinet. This I say with love.

4. Glenn Reynolds doesn't know the half of Jeff and my bad influence – which should make him doubly sorry he missed the party.

5. By the time I talked to any real-life press people, I was already into my third martini. If you don't know, one martini packs the wallop of three sissy-boy drinks, which means my chances of ever being picked up by the Denver Post or Rocky Mountain News are now buried under a small and very dry puddle of Absolut Citron.

6. Ed Driscoll did indeed fly in from San Jose for the event, yet never once complained that his arms were tired. If that, for nothing else, I owe him a drink – and no sissy-boy drink, thankyouverymuch.

7. Goddamn, but I do look good in linen.

8. Gary Farber looks and sounds like my English 20GH teacher, David ("Don't Call Me 'Dave'") Cantwell back in 1987 at Mizzou. Or, Gimli after an appointment at a very 20th Century hairdresser. Either one, I mean it as quite the compliment.

9. By the time the evening was over, I had invited everyone present – including members of the Real Press, our bartender, some guy (or perhaps girl) on the street, and various lampposts, to our Independence Day Bash next month. If you were present, and I somehow failed to pass along the invitation to you, please understand it's only because, in all honesty, I don't want you coming anywhere near my house.

10. Chris (another accredited member of the Real Press) stole at least half of my little vanilla cigars. And when I say "stole," I mean, he took one every time I offered.

11. If you type "Gimli" into an untrained version of Microsoft Word, it will suggest "Gimlet" as a replacement – and there's not a damn thing wrong with that.

About Item Nine, I am, of course, kidding. If I failed to invite you to the party, it's only because my bride doesn't want you anywhere near our house.

OK, I'm still just joshing – but take a hint already, will you?

I also should (but won't) apologize to Kim. At least, I think her name was Kim – I was well into my fourth martini (that's 10-12 regular sissy-boy cocktails) before we were properly introduced. At some restaurant whose name I was never quite clear on – but I should have remembered, considering they were willing to serve up a perfect French Dip sandwich at 1am – Kim and I got into quite the heated debate. A debate, I'm not-really-sorry-to-say, I cut rudely short when the topic moved to Israel.

Kim: if after the last two-plus years, you still think that bulldozing an empty house is the same as walking into a Passover Seder wearing many pounds of plastic explosives, then I really, really, really don't have anything more to say to you on the matter. Didn't on Friday night, don't today, won't ever.

I'm sure, as an accredited member of the Real Press, that you simply can't understand the difference. And for that, you won't get an apology, but you do have my sympathies.

Some jobs come with, and require, a special sense of stupid – so I won't hold Kim accountable for her lack of accountability.

And that's my Blogger Bash roundup. I'd fill it full of useful hyperlinks, but I already mentioned playing Martini-opoly all night, and so linking just doesn't seem worth the effort right now.

Light blogging tomorrow, too. Our HELOC money is in the bank, so Tuesday I have to go write checks worth the next three months of my income to the kitchen guy, the landscaping guy, and the plumber guy.

Those chores will take up two-three hours of prime blogging time. On the other hand, they might just mean we get everything done before the Independence Day Bash which you aren't invited to, only, I swear, on accident.