Be a better friend to my surf bro, D, who just had a heart attack

Dave married his girl Darcy in August, and I had promised them I’d be there (it was sent out as a “crash our wedding” party invite because the church imposed a size limit on them or something) but my pooch ened up needing surgery a few days before, and I couldn’t leave him alone.

the problem was that I COULD have left him alone, with the sattelite dish on his head, all alone, feeling miserable…or I could stay home with him, with the lampshade off his head, and pet him and gague when it was time for his next pain pill.

I opted for that, and The D’s forgave me.

I did go to their new year’s ever party, however.
And I got stuck in the corner with some nutty barfly friend of Dave’s talking to me about everything from French wine, and citrus peels, and cosmic crap (this is Marin, afterall)

And this is with Dave andd my husband trying to rescue me from this guy’s drunken grasp!

It was fun, up to and including the karaoke nintendo game (at which, I beat Dave’s ass each time we went toe-to-toe in competition) and the mullet haired wig he was sportinng.

where are those pictures…damnit?

when I get home.
ok, we can’t surf
but I can still kick
his butt.

all it said was:
_{Well, had a heart attack last week. Had surgery. They are saying I should
have a full recovery…}

I stared at it.
He’s younger than I am.
He’s in his early/mid thirties.
He’s a manimal; in such good shape.

How?
I talked to him on the phone.
He sounded less ornery, less punk-ass big bro.
He sounded frail.

He’s such a great guy, and so hard at times.
It was hard to wrap my mind around this one.