Power Hour & UFC

I got the most amazing message from our friend CK yesterday:
"Christiane, it's CK. Your girls' presence has been requested for our viewing of the UFC 61 tonight at Athen's. We have excessive amounts of beer left over from the 4th. Power hour will ensue at 730. Call me."

Now when was the last time I did Power Hour you ask? Probably junior year of college (and it was Century Club with Mickey's I might add, don't recommend it) and I vowed to never do it again because it was the worst idea (by worst I mean amazing, but still) in the history of the world. Well, I went back on my word and Smellso, Pooper and I got back on the train and did the entire thing. Granted I almost lost it at 53, but I held it together quite nicely to regain momentum to finish this thing. Why did I almost lose it? I blame the clock, the large numbered digital clock that Todd brought.

Eff that clock. Let me tell you, that clock has a mind of its own. It was great in the beginning because it was timing perfectly, just changing every minute, but as the game continued on the effing clock got faster and faster and it felt like we were shooting beer every 10 seconds. What the eff? Seriously. We were so pissed at the clock that we launched it from the 2nd story of Athen's house twice, threw it in the water filled cooler, put it on the bbq and lit it and then proceeded to throw it on the ground and stomp on it. It didn't stand a chance.

Effing clock.