Almost two months ago, now, I made mention of friends who complained that I never post my funny, drunken stories that I almost invariably find myself party to over the course of weekends in Where For Art Thou, J$. This is another attempt to acquiesce them. If you don't care to hear about stories you will most likely find boring because it would only be amusing if you know me, I preen out such things into a different section, Dichotomy's Purgatory: Left Half.
Friday began as most people's Fridays do -- work. Unfortunately, this Friday, I had a full serving of meetings to attend (4 to be exact); so by the end of the day -- and, thusly, the end of the week -- I was primed for some rest and relaxation i.e. killing the brain cells I had so intricately constructed over the course of the prior week ensuring my herd of buffalo remain strong and unhindered by the sick and meek.
That evening, myself and several others visited the local watering hole that offered bar shuffleboard. And, might I add, my dominance on the shuffleboard table is rivaling my dominance on the foos court. Soon, I will be a hustling juggernaut: unstoppable and unparalleled in the world of table top bar games. But, I digress. The evening began with shots of Jagermeister, one beer per shuffleboard game, and finishing off last call with two beers in hand and a shot of Blackhaus. I needn't allude to what happened when we arrived back at my place -- I believe there was dancing to ABBA (just don't... just don't ask... there is a story that explains why ABBA was involved, but some drunken activities are best left unexplained) and a culmination of alcohol-induced logic that coalesced in drunken skating complete with injuries (just add stupidity). That pretty much spelt the end of Friday -- bleeding shins, knees, and hip == goto bed.
It just so happens that this weekend was also Case's homecoming / alumni-come-back-to-relive-college-stupidity something or other. Whatever it was, it's effects on me were little because any alumni from Case I would care to see, I keep in touch with, already. However, for sshd, it meant a bunch of her old sorority sister girlfriends were going to be in town. (In my mind, this involves naked pillow fighting and orgies. She persists that I am flawed in my mental representation; though, I am not dissuaded by her lies.) So, Saturday night was karaoke bar night. I'll fast forward through the beginning of the evening where I was sober and get to the part where I was singing Billy Idol's White Wedding. Well, yea, that pretty much speaks for itself. Afterwards, I fielded comments about how much I sound like Billy Idol, to which I replied that I do not so much sound like Billy Idol as it is the fact that I have irrevocably damaged my vocal chords with cigarettes and alcohol. One could say I sound as much like Billy Idol as I do John Mellencamp. That, and, the only people I sound like Billy Idol to are drunk-as-a-skunk ex-sorority girls (which, is pretty much the target audience you would be trying to convince, I suppose, if you were going for a Billy Idol impersonation... but regardless). Saturday night ended a little blurry. I remember wearing a pig's snout nose mask thing, but I do not remember the context. I am sure I had reason to; and I am sure the reasoning was rock solid; but I don't remember. Luckily, someone snapped a picture for posterity. Boy, I am sure glad you can always count on girls arming themselves with arrays of cameras to record the antics of a weekend drunk-fest.
Sunday. There was a barbeque with sshd's work-folk to attend. Summarizing, it went something like this:
Her: I am going to go talk shop with the other nurses. Here's a beer. The husbands and boyfriends are in the family room watching football. Go hang out, and I'll bring you food when it's ready.
Me: Mmmm... beer. Mmmm... football. Mmmm... food.
[Time passes. Food's eaten. Browns' game finishes. All of the males work in disparate industries, so conversation has been stuttered and strained at best. Plus, none of us are really interested in any of the others. We begin shuffling back towards the females.]
Her: Is football over?
Me: Yea.
Her: There's no more football on?
Me: The Browns' game is over.
Her: There isn't another game?
Me: The Eagles and Jets game is on.
Her: Don't you have one of those players on your fantasy football team? Don't you want to watch it? Here's a beer.
Me: Mmmm... beer.
Okay, that's not entirely accurate; but at a summary level, it is close enough. Basically, I am like an infant -- put me in a crib and wind up the mechanical singing mobile (a beer and football mobile, mind you), and I am entertained for hours and can remain unsupervised. And, no, I was not the only dude who was easily sedated using this methodology. We're pretty much all like that. And, it doesn't just have to be beer and football. She could have just handed me an overly complex paper towel dispenser and a screwdriver, told me the dispenser was broken in some way, and I could have easily spent some time being entertained by that.
Weekend in a nutshell.
J$
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