Friday, April 21, 2006

Running on Empty II [Revisited]

When I woke up late this morning (I call it late- but 5am is not late for anyone) I promised myself to take the time to finally getting around to telling those amazing stories from my trip to Minneapolis/St. Paul, which was a full 3 weeks ago. That alone should be a testament to how busy I am these days.

Anyways, without further ado:

-The Irish Car Bomb Twins and the Red Bowling Shirt-

When I arrived at the Minneapolis airport, I was exhausted, and I knew I had a full night's work ahead of me. My brother had called while I was in flight to tell me that they were done unloading the truck, and that I need not worry about helping with that bit, but if I could come down to drive the truck back, that would be great.

What you might not have ever figured out about me is that I have a hard time saying no. What came out of my mouth next surprised even me. I said no. I apologized, but I didn't have the energy to drive down there, grab the truck, and drive back in one night. It was dark, raining, and I just wanted a bed to crawl into. It would be hours before I would have the opportunity to do so.

My friend picked me up, and we dropped my stuff off at her house. We opened a beer, as her husband wasn't home yet, and someone had to watch the world's greatest four (soon to be five) year old. We waited patiently and talked. Almost as soon as he walked in the door, we were heading out the same door. I was going to have a night out drinking whether I wanted to or not. In retrospect, I should have tried to take a power nap. It might have helped.

We picked up her college friend A, who insisted we go to a place called the Wild Onion, a place I think I went to once just after college because someone wanted to try it. I never liked it, and I still don't.

When we got there we sat at the bar and a bartender wearing far too tight a t-shirt walked up. Before I could protest, a round of Irish Car Bombs was ordered. The bartender, whether through inexperience or through necessity, brought us the round in short half-pint glasses with tall shot glasses. This of course, ruins the experience, as the Jameson and Bailey's do not mix with the Guinness. When we informed the bartender of this error (after we drank the shots, of course) she offered another round later on. "Why not now?" I heard from my left and right almost simultaneously.

"Oh, shit," I thought to myself. I asked for just a Guinness, but my request fell on the back of the bartender's head as she was already off to make another round of shots. The thing about Irish Car Bombs is you can't just sit and sip it- the ingredients will curdle and taste nasty unless you complete the shot in a dutiful manner. I, grudgingly, did my duty right after I ordered a beer and a glass of water. I knew full well I was going to need it.

That night was the last night in the City of St. Paul that it would be legal to smoke in bars, which was why we were there in the first place. My friends were planning on going out with a bang, so I knew I was going to be in this bar until 12 on the dot, then we would be moving on.

Once the chimes struck midnight, sure enough, we were in the parking lot, hopping in the car to head to the next bar. We went to one of my favorite places on earth, Nye's Polonaise Room. We parked ourselves at the piano right away, then I headed downstairs for a bathroom break. On my way back up, I fell in love with the magical red bowling shirt. I went to the bar and asked if they had the shirt in black. "The black ones are only for the waitstaff, but I can sell you the red one," the bartender said.

Sold. Sold along with a Grey Goose and tonic.

I went back to the piano to find my friends singing piano karaoke- a challenge I don't really want to try again, as I failed so miserably that night with a version of my favorite karaoke song. As it turns out, I might me a significantly less talented singer than I originally thought. We closed the bar, then I heard the last words I wanted to hear: afterbar. Turns out A knew a place that stayed open illegally, so guess where we went? Oh yeah.

This dingy hole of a hole of a hole of a hole in the wall was a windowless box hidden away in a forgotten neighborhood. Ordinarily, my perfect kind of bar. On a night where the only thing keeping me awake was knowing that if I fell asleep I would be abandoned, not so much. Right after we walked in A turned to me with a slight look of panic in his eyes.

"Can you do me a favor?"

"What do you need?"

"Can you pretend to be my boyfriend while we're here? Otherwise that guy's going to hit on me all night and try to take me home." He nodded at a not-so-scruffy-looking guy rapidly approaching us with a smile and a cocktail.

Now I've played the boyfriend for various female friends of mine so many times I can't even fathom the number. I'm pretty good at it, too. I've played the role for some male friends of mine, too, but I knew how attracted to me A is, and I didn't want to lead him on.

"I'm playing it butch as hell and you're buying me drinks." I managed to get that all in before our mark arrived. A was a dutifully submissive boyfriend for me- immediately getting me a drink while I fended off the advances of Mr. Wrong, who seemed to have troubles understanding that we were in a committed relationship and we were exclusive. What I actually said was "he's with me now, bitch, and you're not getting a threeway."

That seemed to seal the deal, and we were left alone with our drinks for a while. I was walking back from the bathroom when I spotted Mr. Wrong hitting on my fake boyfriend. I decided this would be a fun opportunity, so I went with the jealous-boyfriend act. As I walked up, Mr. Wrong spotted me, looked me in the eyes, and said, nervously "I don't want any trouble."

"I'll tell you once more, stay away from my man."

Last I heard, Mr. Wrong hasn't spoken to A since.

We left the afterbar bar around 3 and headed back to my friend L's house. She decided we were going to have a sleepover, so she put sheets and pillows on her living room floor. The three of us settled down and started to fall asleep when her husband came down the stairs, undoubtedly hearing three rather drunk people come in from a night of very heavy drinking. L went upstairs with her husband, leaving me along with a 300 pound gay man with a serious crush on me on the floor of their living room. He had fallen asleep, so I walked off to my "bedroom" which is actually the world's greatest four (almost five) year old's room. I crawled into bed and fell asleep.

A couple hours later I was awakened by A trying to crawl into bed with me. It was funny to watch, honestly, and I am forever thankful to whatever IKEA engineer is out there who designed this bed to hold not only my 200 pound frame, but add to it the 300 pound man with a crush on yours truly.

No, friends and neighbors, there was no sex. There was no making out. There was some maybe-if-I-put-his-hand-on-me-he'll-change-his-mind style fondling, which was eventually met with gentle slaps on the hand. There was also a slightly twisted ankle suffered by your humble narrator while vaulting over A when I woke up in the morning.

-The Morning After-

One of the troubles with having a heavy night of drinking followed by getting ready to sleep on your friend's living room floor with her and a 300 pound gay man is that you tend to put things you desperately need to function down in the strangest of places. Fortunately for me, I had the assistance of the world's greatest four (soon to be five) year old. The first game we played? Find Uncle Dave's glasses. After I won that game, we moved on to find Uncle Dave's cellphone and then, when I saw the state of my boots, we played clean Uncle Dave's boots. Then other people finally started to wake up, so it was time for breakfast and to take A home.

That's when I looked closely at the door to my room. Hanging from the door was the most beautiful red bowling shirt I had ever seen. Finally, I remembered buying the shirt, and I realized it was mine all mine.

Suddenly, I was rather happy.

Still up and coming:
The Indroduction of one Logan's Dave to his newest nephew, LJ
The Amazing New House and Bike
The Reunion

and lastly:
The Hickey


Blogger Postmodern Sass said...

Maybe you should consider shaving off those sexy eyebrows, for your own protection. Clearly, they're getting you into trouble. :-)

6:19 PM  
Blogger Dave said...

A was all about my fingernails, actually, another new one for me. He didn't mention my eyebrows until I mentioned them. Then he was all about the eyebrows.

Besides, wouldn't you be mad at me if I did shave them off?

8:59 AM  
Blogger cynthia said...

what's to notice about fingernails? are they painted?

10:53 AM  
Blogger Dave said...

They're not painted at present, but they have been before.

Honestly, I'm still having problems understanding the eyebrow thing. Personally, I think my legs and eyes are my best features, well, that and the chromedome.

12:51 PM  

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