Irish Wake Style… Pt.2

1 09 2009

If you haven’t done so already make sure to check out the first installment of this 2 part series.

Now, where did we leave off. Oh that’s right our faithful hero had made it home after a very long night of drinking, and had his manliness insulted.

I awoke early afternoon and RPG had already headed off to work. Luckily enough because of my extensive pre-game preparations before I headed out to Boston, I was indeed not hung-over. Some may say that this is a glorious turn of events, and other that know me really well might say that drinking excess amounts of Jack Daniels and not having a hang-over may actually be a sign of alcoholism.

Jury’s still out.

I got a call from RPG roughly around 1 something seeing if I wanted to get some lunch. Of course I hadn’t eaten, nor really done anything, so I agreed. He left work a bit early and we rolled to Coolidge Corner Clubhouse. Not going to lie, this was one of my favorite places on the trip to Boston. We enjoyed some jack and cokes in pint glasses, and some delicious huge sandwiches, and then some more Jack and cokes. It was a glorious place. I probably could have stayed there all day and night, but we had things we needed to do.

We headed home and began to do work. And by doing work I mean pouring Jack Daniels into flasks and taking shots before heading to Fenway park. the greatest place on earth. Seriously.

We headed to La Verdad, a bar outside Fenway, to meet up with RPG’s roommate. Probably my favorite sub pot/side story of the whole weekend that I wasn’t really able to exploit much was that RPG’s roommate happens to be moving out near the beginning of September.

I was wondering if any of you remember the theatrical performance Riverdance? You know Michael Flatley who’s feet look as if they are moving independently of his body? Well, as it happens if you thought Riverdance was no more, you my friends are 100% wrong. Riverdance is alive and well AND touring the country come this September. How do I know this you may ask?

Apparently, RPG’s roomate is indeed a dancer in Riverdance! That’s right, lets let that marinate for a bit.

Riverdance. My mind was immediately filled with questions. Have you met Michael Flatley? Can you move up the ranks and become lord of the dance yourself? Are you coming to Portland? What accent do you have? Oh, Australian? Cool.

So let me get this straight. You’re a dancer. You’re Australian. You dance for Riverdance. And I’m the one giving out the gay vibe?!?! Gotta love Boston.

We finished a couple of beers then headed into Fenway for what was going to be a glorious night of baseball. After picking up two bottles of Coke RPG and I found our way to our seats. Upon finding them I couldn’t help but notice that we had gotten seats in the Ted Williams era of Fenway park. You know the time many years ago that man was built like teacup Yorkshire Terriers. Turns out, RPG and I are not built like teacup Yorkshire terriers. We’re men. And were larger than the original designers of Fenway had in mind. We crouched in like sardines only to look down and see the wirey frame of Riverdance sitting comfortably in his seat, all sprawled out enjoying the copious amounts of space allotted to him. Gotta be something said for being a dancer.

The game began as did our drinking of the Jack Daniels. We had both managed to pour our entire flasks into a 1 liter bottle of coke. We sat there and watched as things began to get ugly. The Sox were facing the Yankees from the North in what was a pretty important game. The Yanks jump out to an early lead (like the first couple pitches) and I had thought to myself, maybe I’m going to be in for a long night. I was right.

At one point in the 5th inning I believe, I had finished my Jack and Coke and moved on to beer. The 5th inning had taken so long because we were getting ROCKED. Like bad. I thought maybe I could drown my sorrows in a Fenway Frank (the only hot dog I’ll eat in this world) but to no avail. Nothing was working. The Yankees began pouring on runs and I sat looking on more and more defeated. It was about this point in the game where things took a real turn for the worse. I looked over at RPG and said..
ME: “This is getting really ugly. I’m not sure I can handle much more.”
RPG: “I know. Maybe you shouldn’t come to Fenway anymore.”
ME: “Is it sad that I was just thinking the same thing.”
RPG: “I’m being serious.”
ME: “No, really. I know.”
RPG: “This sucks.”
ME: “Man, fuck this. I’m not going out like this. There will be no mourning. From here on out I’m celebrating this Irish Wake Style!”
RPG: “Fuck.”

(sidebar: I’ve never actually been to an Irish Wake, but on TV they always show people drinking a lot. RPG lived with me through college and had seen me celebrate Irish Wake style many times. I just felt that with America’s foundation being built on some of the Irish’s decisions to immigrate here, I would indeed honor them the best way I knew how. Even if it was stereotypical, and completely false.)

And with my last statement it was indeed “on.” I left my seat for another Fenway Frank, and to procure two more beers. One was in fact for RPG, but unbeknown to me, RPG had also gotten up after me to procure some beers. When I returned to my seat he was nowhere to be found. I focused on my beer for it was my only solace for what was happening on the field. RPG returned with two beers in his hand. Apparently he had gotten the same idea, and gotten another beer for me. So there we were. In our tiny seats. Dropping back beers like our Irish grandma twice removed had just passed. And to be honest. Life was good. We moved down a bit after Fenway had starting clearing up a bit. I told RPG, no matter how bad it got, we weren’t leaving till Sweet Caroline. I flew across this damn country for some all American baseball at one of America’s most beloved ballparks, god dammit, I’m not leaving till I sing Sweet Caroline, sung by none other than one of America’s most beloved artists, Mr. Neil Diamond!

(sidebar again: I was drunk at this point.)
(another sidebar: Not my video. For reason to be explained)

The 8th inning came and went. We left Fenway and it was 18-10 or something god awful. I will say this. Yankee fans sure have become a little more tame in recent years. Years past, I would have been getting an earful from Yankee fans that traveled to Fenway. Not so much. Smart Yankee fans (oxymoron) know that while they may have overall dominance in the world of baseball, we have indeed handed their ass to them for the last 10 years. So, the walk from Fenway to the Cask N’ Flagon was indeed delightful. Aside from not having any booze.

We got inside the Cask, and I proceeded with my declaration of Irish Wake style celebrations. We ordered up 2 more Jack and Cokes, and watched as the sluts made there way inside the bar. Now, typically, this would make me a very happy person. Sluts, jack and coke, and being in Boston. However, while we were at the Cask, they still were showing the last couple bits of the game. Just enough for my poor eyes to witness, another 2 run home run! That was it. Couldn’t take it anymore. Two more Jack and Cokes were ordered and devoured.

It was about this point that I had realized my iPhone battery had died. I figured no big deal. I’ll miss all my friends texting me from their drunken nights back home, and just text them tomorrow. I was excited because I had gotten a number of great pictures, and video of everyone singing Sweet Caroline. Life was good.

At about 2 something am, we decided it was all said and done. We took a cab home to sleep off our depression of losing that last game. We got outta the cab, walked up stairs to RPG’s apartment and began to settle in, when I realized something. I was missing my phone. I searched all 12 of my pockets (I was wearing cargo shorts.) and it was nowhere to be found. I searched high and low beliving that it could be somewhere in the apartment already. No luck. We went outside and searched the area between being dropped off, and the apartment. No luck. The phone was gone. Like Ben Afflecks directorial debut, Gone Baby Gone. (which was also set in Boston. But this was about some kid, not exactly a phone. However, I feel that if anyone had lost an iphone, the feeling is similar right? too far?)

We walked upstairs defeated. Now what happens next depends on who you ask. If you ask me, in my hazy state I went upstairs and passed out in a deep depression. However, if you ask RPG, we went upstairs I grabbed the bottle of Jack and began chugging from the bottle. And then went to bed. Toss up. I’m not sure who to believe.

The rest of the trip was a bit sad. I had lost my iPhone, and we had only been together for 6 days. She was good to me. And so I was sad to have lost her. I’d like to think she found someone who was better than me. A Lawyer, a doctor, maybe even a Red Sox/Celtic, but who knows. It’s difficult to see your life without someone you love. Especially if you think she left you in a cab to be with the driver.

RPG and I killed our day be reliving college and not getting up from the couches for a good 6-8 hours. We rallied after a stunning win by our beloved Red Sox that night, and met up with some more wonderful friends of RPG. The night indeed wasn’t as taxing on my body as the other, but drinks were had, as were laughs and good times. I concluded my Boston trip by flying out 715 am with just enough booze on my breath for the mother with a 3 month old sitting next to me, to give me a dirty look. The look was returned for having a 3 month old sitting next to me. Touche lady.

I made it home safely. Exhausted. Hung over. A bit depressed. But that was one of the greatest vacations I’ve had in a long time. I love me some Boston. I look forward to my next trip.

Until Next Time…

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Shenanigans, The Gym, And How I Met Your Mother…..

17 03 2008

So as it turns out, it was a pretty eventful weekend. Of course as a lot of you know it was St. Patrick’s Day weekend. With that being said, Stuff White People Like posted that white people love St. Patrick’s Day. And I totally have to agree. I love it. I mean it’s one big meld of drinking, celebrating, being drunk, and meeting chicks.

Plus I think white people dancing is not only encouraged but actually judged a competition by some.

The day started off by meeting up with JDub and heading a mutual friend that owns a really nice loft downtown. Upon arriving I took a very deep breath braced myself and went in.

You see the majority of JDub’s friends are her sorority sisters and friends she went to college with. Neither of which I participated in. So, I’m not going to lie, but sometimes it’s hard to be included in some conversations. I met them all last year during SPD so that feeling has changed a bit, but after holding secret meetings and sharing boyfriends, the inside jokes are pretty regular.

We ventured inside and said hello to everyone. I like JDub’s friends and they in turn like me. So the conversation was flowing as was my Pepsi bottle filled with Jack Daniel’s Single Barrel Whiskey. (I spent 70 dollars on a bottle of Single Barrel JD in Las Vegas and didn’t finish it. So with the help of Southwest Airlines, I poured it into a pepsi bottle and checked it in my luggage! Boo Yah. Take that 70 bucks!)

After a couple hours, and 3/4 of the Jack gone, we decided to walk 10 blocks to our “Saint Patrick’s Day Headquarters.” This is pretty much where the night gets a tad fuzzy. I think the Jack kicked in. Some quick stories to be told… I’ve discovered a new Syndrome. We’re calling it the Brett Micahels Syndrome. It’s basically where, you meet a girl and she may not be the attractive, but compared to her surroundings she’s the “hottest” girl around. So the Brett Michaels Syndrome (BMS) took effect around 930 or so. I was already good and drunk when I was approached by a girl who question my Red Sox loyalty. Which automatically puts me on the defensive and has me saying things like…. “Hell Yeah I’m real Red Sox fan, Whore!”

not one of my classier moments.

Conversation with the girl continued. She left for a moment when JDub was there to question my vision/judgement/sanity. I told her,
“listen, she may not be the hottest girl I’ve ever met, but I DARE you to find a hotter girl within 35 feet.” to which JDub replied with a judging look and an eye roll. I then responded with “35 FEET!” Turned and walked away. And thus the BMS was created. Feel free to steal it, just make sure you use proper annotation when doing so.

SPD ended in relatively tame fashion with a stop at our local Taco Bell. Which was awesome becuase I could have really used some soft tacos….and guess what? I got em! *fist pump* While in the drive thru however, I noticed that the car in front of us was indeed a Buick Regal. To which, in my current state, my mind told me it HAD to be my grandma. So with the intelligence of a grasshopper I decided to yell at my grandma.
“Hey! Grandma! What’d you get?”
“Grandma, Grandma. Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“Grandma, I’m getting the Soft taco meal, wanna come over?”
“Hey, Grandma, why do you have such nice rims on your Buick?”
It was with this last question that things began to sink in. Why did grandma have rims on her buick? Where was I at? Was that indeed my grandma?
The answer to these questions are, No, that wasn’t my grandma. And No I shouldn’t have been yelling at the nice man in the Buick. And Yes, I wasn’t in the nicest part of town. Go me.

I awoke Sunday morning free of a hang over, becuase I believe Jack Daniels and my body have an unspoken pact with the devil. As long as I keep not having hangovers I’ll keep buying it. And as long as I keep buying it, I’ll keep drinking it, allowing me to do stupid things, therefore sending me straight to hell.

So that was that.

I decided that with my time off I’m going to start going to the gym. I mean why not. There is no reason I shouldn’t have chiseled rock hard abs whilst unemployed right?

So I thought to myself, what would be the appropriate time to go? 8 am? Too early. 12 pm? All the business tools will be there. No thanks. 5,6,7 pm? That’s dinner time… no way. So i settled on 10:30 am. Which actually turned into 11 am because I had to make a stop at iTunes, and load up on my Power Workout songs.

11 am also seemed to be the perfect time, because I figured really hot soccer moms, college girls who don’t have class yet, and strippers would be working out. That’s right strippers! Girls gotta work out at some point.

I arrived at my gym all geared up in my Nike gear ready to get a little run in. iPod in hand I settled on a treadmill between an older lady and some Asian guy running.

Speaking of the older lady, my theory about the hot moms, college girls, and strippers was WAYYYY off. Not one hot girl in the entire building (minus the trainers but they don’t count) I’m hoping when I go back on Wednesday there will be at least one stripper. Aren’t Wednesday like an off day for strip clubs?

So there I am, Older Lady is walking at a brisk pace and Asian guy as a decent amount of momentum in his run. I start up the treadmill and off I go. Music blaring in my ears, and Flavor of Love is on one of the televisions. This is great!

All my life I’ve had flat arches. It’s a curse. Back in the day I wouldn’t have been selected in the Army. Now they don’t care. That’s besides the point. The point is, now, when I throw on a pair of running shoes, 99% of the time they have really great arch support.

About 3/4 of mile into my run, i can feel shooting pains in the arch of my right foot. Which at first I play off. I keep telling myself, run through the pain, you’re doing great. And then I have the worst realization ever. Because I got on the treadmill after Old Lady and Asian guy, I can’t get off BEFORE them. Holy hell what am I going to do. So I press on. And the pain grows with every stride I make. I start to get angry thoughts in my head about the two people running next to me.

“Old Lady, you’re fucking walking! go fucking walk somewhere else! Like a park, or a garage sale, or a nursing home! AHHHH shooting pain.”
“Asian dude, why are you running?? You weigh like 95 pounds, and I’m pretty sure you’re deceptively quick. For the love of god, please stop running!! AHHH more pain.”

About 5 minutes later, (actually it was 3 min and 42 seconds later. Thank you elapsed time on my treadmill) Old Lady felt my negative vibes (or piercing hate stares) and decided she was done. THANK GOD! Now all I needed was Asian Guy. To which he bowed out of the race 6 minutes and 23 seconds (again thank you elapsed time) after Old Lady!

SUCCESS! Not only had I outlasted both my worthy adversaries, but I actually didn’t noticed that the shooting pain in my arches had gone. I guess that’s what happens when you get a runners high a mile and a half into your 2 mile run, or a hot girl with a decent ass starts doing the eliptical right in front of you. Either way.

So self high five, I’m trying to work out.

I other news, TV seems to be returning to normal. How I Met Your Mother Returns, The Bachelor (which I hate, I just write about the whores) The Big Bang Theory are all returning. Some semblance of my former life is returning.