It's a good thing that I write these at night and post in the day, because it's TOO DAMN HOT to write. I don't ever remember a cooker June like this. I'm usually in a constant state of simmer, so these temperatures are surely not my friend.I know it's been awhile between updates. As I have alluded before, the people in my work crew are busy, but I suppose it is better to be busy than unemployed. In a perverse sort of way I always like being busy anyhow, takes my mind off of things.
Anyhow, I'll cut to the chase. A few weeks ago all of my droogs headed to Whistler for a golfing trip. I was supposed to go, but opted out in the end. It had slow weekend written all over it, and I didn't mind a bit.
I have this somewhat undeserved reputation as a party animal, only in certain circles of course. Those that really know me know the opposite to be true. It's just one of those urban legends. Something left from the old days I suppose. I had one girlfriend that in a mean and nasty fashion would call me a fratboy. I would normally blow stuff like that off, but I did find it mean, uninformed, and self-serving. Turns out in the end all she really cared about was herself anyhow, and now even the thought can evoke no more than a shoulder shrug from me. (There was another girlfriend that said I was a better talk show host than a boyfriend, but I actually dug that one).
I turned up at the pub around 3:30, if was a beautiful day and I thought I would stake out my claim for happy hour. Steve was already there, and he was already joined by Jamie and Janet. Jamie and Janet are two Irish girls in their early twenties that have decided to turn North America on its ass the Irish was. They are on a little tour with about 10 guy friends and have set up command at a rental house around the corner from the pub. I can't understand a damn word they are saying, but they are always fun to hang out with.
I always have a bit of game on when everyone is away. I don't know what it is, but I just feel like I can kick back more, kinda a no witnesses thing I suppose. The girls have next to no money, and at this point were living without any hot water (although they seem to have no problem getting into hot water anytime they want). I bought them a couple of rounds, as did Steve (I think, I'm still trying to piece this together), and before you knew it I had my thumb up and my finger pointing gun like indicating it was shooter time.
They had already had a rough night, and as I recall, they had just gotten up. But there isn't an Irishman (or woman) out there that will turn down a shooter. I decided to take it easy on them and got some broken down golf carts. Sort of Kool-Aid on steroids with some booze thrown on top for good measure. I was loosening up, feeling pretty damn good actually. Jamie was laughing, and Steve seemed to be getting into it. Janet on the other hand got those little "TILT" signs in her eyes that you always see in the old Looney Tunes cartoons. Before you knew it she said she would be right back and vanished.
It was already about 9:30 around this point, and the bar was showing one of those damn UFC fights, so the barrel scrapings of humanity now populated the pub. One chap stumbled out later on wearing an Irish soccer team jacket, it was the only authentic thing on his person as he soon started throwing around this bogus Irish accent. It's something that has always burned me, it is one thing to use an accent in jest, but to pretend to be something you're not....fuck off.
Jamie called him out pretty damn fast. She blasted off about five questions at him I didn't even understand, and then said to him "You're not Irish, go back to Winnipeg or wherever you're from ya faker." Nothing makes a guy stand up for himself like about 6 litres of lager and a UFC fight. He just didn't want to let it go, and I finally had to turn to him with that little bit of madness I can get in my eyes. He soon moved over to another table further from us, but continued to bitch the whole night through about the girl from Dublin that put him in his place.
We decided to wrap up around 11. Even though Jamie lived around the corner I told her I would give her a lift home as "The Faker" was still staring her down. We left after I paid my first triple digit bill in a while (she walked out on her tab) and headed down. I pulled in the drive and she asked me to pop up for a drink. I was close enough to home, so I figured why not. She was locked out of course. She figured other than Janet, all of her mates were over town where they were watching a rugby game during the day. She proceeded to bang on every window and door, and press everything that even remotely looked like a door bell.
Oops, times running out.
To be continued.....
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