Monday, August 23, 2004

Goldschlager is evil

Another weekend has passed us by,
it's a miracle I didn't die.

It was one for the books. The real meat of the weekend began on Saturday as Mary and I ventured to my hometown for a number of reasons. She had a dress fitting and on Sunday my parents were having a bridal shower where both the guys and girls were invited. Using the lull in time between Saturday afternoon and Sunday afternoon, we spent quality time with friends (drinking).

My eventual downfall came soon after supper. The best man of my wedding (A.K.A Softball Player Guy) called my cell phone even though he must have only been a few blocks ahead of me to suggest something totally stupid. Goldschlager disc golf. It would consist of us disc golfing and taking shots of Goldschlager after each hole. I mulled this decision over for approximately 5 seconds and quickly agreed. I need to learn to think things over better as this sounded good at the time but would prove to be bad in the end.

We made our way, along with Softball Player Guy's fiancee and Electronics Tech Guy, to the park on the edge of town to shoot what we said would only be nine holes. As soon as we were away from the street which runs through the park, we turned his disc golf bag into a canteen full of body warming Goldschlager. We took shots, swigs and gulps from the bottle which began as full. As the sun set, we decided that we needed to wrap things up and after 13 holes ending in a tie, we headed back to the car.

On the drive back, it was decided that we couldn't go to the bar until this bottle and a 1.75 liter bottle of Peachtree Schnaaps was finished. We retreated to the basement to begin on our task. With 9 people palying cards and four of us drinking from the bottles, we had completed our task in about an hour. Of course I had to pull out my camera to blind people with the 10 million watt flash.

After we finished the two bottles we piled, along with two sober drivers, into two cars to get to the bowling alley's bar for fifty cent taps. In the course of 30 minutes, I consumed three and lost two games of pool. I was on a roll by this point. In the car once again, we headed to a well-known bar on the opposite side of town. To kill time between point A and B, I pulled out my handy cell phone to call people. I wanted to call an old frined by the name of Josh (note fireworks incident 6 weeks earlier) but didn't scroll far enough through my list of phone numbers and instead called Julie who is the mother of the ringbearer for my wedding. So while talking to her I was reassured that she would be getting his little-man tux this coming week. Not much of a worry to me and I wrapped up the conversation and said goodbye.

I then called Josh. I left him a screaming, curse-filled message about how that fucking son of a bitch knew I was coming to town this weekend and never calls me. Why should I try calling him because he is always at one of the god damned downtown bars drunk as hell playing pool and being a townie? I then wrapped it up by telling him to call me.

Upon arriving at the bar, I knew I was quite drunk but started a tab anyhow. Things get sorta fuzzy here but I bought drinks for myself, a friend or two and Mary. We left promptly near closing time and I settled up my tab only to be amazed that I was only charged for the first two drinks of the night with no mention whatsoever of the eight that followed. Drunk for eight dollars. Suckers. As our sober cab waited, I fumbled, trying to place my receipt and check card somewhere safe. What better place than inside my cell phone holder? That's drunk logic.

This concludes Saturday. Will details of the less exciting Sunday be posted? Was Sunday actually less exciting? Am I a compulsive liar? Did I have any odd encounters which I purposely omitted? Will I ever throw away my tattered shows which I am wearing as I type this?

Check back later to find out!

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