Beer Pong in this, the Eleventh Hour...
Today wasn't the short day that I had predicted, but it was an enjoyable one nonetheless. Shot an entire session indoors and had a blast. Not a hint of jitters or nerves... just the sheer joy of creating great portraits.
So tonight, I go to a new mall, this time verified as a legitimate mall, not some chintzy shopping plaza as mentioned in the previous post. Shoe shopping, I unsuccessfully tried a handful of stores before finally happening upon Dick's Sporting Goods. The shoe salesman took one glance at my feet and said "You're at least a double-E. I know just what you need." He, although obviously being a little bit of a wheeler-dealer, pulled out no less than five pairs of shoes for me to try on and compare against each other for comfort. I decided on a pair of Asics that cost, on sale, $85. At the checkout, I made sure to tell the cashier who was also a manager, what a fantastic job the shoe guy did in seeing to my individual needs and giving me the attention I needed to make sure I found the perfect pair of shoes. Credit was most certainly due.
---
I'd promised myself a month ago, on the first night that I went to my new favorite neighborhood bar, the Club House, that when I got my first paycheck I'd walk over there and treat myself to a Chicken Paprikash dinner. Tonight I did, and God I could barely finish half of the gigantic plate. The rest I put in a styrofoam container.
DUDE, I PLAYED BEER PONG FOR THE FIRST TIME TONIGHT!
After a couple of hours (and handful of drinks) later at the Club House, I headed over, a half a block down, to O'Feenie's, an Irish bar that apparently draws crowds of college-age young'uns on weekend nights from well out of town. It was beer pong night. This was the first time I have ever been exposed in a live and candid environment to this game. Immediately I was intrigued, and began watching intently to try to decipher the rules. After the formal tournament was over, I had the chance to play in free matches, but I was told I needed a parner. Apparently, this isn't a game you can play by yourself. So some college aged hotshot who was the living incarnation of Fogell from the movie 'Superbad', whose only interest was being a beer pong rockstar to "get hot chicks", and coach me into doing the same, reluctantly agreed to be my teammate.
I have exactly twenty three days left in my 20's before I hit the big Three Oh, and I finally managed to squeeze at least one match of this just-post-adolescent game into my resume of life experiences, before Father Time with his cruel scythe cuts my youth to ribbons this August 25th, my thirtieth birthday.
You're allowed to run all the interference you want. Unfortunately, the only interference I could muster was to grab my man boobs, dance like the nerdiest white guy on the planet, and straight-up flash my entire hairy torso the the opposing team. For this, I received much admonishment from my teammate. I think he was under the mistaken perception that I, like he, was trying to "score some pussy" too. Sure, there were some wicked attractive women there, but I just wasn't interested. My heart is still too freshly broken. That's a whole 'nother can of worms.
Back to my new-found beer pong... in retrospect I think that my "taking one for the team" in the name of humility and thwarting our opponents most likely cock-blocked my teammate. He'll live. In the end, we won! Not so much by our own talent, but rather my mad skillz at distracting and freaking out the other team just as they were about the toss the pingpong balls into our cups... or as I called them: Our Sacred Vessels. Call me crazy, but I'm guessing this guy will never want to play with me again.
I never got the chance to experience this stuff first hand when I was these peoples' age, but now that I'm too damned old, I found it endearing, pathetic, and cute to sit back and observe the silly games early 20-somethings engage in for the sake of having sex with random strangers.
---
On the walk back home, styrofoam container of chicken paprikash (the true sacred vessel of the evening) in hand, a car drove past me whose tire suddenly went "Ka-flapflapflapflapflapflap..." and then turned down a side road a block away. I walked over to investigate, only to find two very drunk young ladies in eye-poppingly short mini skirts freaking out. I introduced myself and calmed them down, sitting my paprikash down on the grass and reassuring them that my only intention was to help. Unfortuntately, the bracket that held the spare tire securely was rusted into place, which I couldn't undo with my hands, and I couldn't change their tire for them. The passenger, who was celebrating her 21st birthday, called her brother, despite the driver being an AAA member. She didn't know where she was, so she said to him over the phone "I'm stuck somewhere, I'm puking on a sidewalk, and some strange guy is here!!"
I asked politely to talk to her brother. I described to him our location (he wasn't very far away), and that I wasn't trying anything funny with his drunk sister. Reassured him that I was just trying to help and stay with them until somebody arrived. The girls kept saying "Thank you, whoever you are! You're so nice!!"
He arrived shortly after, thanking me profusely for looking out for his sister and her friend. I made sure to grab my chicken paprikash container off the grass, and walked the few blocks back to my apartment.
I'm finishing off the leftovers as I type this. Yum-O!
So tonight, I go to a new mall, this time verified as a legitimate mall, not some chintzy shopping plaza as mentioned in the previous post. Shoe shopping, I unsuccessfully tried a handful of stores before finally happening upon Dick's Sporting Goods. The shoe salesman took one glance at my feet and said "You're at least a double-E. I know just what you need." He, although obviously being a little bit of a wheeler-dealer, pulled out no less than five pairs of shoes for me to try on and compare against each other for comfort. I decided on a pair of Asics that cost, on sale, $85. At the checkout, I made sure to tell the cashier who was also a manager, what a fantastic job the shoe guy did in seeing to my individual needs and giving me the attention I needed to make sure I found the perfect pair of shoes. Credit was most certainly due.
---
I'd promised myself a month ago, on the first night that I went to my new favorite neighborhood bar, the Club House, that when I got my first paycheck I'd walk over there and treat myself to a Chicken Paprikash dinner. Tonight I did, and God I could barely finish half of the gigantic plate. The rest I put in a styrofoam container.
DUDE, I PLAYED BEER PONG FOR THE FIRST TIME TONIGHT!
After a couple of hours (and handful of drinks) later at the Club House, I headed over, a half a block down, to O'Feenie's, an Irish bar that apparently draws crowds of college-age young'uns on weekend nights from well out of town. It was beer pong night. This was the first time I have ever been exposed in a live and candid environment to this game. Immediately I was intrigued, and began watching intently to try to decipher the rules. After the formal tournament was over, I had the chance to play in free matches, but I was told I needed a parner. Apparently, this isn't a game you can play by yourself. So some college aged hotshot who was the living incarnation of Fogell from the movie 'Superbad', whose only interest was being a beer pong rockstar to "get hot chicks", and coach me into doing the same, reluctantly agreed to be my teammate.
I have exactly twenty three days left in my 20's before I hit the big Three Oh, and I finally managed to squeeze at least one match of this just-post-adolescent game into my resume of life experiences, before Father Time with his cruel scythe cuts my youth to ribbons this August 25th, my thirtieth birthday.
You're allowed to run all the interference you want. Unfortunately, the only interference I could muster was to grab my man boobs, dance like the nerdiest white guy on the planet, and straight-up flash my entire hairy torso the the opposing team. For this, I received much admonishment from my teammate. I think he was under the mistaken perception that I, like he, was trying to "score some pussy" too. Sure, there were some wicked attractive women there, but I just wasn't interested. My heart is still too freshly broken. That's a whole 'nother can of worms.
Back to my new-found beer pong... in retrospect I think that my "taking one for the team" in the name of humility and thwarting our opponents most likely cock-blocked my teammate. He'll live. In the end, we won! Not so much by our own talent, but rather my mad skillz at distracting and freaking out the other team just as they were about the toss the pingpong balls into our cups... or as I called them: Our Sacred Vessels. Call me crazy, but I'm guessing this guy will never want to play with me again.
I never got the chance to experience this stuff first hand when I was these peoples' age, but now that I'm too damned old, I found it endearing, pathetic, and cute to sit back and observe the silly games early 20-somethings engage in for the sake of having sex with random strangers.
---
On the walk back home, styrofoam container of chicken paprikash (the true sacred vessel of the evening) in hand, a car drove past me whose tire suddenly went "Ka-flapflapflapflapflapflap..." and then turned down a side road a block away. I walked over to investigate, only to find two very drunk young ladies in eye-poppingly short mini skirts freaking out. I introduced myself and calmed them down, sitting my paprikash down on the grass and reassuring them that my only intention was to help. Unfortuntately, the bracket that held the spare tire securely was rusted into place, which I couldn't undo with my hands, and I couldn't change their tire for them. The passenger, who was celebrating her 21st birthday, called her brother, despite the driver being an AAA member. She didn't know where she was, so she said to him over the phone "I'm stuck somewhere, I'm puking on a sidewalk, and some strange guy is here!!"
I asked politely to talk to her brother. I described to him our location (he wasn't very far away), and that I wasn't trying anything funny with his drunk sister. Reassured him that I was just trying to help and stay with them until somebody arrived. The girls kept saying "Thank you, whoever you are! You're so nice!!"
He arrived shortly after, thanking me profusely for looking out for his sister and her friend. I made sure to grab my chicken paprikash container off the grass, and walked the few blocks back to my apartment.
I'm finishing off the leftovers as I type this. Yum-O!
posted by Grover at 8/02/2008 01:58:00 AM
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