Retroblog: "Show me your ass, you right Irish bitch!"
This is a story of the adventure that was Saturday night for my group of hooligans.
We were to begin meeting at O'Keefe's at 7:30 p.m. I arrived at 8:15... and at forty-five minutes late, I was still the first one there. So I greet Irish Nick, our oh-so-friendly bartender, have my first drink, and settle down to wait while watching the Met game. Ten or so minutes later, Jabba T. Black arrives, followed by Marc "the Thai man-boy" Pongpamorn. They seat themselves, and the party begins. A few minutes later, Ray-"Fred"-I-can't-spell-his-last-name comes in, and the party really starts. Marc asks if the Mets are really winning nine to nothing.
I say, "No, you walking void, it's a blurry zero."
I was wrong, it was nine-nothing. But still, I got to call Marc a walking void. Marc, for the record, was on his fourth drink by the time I was halfway done with my second. So Marc was drunk, and we spent the rest of the time grabbing him and throwing him into chairs so he wouldn't stumble into people, and giving him water in an attempt to sober him up.
Eventually we have dinner, and halfway through that, approximately an hour and a half after the whole affair began, Nicholas "Mojo" Joseph Joseph Healey comes in with his date, a girl named either Sharon or Shannon from what I'm told, I honestly can't remember which. Thankfully, because he had work at 8 the next morning, Marc left at 10:30, so the rest of us could really have fun
The next few hours were spent playing songs on the jukebox, drinking, and making fun of Nick, both inadvertently and advertently. That is, until about 1:30 a.m. or so rolled around.
Then things got interesting.
Some stragglers from a wedding reception strolled in. We all know what wedding receptions mean, folks. Open bars. Which might explain why one of them mysteriously had a protest sign about oil for Iraqi's or something. Yes, these people were TOASTED. So toasted, in fact, that Irish Nick asked us what it felt to actually not be the most drunk people at the bar.
Anyway, this group of three relatively hot older women and their men proceeded to make the bar into a three-ring circus, complete with someone who could limbo with a beer bottle balanced on her head.
Yes, they limboed.
So did Ray.
I'll let that thought marinate for a minute.
Then Ray did the Carlton dance to Tom Jones, and me and him repeated our performance of the MC Hammer typewriter dance.
Then the wedding people made everyone line up and dance. Yes, one of them got Jabba to dance. Again, let it marinate.
Then the moshers came in. I'm not even going into that one.
Eventually, at around 3 a.m., the bar closed. We stayed and chilled, drinking sodas and stuff, because, well, we got it like that. And one of the women stayed; apparently it was also her INCREDIBLY drunk boyfriend's birthday. So she decided to dance for him... on top of the bar. She hoisted herself up there, which was impressive considering how bombed she was, and proceeded to dance for him, going so far as to show the entire bar her ass.
Which prompted Irish Nick to yell as he's counting his amazingly high tip from us, "Yeah, show me that ass, you right Irish bitch!"
Which led the woman to eventually start singing songs about the IRA.
Irish Nick threw everyone out at 3:30 a.m., asking if anyone wanted to go to another bar with him. We declined; I think those last two people from the wedding party went with him.
Nick and Shanron left, which left me and Jabba, both relatively sober, with a highly drunken Ray, to walk to the bus stops. During the course of this trip:
- Ray knocked the mailbox over again.
- Ray annoyed Jabba, who knocked Ray into a police barricade, which promptly fell onto a car.
- Ray knocked over one of those free newspaper stands.
- Ray knocked over another police barricade.
- Ray knocked a caution light off of a construction barrier, which was promptly run over by a car.
We debated getting some breakfast, cuz we were hungry sumbitches, but Happy Days was all the way in the other direction, so we went home.
And the best part was, no hangover the next day, because I wasn't really drunk. Just buzzed and tired. It was definitely one hell of a night...
Wonder what we can do to top it at the birthday party this weekend...
Yes, that night was legendary.