Saturday night was a study in contrasts. We pregamed in Squirrel Hill—a relatively progressive, white collar section of the city; but we were drinking Natural Light, which is as blue-collar a beer as there is. Everyone on hand celebrating my buddy Rocky’s birthday was above college age; but we played beer pong and chugged beer at a house party, which made me reminisce on my days at W&J. The main event was held in the South Side, which in recent years has seen an influx of trendier clubs and ultra lounges; but we were going to one of the last diehard “dive bars” found on Carson St., the White Eagle Inn.
Rocky, who is Mrs. T.C.’s cousin, managed to pack the small locale with friends and family. And, in keeping with the contrasts, his family being present in no way meant that the boozing was curtailed. I had already done about five rounds of shots—most of those being Rocket Fuel, which the White Eagle sells by the pitcher—when Rocky’s mother and father arrived. The next two pitchers of Rocket Fuel shots were paid for and doled out by his mother. The woman’s a saint.
I kept a running tally of the rounds of shots saved in a note on my phone; it read “9” when I glanced at it Sunday morning. But I suspect that I neglected to update the count near the end of the night, being tipsy as I was; and I have a vague recollection of downing a shot and thinking, “Well helloooo double digits.”
My sparse blogging as of late isn’t due to a lack of consumption. Every weekend in my social calendar from early February through the end of April is dotted with some type of engagement. Here are some notes and quickies from the last few weeks:
- At K.C.’s birthday party, Abbie’s mom sold Girlfriend and me each a $2 raffle ticket. The grand prize of the St. Patrick's Day drawing? A basket of booze. Guess whose fingers haven’t uncrossed since.
- Chappy has made a triumphant return to the game after about four months as a “healthy scratch.” A special party was held in his honor at Carson City Saloon a couple of weeks ago, and the alcohol flowed like the Mississippi in spring [I’ll dedicate a special blog to that night at a later time]. He took the early “L” that night, but he made an appearance at the White Eagle for Rocky’s party and seemed to have his drinking sea legs solidly underneath him once again.
- Girlfriend was away on a previously-planned trip to New York City for Valentine’s Day weekend, so I spent it hanging with the fellas (TJ already recounted the events of 2/13). V Day itself saw a fist fight break out in front of us at Shady Grove (a rarity amongst a largely preppy, young professional crowd); a mile-and-a-half hike to Cricket Lounge (a local strip club), where Hollywood met up with us—and apparently knows the entire staff, from dancers to bartenders; and an end-of-the-night gorging at Village Pizza. Ahh, the bachelor’s lifestyle.
- While playing beer pong at the pregame party this past Saturday, my friend “JW” decided to add one cup to the front of each team’s standard six cup triangle. “So this is the uncircumcised version,” I observed.
- On 2/21 BlahBlahBlah had a birthday party for his wife at Sing Sing, a local piano bar. While I typically loathe piano bars, it was good to see BBB and others who were in attendance. His wife gave birth to a bouncing baby boy a couple of days before Christmas, so this was his first night out on the town in quite some time. And it ended in classic BBB fashion: he got too drunk, got upset when his wife took the car keys off him, and stormed off through the crowd—and through one tough guy who decided to mouth off in response. This, of course, then led to me drive blocking BBB backwards towards the front doors to prevent him from turning the guy’s face into a freestanding speed bag.
This Saturday will feature the annual St. Patty’s Day festivities, beginning at Shannon’s around 9 a.m. I think the headache I have right now is a sign that my body has decided to get next Sunday's hangover started early, just to make sure it matches the ungodly amount of Jameson, Guinness, and green beer I’ll be drinking.