Woo. This could either be a short blog, a long blog, or something in between. I'm a tad annoyed right now, it's 3:16 am on a Friday night, and I'm alone ... what the hell do people do when they're alone on a weekend night? Add on the fact that I'm drunk and can't type so well. A'ight, everybody calm down and let's approach this from the side entrance.

Ok, first, the fun stuff. So, I'm at the office on Wednesday, we go to lunch, and on the way back in, I hit the bathroom. I'm in a pretty good mood, so I'm dancing at the urinal while I'm whizzing. Hey, what can I say ... I'm a good dancer in front of a urinal. Apparently, dancing causing those dumbass mofo sensor things to go off in the urinal, so I get showered while whizzing. I know a good percentage of you readers aren't men so I'll give you this tip ... showering on my Johnson isn't going to help me pee faster or more efficiently. I think I came pretty close on spelling efficiently right, too. E-ffi-cient-ly. So there. Mo-ji-to, for the Family Guy fans.

As if that's not enough, it gets better! Hold on to your hats! The shower finally subsides, and I'm still going. What can I say, I have a huge bladder, which in no way corresponds to the size of ... well, you know what, let's just continue on. So, I notice that the urinal cake is all broken up, and I bend down to check out why. I quickly realize that I'm whizzing right ... on ... my ... tie. Fabulous.

Also, I watched a fascinating documentary this week - Grizzly Man, which is the story of Timothy Treadwell, who is a dude who decided to live with bears. I ran through an large range of emotions watching this flick. It's pretty good stuff. I also managed to basically throw $5 in the harbor when I rented the DVD, then realized they're showing the movie on Discovery Channel next week. Clinkers!

Ok, so that's the perfect segueway to tonight's friggin' fiasco. The early part was great fun. We started after work at the Red Maple happy hour. Now, my first manifesto when it comes to restaurants is to not offend or piss of the waiter/waitress in any way, shape, or manner. Plus, there's the added bonus that every time I've been to this joint, I've had sucky ass mofo service. Well, tonight, we get a really good waiter, and I manage, on drink #2, to call him "waitress". Yup, I'm a genius! Needless to say, I get my bill, and every single drink and food item was neatly accounted for, with a 20% gratuity added on. Nice!

An aside. When I went on that sucky loner trip to Vegas, on the flight out, I spilled a drink right in my crotch. If there was ever an omen, that was one. Well, calling a waiter "waitress" should've been a sign tonight. Damnit. Note to self ... read signs!

Anyway. So, we split the happy hour ...

Haha! Wait! My work friend Lauren thought she would cruise through this blog. Nein! Lauren's this li'l chick that's quite the good drinker, but sometimes has eyes are bigger than her stomach. Drinkwise. Ok, I hope you're sorta following along at this point. Anyway, she told my boy JB that she could drink 5 apple martinis tonight. Well, she drank all 5. Last time I saw her, I was yelling out the window to JB to hold her hair back while she hurled. Yeah. Good times, baby.

Anyway. So, we split the HH and head down to Fed Hill. We stopped in this joint that used to be Bandaloop's. They really should change the name of that joint to something more appropriate now. I'm thinking something like "127 guys and 14 girls" or "Men Only, But A Few Chicks Allowed" would be about right. Talk about your man bars. Jeez o pete. Needless to say, I was hating life.

Break time. Ok, it's no secret that I love women. However, there is the occassional woman or two that I meet that are incredibly dopey, in a sweet little fuzzy girly sorta way. Let's break out two examples:

#1 ... This hot thing named ... shoot ... you know, I actually remembered her name when she introduced herself, and she didn't remember mine. Kathy! Ha! Ok, so, anyway, Kathy and I are talking at ... um ... what'd I call that joint? Oh yeah, "127 guys and 14 girls". Let's just go with 127-14 for shorts. So, I'm with a group of friends that want to go back to Canton just as I meet Kathy. I immediately try for the number, explaining that we're splitting, and I don't hang out in Fed Hill. Strike one.

Now, we get delayed because a number of members get hung up in the bathroom. It's clear that Kathy digs me. I mean, when a woman is talking about something and patting you right on the chest, that's a pretty good sign. I've offered to give Kathy and her friend a ride to Canton, so's I can get to know Kathy better, either on the ride or in Canton. They mull over it. Yeah, mull. Who doesn't enjoy a good mull? Next thing I know, they're splittin'. Here comes the fun.

As they're splittin', her friend reaches back, shakes my hand, and says "You're passing up a good thing" and nods to Kathy. Uhhhhhhh. So, I try to think quickly, which is pretty much impossible on drink #9 ... or whatever drink it was. I ask where they're going, I get a shrug from secondary woman, and they split. So, I'm standing there, absolutely dumbfounded by this move. Dumb. Founded. It's no secret I'm dumb, but toss in a "founded" and we're in another world. I mean, I guess Kathy, who was pretty much in the other room when her friend dropped the bomb, thought I should come running through the bar to catch her. I dare say, that's brilliant thinking!

Let's go to #2! Hey, there's more in the dumbfounded category! So, we hit Canton, and we go to Gallagher's. Now, this joint is a bar for lesbian type women, which is really a dumb bar for me to go to, but I'm generally up for something if it involves women ... even if they are unattainable. As luck would have it, there's this hottie tending bar at Gallagher's. I'm also lucky enough to be in a group with someone who knows the scoop, and I get the following info:

1) She's straight
2) She's hot ... ok, I figured that out for myself
3) She's interested in me

I figure I'm 3 for 3. Not only that, but after about 30 minutes of haggling, I manage to weasel myself into a bar seat and I'm allowed to stay until after the bar closes because she digs me. Cool. She comes over, we do a shot or two of fun stuff together, we start discussing future plans (ok, this is pretty short term ... future plans being what's going to happen before the sun comes up), and things are going well.

So, the friends that brought me to the joint split. Now, I've discussed the bartender hookup before. It's rough for a number of reasons, but I figure I've got the usual ones covered:

1) The bartender's gay ... yup, already got that one checked off ... she's straight
2) She's not interested and is only flirting for tips ... yah, checked that one off by virtue of my friend who got the lowdown on her
3) In order to hook up with this woman, you're going to have to wait an inordinate amount of time until they close up the bar

The amazing thing is, I cover #3 early on. I mean, we're good to go, people ... it's just a matter of time. As I'm waiting to take her home, I get to deal with a number of fun things ... mopping of the floor, dumb late night drunk people hatin' on yuppies ... at one point, I even carry over some empty bottles to speed up the process.

Here's the beauty ... as she's putting on her coat to split, she decides to tell me that she doesn't know me that well, she's tired, and she's not into hanging out. Ooh, I love those last second decisions, especially when I've been sitting around like a yutz for a good 90+ minutes, and you've given nothing but good signals. I walked out and shredded her phone number right in the parking lot. Ok, it was a petty move, but it felt pretty good to me at the time.

So, as I'm sure Timothy Treadwell said at one point ... women ... can't live with 'em, let's go live with bears.

Luckily, it's 4 am, and one of the drinks we did together was a Red Bull and vodka. I can't wait to crash ... on Sunday evening. Stupid caffeine!

It's off to DC tonight. Needless to say, I won't be attempting any silly stunts like that.