Ok, so I hit Petsmart this week, and each time I go I try to get the furballs a toy or something. Well, and catnip - the two dweebs are addicted to the hooch. So, I found this really cool lookin' thing - it's a mouse on wheels, and if you pull it back, it's supposed to shoot across the room, and the cats are supposed to chase it and I guess everyone in the room is supposed to shoot tears from their eyes from laughing at this spectacle. Well, I get it home, and I break it out. The cats are sorta pacing it, and I pull it back and let 'er rip ... and it goes about 8 inches. I hope the friggin' folks at Piece Of Junk cat toys are having a nice meal with my $4. Twerps.
So, last night was quite interesting. Went to the Blast game to see the hot neighbor in action at work. 'Course, I have a hard time attending any weekend sporting event without my flask ... it's kinda like Linus and his blanket, except the stuff inside the flask get Mr. Liver all cranky. The game was great, but we're up in the press box, and it's pretty close to the same temperature as that Chinese mustard that causes people to see through time. Think lava, and add on another 10 degrees or so. Naturally, I'm sweating, and when I sweat, I have a hard time getting drunk. The fun part is, when I get back into normal temperatures, all that I've ingested alcohol-wise smacks me right upside the forehead. So, game over, Blast win, everyone's happy, we go downstairs, and suddenly I'm tanked. Nice! It's like an alcoholic teleportation machine.
We head down to Fed Hill, starting out at a place called Metropolitans. Two separate people have told me that Metropolitans is Fed Hill's version of Portside. Two separate people need their heads examined. It wasn't terrible, it wasn't great, it was ok. The one good thing is the bartender made some serious drinks ... like I need help getting drunk at this point. I guess she's the Fed Hill version of my boys Steve and Bo at Portside.
So, we split out of there after a bit. Now, I think there are a few folks that read this blog that live in Fed Hill. Welp, folks, no offense, but it SUCKS down there now. Cat on a hot tin roof, it was awful (I just made up that expression, by the way ... I'm quite proud). We walk past Drifters, and there's a group of people outside that were previously inside, and I was seriously wondering if Drifters was hosting the high school prom. Eesh.
We blow by there, and we're headed for Mother's, but it's absolutely packed. As we're walking by, the bouncer, who was roughly the size of Nebraska ... no, wait, that's not big enough ... how about Mars ... the planet, not the candy bar, wiseacre ... has this other buffoon on the ground right in the entrance. He on top of him, screaming something at him, and either choking him or punching him ... or both. Actually, if it wasn't for the punching part, it might've been kinda erotic ... on Mars.
So, the buffoon finally gets up, the bouncer punches him, it spills out into the street, and finally they corral the bouncer. Lovely. Needless to say, we decide to skip Mother's for Ropewalk.
Ropewalk is equally horrendous. It's pretty crowded, and approximately 92.3% of the guys have Izods on with the collars up. Oy. At one point, I go to take a whiz, and as I'm in there, some dude opens the door, looks in, and apologizes, saying he thought I was someone else. 'Course, my immediate question was what if I was the person he was trying to find? Yeah.
One of the bonuses of the evening was getting to hang out with this woman who looked very much like Scarlett Johansson. Evidently, I was either really drunk or still dialated from my eye doctor appointment, because when I told her who I thought she looked like, she noted it was the first time anyone had said that to her. Scored some cheap points there, people.
The hot neighbor and I couldn't split out of there fast enough. I think she may have left tire tracks on the departure. So, just a note for ya ... if you're trying to get me out of Canton to go to Fed Hill, you're gonna need one or all of these:
1) A pretty hefty bulldozer
2) All the cover girls from Oxygen magazine
3) A warehouse of Pez
4) The Foo Fighters and John Mellencamp
Righto.
So, last night was quite interesting. Went to the Blast game to see the hot neighbor in action at work. 'Course, I have a hard time attending any weekend sporting event without my flask ... it's kinda like Linus and his blanket, except the stuff inside the flask get Mr. Liver all cranky. The game was great, but we're up in the press box, and it's pretty close to the same temperature as that Chinese mustard that causes people to see through time. Think lava, and add on another 10 degrees or so. Naturally, I'm sweating, and when I sweat, I have a hard time getting drunk. The fun part is, when I get back into normal temperatures, all that I've ingested alcohol-wise smacks me right upside the forehead. So, game over, Blast win, everyone's happy, we go downstairs, and suddenly I'm tanked. Nice! It's like an alcoholic teleportation machine.
We head down to Fed Hill, starting out at a place called Metropolitans. Two separate people have told me that Metropolitans is Fed Hill's version of Portside. Two separate people need their heads examined. It wasn't terrible, it wasn't great, it was ok. The one good thing is the bartender made some serious drinks ... like I need help getting drunk at this point. I guess she's the Fed Hill version of my boys Steve and Bo at Portside.
So, we split out of there after a bit. Now, I think there are a few folks that read this blog that live in Fed Hill. Welp, folks, no offense, but it SUCKS down there now. Cat on a hot tin roof, it was awful (I just made up that expression, by the way ... I'm quite proud). We walk past Drifters, and there's a group of people outside that were previously inside, and I was seriously wondering if Drifters was hosting the high school prom. Eesh.
We blow by there, and we're headed for Mother's, but it's absolutely packed. As we're walking by, the bouncer, who was roughly the size of Nebraska ... no, wait, that's not big enough ... how about Mars ... the planet, not the candy bar, wiseacre ... has this other buffoon on the ground right in the entrance. He on top of him, screaming something at him, and either choking him or punching him ... or both. Actually, if it wasn't for the punching part, it might've been kinda erotic ... on Mars.
So, the buffoon finally gets up, the bouncer punches him, it spills out into the street, and finally they corral the bouncer. Lovely. Needless to say, we decide to skip Mother's for Ropewalk.
Ropewalk is equally horrendous. It's pretty crowded, and approximately 92.3% of the guys have Izods on with the collars up. Oy. At one point, I go to take a whiz, and as I'm in there, some dude opens the door, looks in, and apologizes, saying he thought I was someone else. 'Course, my immediate question was what if I was the person he was trying to find? Yeah.
One of the bonuses of the evening was getting to hang out with this woman who looked very much like Scarlett Johansson. Evidently, I was either really drunk or still dialated from my eye doctor appointment, because when I told her who I thought she looked like, she noted it was the first time anyone had said that to her. Scored some cheap points there, people.
The hot neighbor and I couldn't split out of there fast enough. I think she may have left tire tracks on the departure. So, just a note for ya ... if you're trying to get me out of Canton to go to Fed Hill, you're gonna need one or all of these:
1) A pretty hefty bulldozer
2) All the cover girls from Oxygen magazine
3) A warehouse of Pez
4) The Foo Fighters and John Mellencamp
Righto.
posted by AxnJxn at 12:11 PM
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