Drunks! Nightmares! Sinnings! Oh My!

To properly begin this travelogue, I feel compelled to take a step back to the evening before my journey begins because it is also the same day that I began my journey. For some reason I honestly thought that if I went to the game with Greg, George, and Joy, I'd be home by like midnight or something. Sometimes I can be so foolish!

In any event, the journey begins on Tuesday with a jaunt out to the Indians game with the aforementioned folks. Add to that Rocco (you'll meet him properly later), Josh (a recent newlywed in our season tickets group), and Horky (known as "Porky" thanks to my mother). Because the Tribe is so awesome this year, we are in trade in month. Everyone has tickets because everyone has bailed so now we can turn them in and all go to games together, which is really cool because it's really hard to watch.

Game night starts with a slow trip downtown (George was driving Greg's Caddy and we all felt we'd get pulled over because he looked like a kid who'd stole his parents car). It was slow because Joy would not let George exceed 35 MPH. Good times. By the time we park at West 6th (because our "group" thought it was East 4th), go to Metropolis and get ignored, and walk over to the Nauti [sic] Mermaid, we are in dire need of refreshments. Greg wants an extra dry martini but when he orders it, the server says, "we can't make that as we don't have any Dry Vermouth". Since this lack of "extra dry" knowledge does not sit well with colossal boozers, it takes about 5 minutes to finally order a round. I get a 22 oz. Guinness and chug! Greg orders a huge pile of Oysters which I call "snot on the half shell". This then upsets Joy who is nursing her Heineken Light. She adopts a pout that lasts until much later in the evening (wait for it...).

After massive consumption of snot, crab cakes, fries, and booze, we walk all the way to the Jake or the Pro or whatever. We meet up with Josh and his 12 Year Old Friend (he just looks 12) and grab some seats. There is a game. It's against the Anaheim Mighty Angels. We don't lose but for the top of the 9th, I am required to leave. Joy must meet her brother at Flannery's and Super Douche (who has now found his rhythm) Chris Perez hits the mound. I tell everyone that if I don't leave he will walk the first three batters and serve up a home run ball to the next guy. We won because I left. You are welcome!

At Flannery's I meet a guy from Philly and, as I am wearing my Wings hat, am quizzed on hockey. The conversation covers Ed Hospodar (Do I know his nickname? Yeah, it's Boxcar you amatuer!), Ron Dugay (Who was the hot guy all the chicks loved?), Jaromir Jagr (The Douche thinks he still plays for the Pens and his team is in the Eastern Conference!), and other topics. I demolish him and he doesn't even know it. At this point, the game is over and everyone else shows up. There is much rejoicing! Not really, just a lot of drinking. Joy begins to smile after the triple espresso vodka shots (it's a foreshadowing) and she makes friends with a guy from York and enemies with some guy who had been at HOB for the Deftones.

We move on, fights narrowly avoided, and our work done. Where we go, I don't know. I mean I know where (as in which direction we went) but what the bar was called, I know not. It is a loser bar although not a dump from a physical standpoint. There Rocco tries to pick up tw0 "sisters" (i.e. lesbians). It doesn't work but I have a creepy picture with the "dark one" moving in or out of the shot. Rocco leaves shortly thereafter - in a huff - we later find out that he took a cab.

Now, I have stopped drinking because I can't breathe but everyone else is still going strong, especially Joy. There are Red Bull shots (oh good, more caffeine and alcohol) and Joy is singing and dancing. Now it's important to note the singing and the dancing because at this point, Joy is beginning to think that someone has slipped her a mickey. As we leave, it's about 3:00 in the a.m. Joy's brother asks if he can spank me and is upset I am going to San Diego so I can't go home with him. After an ill advised ride home, during which Joy becomes convinced that not only was she slipped a mickey but that mickey was a hit of acid ergo (I know, ergot is an awesome pun) she is tripping, I crawl in bed where I don't sleep much because I still can't breathe.

It's 9:30 a.m. before I know it and then 12:00 before I know it but I am surprisingly competent. I can't say the same for RTA. It took me 2 hours to get to the airport and left me no time for lunch. On the plane we got the "beverage service" and the smallest bag of pretzels in the world. By the time I land in Houston, I look like Ghandi and I have a text from Stacey. She says "burrito" so I go find me one. It's delicious and I adore it so I took its picture. I still miss it! The rest of the journey is uneventful and Nancy and I spend a pleasant evening drinking champagne and eating stuff.

Thursday we walk and come back to the house to swim. As I am changing, we receive our first visit (Nancy's second this week and it's important to note she was in her nightgown for the first) from a guy who is interested in Jack's place. He is rich, a builder, has a trophy realtor/fiancee, and a tape measure. They are both nice and the best part is that they are causing the realtor on Nancy's side fits (Nancy didn't pick her) because they come over without talking to her first even though that is apparently impossible. After the visit, some swimming, and some more champagne, we head out to the sea shore for drinks and eats with Nancy's offspring. They are both charming and very polite.

After dinner we head back to Nancy's with her son John (Mandy goes home to La Jolla) and drink some more. We attempt listen to some music and discuss our favorite bands. John asks me who my favorite band is and after I hem and haw about the concept of "favorite", I tell him The Cure. We then listen to some Cure on his phone and I lecture him on the "early years" (i.e. "since Singles"). This conversation is important. It is also important to note that earlier in the day I had noticed a cookie jar in the kitchen. It was an antique so I asked Nancy about it. Apparently Jack had bought this for his mother when he was very young and we figure it's from about 1940. We both agree that it's awesome and that if she takes anything, she should take the cookie jar.

After dropping John off at his house, we retire for the evening. I am soon asleep. I am soon dreaming. I am soon whining. Someone wake me up. I am being chased by a pale chubby midget with jet black hair, red lips, and small fangs. I so hope Nancy did not hear me. I find out the next morning, she did. As I sit there, I look up at the cookie jar and immediately understand my dream. Allow me to illustrate:

Cookie Jar

+

Robert Smith

= Crazy Ass Nightmare (I know, the still from Lullaby is a phenomenal touch!)

After we have laughed at me for a while, we go for a walk and then swim and hot tub. As we get ready to go out (i.e. get in the shower), they (the dude and his realtor/fiancee) show up to measure again. I make them wait until Nancy gets out of the shower but as usual, she lets them in to do their thing. In response, the dude offers to buy us dinner at a nice steak house nearby. He leaves Nancy's name with the restaurant and are told to get the lobster. We don't but we do enjoy a nice dinner despite the piano bar (I don't believe you can call it a piano bar if it's a synthesizer). Dinner was delicious and we are sure Nancy's realtor will be seriously pissed. I do not have another nightmare.

Saturday we walk on the beach. It's so lovely. We head home to shower and snack. During the snack, I meet Nancy's neighbor Vodka Lady. She is lovely and has perfect red nails and when she leaves Nancy explains the story of her live in nurse, Ted. Ted is short for some Philippino name and Ted is a lady, a lesbian lady. Vodka Lady's husband apparently never knew she was a he and hence allowed Ted to bathe him. We go to La Jolla. Nancy is a good sport because she hates La Jolla. We find Jack's favorite brew pub and have a couple of pints and some eats in his honor. Sufficiently fortified, we go shopping. Nancy decides she really likes "Peter Lik" (we hardly noticed the "Gallery") and there is much chuckling. I buy myself some earrings. We then try to have drinks at a couple of places but it's Saturday and it's too busy. We pass on the Sperm Bar (actually it's the Whale Bar but they are all Sperm Whales in the mural so it's the Sperm Bar) even though Nancy likes it. Heading back to Del Mar, I take a couple of nice shots (see below):



It's not really the moon there on the right, it's the sun. There is no flash on the iPhone. We then watch the sun go down and talk to a conspiracy theorist. A perfect way to end the day and the trip. The flights were fine and I believe the Ladies Man was on RTA on the way home from the airport.

You Know How I Know You're Gay?

Yeah, hold that thought because we'll get to the Coldplay!

First, apologies for the delay. I've been busy doing a lot of nothing and waiting for a rainy-ish day in which to pen this next exciting installment. So, without further ado, I bring you the blog entry on the wedding of the year!

As you may remember our heroines were looking forward to a weekend away from the grind of not having to wake up and go to work. This doesn't mean we (I am far too lazy to continue in the third person) don't get stressed. We do. Very stressed. It's just that our stress inducers are different. They live in the brown house across the street. They gave birth to us. And in some cases, they wear fur and live with us. They can just sense when we are dreaming of a get away so there is simply no better time to contract HGE or develop a face swelling infection. After three nerve wracking and expensive days, we are finally able to pack our bags and get out of town!

Our chauffeur, let's call him Ron, arrives on time and we are quickly whisked away to Cleveland Hopkins International Airport. As usual there are no lines and after successfully navigating the moving walkway, we deposit ourselves at Gate D9 for our on time departure to Reagan National Airport. I decide that I should get a coffee and as I drop my bags, I look up and see the co-pilot for our flight walking out of the jet way. I notice that he is tall, dark and handsome with the added advantage of having some fairly piercing blue eyes. A combination that since Randolph Mantooth, has always grabbed my attention. I alert Stacey but she is too busy texting some dude who is not tall, dark or handsome. I shrug. What more can I do. After waiting far too long for a cup of questionable coffee, we board our express jet and are immediately informed of various safety precautions by our flight attendant, Natasha. Now I don't think her name is Natasha. I only call her Natasha because she has a Russian accent and as soon as she makes her announcement, Stacey runs to my seat (I am two rows behind) to say "Moose and squirrel". Yeah, it's going to be like that. The short flight is uneventful and we soon arrive at our gate. I tell Stacey I will meet her inside as she has gate checked her bag. A few minutes later, she bounds up the jet way, bag in tow, with this silly smirk on her face. She says, "Oh man, the co-pilot is hot! Did you see him?" Whatever...

The Metro ride to the hotel is fairly uneventful other than we thought we'd be smart and by an "all day" pass only to find that the "all day" pass doesn't work until 9:30 a.m. and it's only 9:15. After purchasing a one way ticket to get to the hotel, we wait on the platform until a little after 9:30 at which time our "all day" pass would have worked! We check in and call Hallie and agree to meet her at a restaurant that is not open but we do hook up and head on out to the Mall. As we depart the Metro station, Stacey manages to fall over some crates. That's one. At least two guys come to her aid. It's all very gallant but it's like 95 degrees with 98% humidity by this time and we need to hit the WWII Memorial before we melt. After navigating the morons and very fat sweaty Americans (see left), we arrive. It's lovely but I can't help thinking it looks like Albert Speer designed it (see right).

At this point, we are melting so we head to the National Gallery to lay on the marble floor. We end up spending a very lovely, cool afternoon amongst some of my favorite pieces of art. We are the only people laughing and having fun. Everyone else walks very quickly and then takes pictures of the important pieces of art that they were there to "see". I can say that the one place they do stop is in front of the grossly overrated portrait of Ginevra de Benci. I can only assume they believe that there is a secret code buried somewhere in the small, drab piece. I look around and notice no tall albino monks but still decline to look at it professionally. It's kind of like when The Cure play Love Song or the Bunnies do Lips Like Crack and I dance ironically. But soon we are off to the Boticelli's, the Rosso's, the Bronzino's, the Hals', the Ingres', the Whistler's (yes, I love Whistler). The day is full of classic art history one liners: "Sir Jeffrey, get that monkey off your back", "Boy, that's a really ugly baby Jesus", and the instant classic, "And how can you miss a Rodin!". Well, you can't. We view some of the recent acquisitions, including White Bread by James Rosenquist (sublime) and Bagpipe Player by Hendrick ter Brugghen (one of the loveliest paintings I have ever seen) and the Munch exhibit (how uplifting). Stacey runs into two of her favorite men, Napoleon and the Security Guard from Louisiana. Sadly, the afternoon must end as we have to return to the hotel and wash off the afternoon's stank as we are attending the pre-wedding BBQ at some swanky private club in Georgetown established in 1796.

Refreshed and redressed, we get in our taxi only to find that our cabbie is not real happy about driving from Dupont Circle to Georgetown at 6:00 pm on a Friday night. I can understand. The traffic sucks, it takes forever, and the fare is low. It is one of the worst cab rides I have ever had and I have had a cabbie fall asleep on me. Stacey doesn't agree but then she was on the phone with her mother discussing Charlotte's personal habits. As we descend from our coach, whiplash now fully developed, we are met at the door by Joanna (the mother of the groom) and Rhonda (the step-mother of the groom). Now, I know a lot about Rhonda even though I've never met her so it requires all my social skills to not make faces at her. Luckily, we head right to the bar and then meet up with Tom (the step-father of the groom) on the patio where our evening transpires.

It is here that we meet Joanna's siblings, her nephew Fauxhawk, and the future Attorney General of West Virginia (in the yellow pants). Smashing! We meet Fauxhawk's brother who has been living in China and has brought his Cambridge educated English girlfirend to the wedding. She asks Stacey and I if we are "business partners". Now, I've spent a lot of time in Old Blighty but I've never heard it called that before. She gets away from us as soon as possible as it's "catching" I hear. At some point I notice a waiter who keeps darting in and out of the tables. He intrigues me. He looks like the D-List version of Stephen Dorff and even though I try desperately to get his picture, he eludes me. At some point, Stacey stops him and chats him up. He's French (what else?) but from some town she's never heard of so I determine that he is actually Belgian. Stacey attempts to explain the "Stephen Dorff" thing but it goes nowhere and she dubs him "The Dorffmunder". You know, like the beer Dortmunder, a pale blonder lager! The allusion is sheer perfection so we call it a night.

Saturday is a big breakfast and a day by the pool. Delightful and uneventful. Refreshed we shower and dress for the wedding. We hit the bar for a pre-ceremony refreshment and then cross the street to another private club. This one is swanky as well but only dates to the mid-19th century. Still, it's nice. We take up our seats for the ceremony and admire the artwork. Stacey calls that the bride's niece will have a temper tantrum during the ceremony. She does. Now as ceremonies go, it was fine. I can't say I paid much attention to anything other than the music. The had a nice five piece (I am guessing here as I never counted) that was playing assorted Beatles songs as people filtered in. The songs for the ceremony included The Verve's Bittersweet Symphony, the Bryan Adams "classic" Everything I Do I Bloody Well Do For You" (during which I kept looking around for Alan "The Sheriff of Nottingham" Rickman) and finally, Coldplay's Viva La Vida. At which point, I knew they were gay.

After the ceremony, I move to get a closer look at my sassy dude. He is sassy isn't he? Joanna's brother joins me. He has no idea why I am staring at this painting until I tell him he's my dream man, "Romantic, poetic, and slightly syphilitic". I think he believed me. We then move on and grab drinks and run into the lovely Joanna and Tom.

We drink some more and then mosey on in to the ballroom area. Stacey and I don't know we are supposed to sit with Joanna and Tom so, like a couple of good Sicilians, we find a table by the wall and face the door. We are soon joined by a friend of Bart's (the groom) who is from New Jersey. Another Sicilian! He is attending a girl named Allyn who makes it very clear that she is not with that guy but a guy in the wedding party. We chat. We scare Allyn. We are her worst nightmare: over 40, not married, and with another female at a wedding. Once I make a crack about Stacey giving me cancer, she leaves for good. Easy peasy.

What else can I tell you about the wedding? The band was white and played Motown classics. We dubbed them the Below Average White Band. Visits to the bathroom were thrilling, especially as Stacey and I had apparently donned cloaks of invisibility. Other than Joanna, Tom, Joanna's family, the Italian kid and Allyn, absolutely no one saw us! On Stacey's trip to the WC, she encountered one young woman who felt strongly she should be on American Idol. To prove her point, she sang "Isn't She Lovely" (performed earlier by the BAWB during the Father/Bride dance). On my trip to the loo, I learned that one of the girls had a brother who was "hot"! In fact, when I found out that not only was he "hot" but that he was the "Dean" of the English Department at some prep school, I knew the girl in stall number three was correct when she said the sister needed to introduce them. I mean, she was an English Lit major! Of course, I agree he'd have to shave that beard if she wanted to take him to her "club" but that's okay because it was only a "vacation beard"! Whew. Crisis totally averted. After all this excitement, we called it an early night.

On Sunday, we hit the Mall again. This time we went to the Korean War Memorial. I find it quite stunning even if some of the people there admitted out loud that they "don't even know how that war started". Oh, I don't know? WWII and that whole 38th parallel thingy? We then hoofed it over to the Vietnam War Memorial where we actually overheard some whiny teen tell his mother that he was "hot, tired, hungry, and thirsty". For some reason, his mother did not smack him in the face. Stacey and I did so in our heads.


Over heated, we went to the airport a little early because it would be cool and there was a bar right across from our gate. Before we could get there, I had to get in the security line behind a lady with a very big behind. She was traveling with some breathing equipment in a suit case so this caused some issues for TSA. To make matters a little more complicated, she decided to pack a can of bean dip. Apparently she didn't think this would be an issue. It was. She made it out of security as we were sipping our first drinks, for which Stacey was carded. We both laughed and I said, "do you want to see mine as well?" Our less than charming waitress said, "No, I don't think so". My lovely buzz was ruined when on the flight home. I was across the aisle from a young lad who had crossed that threshold of puberty but was still unaware of the fact that this meant his feet now stunk.

And now the rain has cleared and the sun is out and I have come to the end of my tale. I am sure I missed something but I lost my notes as the airport bar. I blame the waitress!