Friday was a "light" evening. paulwall and I rolled in to AA around 10pm, having picked up fajita from Toledo along the way. paulwall had had a few drinks and fajita joined him. I was driving and grumpy by the time we arrived. Chike's apartment was right on the strip of shitfuck stores/bars next to campus. There were people yelling and getting ready for Saturday's St. Patty's day shitshow already. My kind of crowds. Also present were 'interesting' asian drivers and that creepy homeless dude from Mulholland Drive.
After pounding a couple of homebrews (which did not taste like Guinness, per weiiii) we rolled out to Ashley's. A hole in the wall bar that turned out to be very well tapped, Brewer's Art style selection. A few pumps of Murphy's, a St. Bernardus Abt 12, and a Stone barleywine later, I was explaining to weiiii why all words do not mean anything and that the intentions of our phrases and expressions are more important. I also quietly asked Chike to inquire if one of his friend's gfs took it in the ass. Class and no class, a light evening.
On the way home, a new friend mentioned that her favorite band was Oasis. This kicked off a walking jukebox that did not shut off until around 2:30 sunday morning when paulwall broke his hand. More on that later. In the meantime, we rendered a 10 minute version of "Wonderwall" consisting of only two lines. We made up for not knowing the whole song by singing it out of tune. After some buzzkill popcorn chiken at a bubbletea place, the previously mentioned homeless guy made his second appearance. With a "GIMME THAT," he karate chopped the empty plate of pizza grease right out of paulwall's hand. We decided best to ignore and continue to ass-dance ourselves down the street. After a game of beerpong back at the apartment everyone passed out. I was ADD and do not sleep until 5:30. Thanks for the pink elephant and confetti reminder, ma'am.
Saturday morning, a bit slow. paulwall woke up on the couch downstairs and complained of his mouth tasting like balls, meanwhile littlegreg was nowhere to be found despite having passed out next to him. Me and the atown posse roll to a shithole bar and mistakenly order a Sam-I-Am breakfast. I'd just chugged a double espresso and all the queasyness of a hangover compressed itself into ten minutes. As we groggily shoveled green mess into our mouths, the bartender took pity and asked us how long we had been out drinking. Not at all, we'd yet to start was the reply. Her gaze shifted pity to confusion, why were we eating that schlock?
Hair of the dog drinks were had before we hit up a pool hall. Chike knows my weakness well. Team asia vs team whitey - final score 4:1. Very nice place, well maintained equipment, even had a three rail table. When leaving, I noticed the sidewalks outside were in great condition, maybe 15ft wide and crack free. The motorists on the streets were also impossibly nice towards jaywalkers. Chike suggested that one could walk from one end of Ann Arbor to another with a blindfold on and never be run over.
Around 1pm we attend a fish and chips party in some tall apartment. Sadly I forget the host's name. I do remember that apartment's elevator being more ghetto than the one in the Blackstone. That rickety deathtrap moved fast, the tall building swayed. The combination of fish grease, fast movement, and early morning non-drinking made me dizzy. Really dizzy. Sorry I couldn't enjoy the food there but a few Hoegarddens and a lot of poor singing sobered me up. Meatloaf, Tenacious D, and the Last of the Mohicans soundtrack were on repeat. We quickly left the party to go to some dude named Dominic's place. With best Ahhnold voices, "We have to find Dominic! It's not a tuuumor! Where's Dominic?" we chanted down the main strip. The stares we drew were met with merry laughs.
Somewhere along this walk, Chike and his friends were flagged down by two healthy looking friends. These were the only white girls we'd met all weekend. Before I could introduce myself, one of the ladies opened a package of Twix and force fed a bar into her friend's mouth, hungry hungry hippos style. fajita and I exchanged glances and walked away before anyone else noticed. We were not hungry at the time, to say the least.
Dominic's turns out to be a bar. Their specialties were large half gallon mason jars of long island ice tea style slushees. Many gallons later, chike and I are devolving into fisting jokes. "brad" spilled some of his slushy and was group forced into slurping it up from the nasty table. Further slurping would later ensue. littlegreg rejoined the party around this time as well. He's one of those curious dudes who made you feel as if everything you said was really interesting. paulwall loved littlegreg. littlegreg also had a way with the ladies, somehow convincing linda to let us throw things like beads (maybe anal, I forget) into the front of her shirt. I swear we also saw Erin at that bar. She wouldn't acknowledge our presence though. Maybe it was the yelling, maybe it was paulwall's "safety helmet" - an Irish drinking hat with a huge fake orange colored mullet coming out the sides and back. Wow was that thing ugly. Facebook the photos.
Dominic's was one of those places where every employee they hired looked like an ex-con - either missing some teeth or a large beard and too many crayolaesque tattoos. Maybe it was the "I appreciate balls but that doesn't mean I want them in my mouth" comment, but after being yelled at for the third time for being rowdy, we figured leaving was preferable to being shivved.
A few blocks later, 12 people cramped inside a sardine can sized apartment and had a Wiily good time. Tennis and bowling were meh, but the baseball was amazing. I wanted to grab a case or two, camp out there, and play a 7 game series or somesuch. Only four people could play at a time so the rest entertained themselves by passing out. chike was punished for falling asleep in the middle of the floor by receiving many an ass to the face. Linda got bored, rallied some troops, and had five people gangtackle littlegreg. Two seconds of struggling and he resigned. People sharpied his back with "I heart boys" and a large crude representation of a phallus. Clearly maturity at it's peak.
The rest of the evening begins to blur. After a while, that apartment party got kinda Wiieak and we left. Returning to the morning shithole bar, we drank the only green beer of the day. littlegreg spilled his beer here and was forced to slurp it from the table. He might have enjoyed the slurping, I was too busy asking inappropriate questions about butt sex to notice.
Bad idea Miller for making it green out of the tap. That shit is unavoidably freaky. I wonder if they just precolored the beer before kegging. Perhaps they brewed with specially engineered green grains. Is it possible to overhop a beer so much that it turns green from the planty chlorophyll? Anything to keep my mind from remembering that I was drinking fucking green beer.
Dinner was split between sliced pizza and korean food. I opted for the former. From 6-10 that evening we rocked out the chike's apartment with 21-cup beirut and quarters. A failed dance party also ensued as the place filled with more and more drunkards. Thriller baby, Thriller. During my
The shitshow continued to Main Street. Cindy had stuff to do, was sober, and drove our asses the 15 blocks. Thank you for the transportation. Seven people cramped into her car. littlegreg sat on paulwall's lap and they both enjoyed the ride immensely. "Hey dude, could you move the knee?"
chike's obnoxiousness denies us entry to the one bar on the block that does not have a 50 person line. Maybe it was his fault, maybe it was mine. He forced his way in and used the restroom before the bouncer could do his job. I was complaining loudly about why the doorman was keeping headcounts when certain patrons were obviously worth more than just one head in size. I'd caught a glance of the backside of some softball team members through the window. I might have mentioned something about them looking more like a home-run-hitting squad than the base-stealing type. I don't remember.
We wait in line for the only Irish Pub in town, I was not pleased as waiting forces me to hold in pee. fajita still insists the pub's name was "Whisky Boner." Not quite sure about that either. But the place was nicely regulated, fun diverse crowd and our server Emily was friendly. The next morning fajita happily announced, "I don't remember for sure, but I think I got a girl's number." He had written 918-2-repeating. With the line over the two and everything. It was actually the number for a cab, last four digits -2222. Nerdtacular. Anyway, we shut down the irish pub long after chike and co had gone home. Amazingly I remembered the directions he gave for the 15 block trek back. paulwall fell asleep at the bar and was threatened to be kicked out many a time by some weird emo looking bartender. Supposedly sleeping in a pub was "against code." Fuck that shit. fajita and I proceeded to have another round of oban and blacksmiths.
On the walk back, we escorted paulwall by the arms. After most of the complicated turns along the route were finished, we found ourselves outside the pool hall from that morning, three blocks away from mike's apartment. I recognize the wide clean flat sidewalk and let paulwall go. He's fine, trucking along beside us like the good little irish one man fuckin' band that he is. The next thing fajita and I see is paulwall, face down ass up, planted into the cement. His face had pancaked his sunglasses, scraped on the ground, and shifted forward with the momentum of his crumpled body.
o/|_.
Yes crude, but the fall in a nutshell: Face Down Ass Up.
The weekend had been too fun, it needed to be evened out with something bad happening. paulwall's safety helmet saved his head from a concussion. He caught most of his weight on his hand underneath his body. After trucking his ass back to the apartment I had set out to find this kid some advil. Three trips around the block and five oops-wrong-stores later, I returned with one blister pack and a slice of green pizza. I still don't know how this was accomplished. littlegreg offers to make him an ice-pack but only managed to put four cubes into a sandwich bag. That shit leaked everywhere. Everyone passed out around 330 and I'm left with ADD energy again. I clean the place slightly and line up empty cans according to height on the beirut table. 10 cents in Michigan yo.
The next morning paulwall had a fat claw, couldn't make a fist, probably a boxer's fracture. We skipped dimsum because somebody wasn't able to type phone numbers correctly into their phone. No worries, back in the Toldeo we hit up leggs and eggs at a hooters knockoff. Had a thick BLT with cheese, tasty. Rolled back into atown around 7pm, dumped paulwall off at Holzer.
Will have more details, editing for truthiness, and a paulwall update in a few days. Still trying to piece together the rock of a brain I have left.
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