Chillin' on a Sunday Morning (or Back in the Game)
On Thursday night I met up with my friend Julie (again) at The Madhatter (again) for happy hour (again). It was her last day at her stupid job so we were there to celebrate. However, it was not my last day at my stupid job so I had to be at work at 8am. Luckily happy hours are designed for poor 20-somethings and people have jobs where they need to be awake at the most atrocious hours of the morning.
Madhatter has the best happy hour in life. You get $2 (or something) vodka tonics and half price (I think appetizers), really cute bartenders to stare at, and a baseball game to watch. They hook you up during the game as well. Last time I went there Julie and I were there longer than anyone who had come in for happy hour and my tab was $5.
This time we rallied a couple in the corner, drank at least 8 drinks a piece, had three appetizers, watched an entire baseball game, flirted with a few boys, doubled over laughing a few times more, and finally stumbled out of the bar six hours after we got there with a $14 tab and a farewell wave and shout from the bartenders, "Nice work, ladies!"
I don't know how we go from "we'll just meet for a drink or two" to "we'll spend more time at the bar then we did at work today." Julie and I, however, do have a history of rockstardom. I'm not sure how...
But at some point during the Nats game (vs. the Dodgers that night, of all teams), Julie started talking to this guy next to her who was definitely older than us. It should be mentioned that Julie likes to call herself my pimp and for most of the night we tried to remember what this one bartender looked like who worked the first night I went to the Madhatter - one Julie was convinced was TOTALLY in to me. Truth be told, I was a little upset he wasn't working this night.
So Julie's talking to this guy and the next thing I know I hear her say, "This is my friend Alli. She likes baseball. You should talk to her about it." As we start to talk to this guy we find out he's married and has two kids - girls. One is 8, the other is 13 and the 13 year old apparently hates him. I keep trying to tell him that he needs to take her to a game, that that is how my dad and I bonded and keep bonding and that's how I know everything about the game and one huge reason why I love it so much. He doesn't think this will work. He asks how Julie and I know each other and we say we lived together in London. He asks if we knew each other beforehand and we said, no. Then he asks, so you never knew each other, met in London, lived together and now live here and go to happy hours together? We look at each other and smile. "That's really cool," he says. We agree. Soon enough he realizes he should maybe get home to his family, and leaves the bar with Julie and I shaking our heads at the sadness of the situation.
NOTE: A few of the aforewritten and following anecdotes really have nothing to do with the rest of the above statements, nor do they come together in any sort of story that will be finished in this particular blog. However, with anything else, if you step back and look at how all the details fall into place - in this case, over the next 30 hours - it all becomes hilariously amusing. Look forward to more blogs about aforementioned 30 hours.
So at this point we're a little drunk, the lights have been dimmed, the bar is full, the bartenders have learned our names and keep flirting with us, and we're not trying to leave any time soon. I turn to Julie at some point around now and say, "Jules, after a month long hiatus I think I got my game back." She laughs at me and nudges me, encouraging me to flirt more.
Two big black dudes sit down next to me while I'm staring at the Nats game. One turns to me and says, hey, you like baseball. I turn to him and smile. Yeah, I do.
"The Nats?" he asks.
"I mean... kinda... but I love the Orioles."
*insert now-getting-old-explaination-as-to-why-I'm-an-O's-fan here*
"You come here often, Alli?" he asks.
"Kinda. A few times. I love it though!"
"Look, I throw parties around the corner here sometimes, you should come out."
I get jazzed and tell him I'm missing some "booty-bumpin'" in my life (I miss Baltimore for this reason), and can he hook me up with some good hip-hop. He gives me his number and tells me about a party Saturday night I should go to. Then he starts to flirt with me a little bit, pauses, looks me dead in the eyes and says, "Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure," I say.
"So... you like baseball... do you like football too...?"
I grin. "If you think I like baseball... haha... I love football."
"Really?!"
"Yup."
"So... like... you could go out Saturday night and wake up Sunday morning and hang on the couch all day watching the games?"
"That's my favorite thing to do."
Then he gives me his phone number.
NOTE: Dear readers, I promise you this isn't supposed to sound self-indulgent. Please keep reading as this little puzzle piece will come in very handy 24 hours later in my life... in one of the best stories I have to tell... ever.
Before I went to the Madhatter that night I talked to my friend who said a friend of his DJs there on the weekends. I asked my friend his friends name and promptly forgot about the conversation. As Julie and I were thinking about closing out our tabs a group walks up, shakes the bartenders' hands, leans in, gives them kisses on the cheek and all that. The bartenders turn to us. "Alli, Jules, this is blah blah and blah. Some of our regulars." Julie and I turn and introduce ourselves then all of a sudden a lightbulb goes off. I look at this one guy. I laugh out loud and say, "oh my god, you know my friend. I was just talking about you!"
This kid is awesome and tells Julie and I to come back some other night and see him, yadda yadda. By this point the bar is full and I have to be at work in less than eight hours so Julie and I leave the bar, laughing, carrying her last-day-at-work presents (a kitty litter container and kitty perch) on our shoulders up a few block to the metro. We take the train home together, slumped down, giggling like you do when you realize maybe you've pushed the limit a little too far, and it was worth every second.
NOTE: Readers, if you feel like I felt at this point this particular night you probably think this is the end of The Ridiculous for the weekend, week, or perhaps month. If you feel like I felt at work the next morning you're really freakin' exhausted and hungover. But if you feel like you know there's more excitement in the air then keep reading...
Madhatter has the best happy hour in life. You get $2 (or something) vodka tonics and half price (I think appetizers), really cute bartenders to stare at, and a baseball game to watch. They hook you up during the game as well. Last time I went there Julie and I were there longer than anyone who had come in for happy hour and my tab was $5.
This time we rallied a couple in the corner, drank at least 8 drinks a piece, had three appetizers, watched an entire baseball game, flirted with a few boys, doubled over laughing a few times more, and finally stumbled out of the bar six hours after we got there with a $14 tab and a farewell wave and shout from the bartenders, "Nice work, ladies!"
I don't know how we go from "we'll just meet for a drink or two" to "we'll spend more time at the bar then we did at work today." Julie and I, however, do have a history of rockstardom. I'm not sure how...
But at some point during the Nats game (vs. the Dodgers that night, of all teams), Julie started talking to this guy next to her who was definitely older than us. It should be mentioned that Julie likes to call herself my pimp and for most of the night we tried to remember what this one bartender looked like who worked the first night I went to the Madhatter - one Julie was convinced was TOTALLY in to me. Truth be told, I was a little upset he wasn't working this night.
So Julie's talking to this guy and the next thing I know I hear her say, "This is my friend Alli. She likes baseball. You should talk to her about it." As we start to talk to this guy we find out he's married and has two kids - girls. One is 8, the other is 13 and the 13 year old apparently hates him. I keep trying to tell him that he needs to take her to a game, that that is how my dad and I bonded and keep bonding and that's how I know everything about the game and one huge reason why I love it so much. He doesn't think this will work. He asks how Julie and I know each other and we say we lived together in London. He asks if we knew each other beforehand and we said, no. Then he asks, so you never knew each other, met in London, lived together and now live here and go to happy hours together? We look at each other and smile. "That's really cool," he says. We agree. Soon enough he realizes he should maybe get home to his family, and leaves the bar with Julie and I shaking our heads at the sadness of the situation.
NOTE: A few of the aforewritten and following anecdotes really have nothing to do with the rest of the above statements, nor do they come together in any sort of story that will be finished in this particular blog. However, with anything else, if you step back and look at how all the details fall into place - in this case, over the next 30 hours - it all becomes hilariously amusing. Look forward to more blogs about aforementioned 30 hours.
So at this point we're a little drunk, the lights have been dimmed, the bar is full, the bartenders have learned our names and keep flirting with us, and we're not trying to leave any time soon. I turn to Julie at some point around now and say, "Jules, after a month long hiatus I think I got my game back." She laughs at me and nudges me, encouraging me to flirt more.
Two big black dudes sit down next to me while I'm staring at the Nats game. One turns to me and says, hey, you like baseball. I turn to him and smile. Yeah, I do.
"The Nats?" he asks.
"I mean... kinda... but I love the Orioles."
*insert now-getting-old-explaination-as-to-why-I'm-an-O's-fan here*
"You come here often, Alli?" he asks.
"Kinda. A few times. I love it though!"
"Look, I throw parties around the corner here sometimes, you should come out."
I get jazzed and tell him I'm missing some "booty-bumpin'" in my life (I miss Baltimore for this reason), and can he hook me up with some good hip-hop. He gives me his number and tells me about a party Saturday night I should go to. Then he starts to flirt with me a little bit, pauses, looks me dead in the eyes and says, "Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure," I say.
"So... you like baseball... do you like football too...?"
I grin. "If you think I like baseball... haha... I love football."
"Really?!"
"Yup."
"So... like... you could go out Saturday night and wake up Sunday morning and hang on the couch all day watching the games?"
"That's my favorite thing to do."
Then he gives me his phone number.
NOTE: Dear readers, I promise you this isn't supposed to sound self-indulgent. Please keep reading as this little puzzle piece will come in very handy 24 hours later in my life... in one of the best stories I have to tell... ever.
Before I went to the Madhatter that night I talked to my friend who said a friend of his DJs there on the weekends. I asked my friend his friends name and promptly forgot about the conversation. As Julie and I were thinking about closing out our tabs a group walks up, shakes the bartenders' hands, leans in, gives them kisses on the cheek and all that. The bartenders turn to us. "Alli, Jules, this is blah blah and blah. Some of our regulars." Julie and I turn and introduce ourselves then all of a sudden a lightbulb goes off. I look at this one guy. I laugh out loud and say, "oh my god, you know my friend. I was just talking about you!"
This kid is awesome and tells Julie and I to come back some other night and see him, yadda yadda. By this point the bar is full and I have to be at work in less than eight hours so Julie and I leave the bar, laughing, carrying her last-day-at-work presents (a kitty litter container and kitty perch) on our shoulders up a few block to the metro. We take the train home together, slumped down, giggling like you do when you realize maybe you've pushed the limit a little too far, and it was worth every second.
NOTE: Readers, if you feel like I felt at this point this particular night you probably think this is the end of The Ridiculous for the weekend, week, or perhaps month. If you feel like I felt at work the next morning you're really freakin' exhausted and hungover. But if you feel like you know there's more excitement in the air then keep reading...
posted by AllDeTime at 6:07 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home