Beer Count: I'm estimating it's about 30-35 right now after a wild St. Paddy's day.
It started out kinda slow, first taste around 2:30 on Friday. About 11 hours later, I was cooked. So cooked, that when I woke up Saturday morning, I immediately remembered why I quit drinking in the first place.
First of all, I felt like complete crap. Speaking of crap, let's just say the Guinness that exited my arse Saturday morning looked exactly like the Guinness I was pouring down my throat Friday night. Same color, consistency, stench.
And then, about 2 hours later, I was trying to cut down a big bush in my first yard and I swear I almost passed out.
As for Friday night, my buddy Gerry and I hit the local Irish bar in town. Things were going pretty well, when - on about my 9th Smithwicks, I started yapping with some tired broad and she brought up how much she loved the Yankees. Now, I can spot a fake yankee fan a mile away, and she was one. Of course, in my drunken state, I had to make her prove what a great Yankee fan she was, and therefore put her to the test.
Question 1: What is Derek Jeter's number?
Her answer: Complete silence.
Now, had I been completely sober, I would've ripped her a new one. So, needless to say, I friggin hammered her. About 45 minutes later, she was telling me to f--c off and so on and so forth. I was quite proud of myself.
On the way home from the bar, another friend informed me that not only was the dame a psychopath, but she is the person who is in charge of hot lunches at my daughter's school, and I should be prepared to make a lot of PB&Js the rest of her grammar school career.
So with that guilt on my aching head Saturday morning, I swore I was giving up drinking for a long time. The problem is, I have a big St. Paddy's Day party to attend this Saturday. It will be a real test. My goal is to not have a drink until Memorial Day weekend, but that could all go to hell around 3:30 p.m. this Saturday.
Stay tuned for more details.
7 comments:
Cat....even I know Jeter's number.
I think.
Hell, even I know Jeter's number, and you know how I feel about the Yankees.
Todd: You were the first person I thought off when this broad could't come up with the number.
"let's just say the Guinness that exited my arse Saturday morning looked exactly like the Guinness I was pouring down my throat Friday night."
Funniest. Blog. Ever.
When co-workers asked why I snarfed a portion of a turkey-and-swiss on rye through my nose this evening, I had them read that sentence.
Funny, Todd was also who I immediately thought of when reading the "Yankee fan" didn't know Jeter's number.
Your unwaivering assault that night en route from Point Pleasant to Belmar when he didn't know Babe Ruth's uniform number remains one of the greatest displays of relentless shtick I have ever had the pleasure to witness.
I am totally with you on the crusade to expose these fake-ass Yankees fans, these bandwagoners, or, as i've become fond of calling them, "Jeter-Boppers"
JoeP, you are the fucking man!
Pete: As funny as that line it, it's pretty much true. Glad I could make you laugh.
Sandman: I believe I talked about Todd, another faker, at length that night. As for blasting him about No. 3, that might have been the most wound up I've been in years. I'm glad you were there to see it.
That's a first, schill. You not chiming in?
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