Wednesdays are the New Friday

I’m realizing more and more that Wednesday is THE night to go out. Weekend nights are for amateurs. That’s just one guy’s opinion of course, but I’ve been doing a lot of research into this. And Wednesdays always turn out to be the most fun–and, even better, you never know ahead of time exactly what is going to make it a great night.

So anyway, last night I had my golf league in the late afternoon. It was a beautiful night for golf but I wasn’t feeling a hundred percent so it wasn’t as enjoyable as it should have been. The one highlight, though, was on the fourth hole when I chipped one into the cup from about thirty yards out. It saved a par on a hole that saw me hit the middle of another fairway, that saw me hit a tree, and that saw me pitch one up the hill way off target. Sadly, it was my only par of the day. My driving was off. Way off. I’m blaming the shirt I wore for weighing me down. Bad apparel choice. On the fifth hole, I can also cast blame on the fact that they were running their women’s golf clinic. Thirty women–oh yeah, many of them hotter than hell–all standing there practicing their drives while we teed off. And, hehe, the pressure was too much for each of us. A ball in the woods, a nasty slice, and, for me, catching the ground rather than the ball, shanking a short, short drive. But, to the girl in the skin tight jeans (how DO you golf in those?) I can only say “Thank you.”

Okay, so once we were done golfing–and that took awhile because we were following the slowest group evah–I left right away because, as I mentioned above, I wasn’t feeling all that well. So I headed home and freshened up, though I was unsure if I’d even go out.

Well, after a little rest at home and a shower, I, of course, was feeling restless and decided to head down to the bar for at least a few innings of the Sox game. It was quiet, but R. and JMc and Tattoo guy were there. Tattoo guy is a new character here on our little blog. I’ve met him a few times and to be honest still don’t know his real name. But he’s the sort of guy who gets annoying real fast, let me tell you. Or, as JMc put it, “that guy is a tool.” Funniest Moment of the Evening: R., who previously has randomly knocked over his beer several times, was going to take a sip from his pint while he was talking and watching the game. Not quite sure how he did it, but he began to tilt the glass before it got to his mouth and he ended up spilling his beer on his arm. Too fucking hilarious. And the thing is, I tried not to laugh too much or keep bringing it up–even though it was the fucking funniest thing–because I know R. is sensitive and I didn’t want him to think I was laughing at him. But it was a classic R. moment.

So anyway, the Red Sox game wore on and got a bit ugly. D.R. showed up, freshly tanned. He apologized for not making the meeting last night–because he was golfing and drinking. Please refer to yesterday’s blog entry for my opinion on that one. At some point in there, M. showed up, eating some baked beans from that famous hot dog place, which apparently is now open late. Note bene: nothing beats hot dogs and beans at ten o’clock. And, also, D.R. and R. took off to the bar down the hill. I was a little pissed they didn’t invite me, but in reality, I was happy where I was. The Jilted One was bartending and that always means a few free drinks on the ol’ tab.

So, anyway, at some point I called Afternoon Girl. I had spoken briefly with her Tuesday afternoon and had thought she was going to call me back that night, but that never happened (which is probably fine because I was all consumed with my meeting and the post-meeting and all). Alas, I had to leave a message and return to watching the baseball game. Okay, around this time the ‘guy who lost his job from his drinking’ (I’m too tired to come up with a nickname right now) showed up next to me. I’ve mentioned him here before–his son and my younger son are best friends. Anyway, he starts drunkenly talking to me about all his woes and how he’s not really a drunk, blah blah blah. Funnily enough, I couldn’t hear half of what he was saying because he was talking quietly and the Jilted One was blasting her MP3 player. But I nodded and did all the other things one does to indicate you know exactly what the other person is talking about. At some point he invited me and the boys up to his family’s beach house and added “you can even bring your girlfriend. I don’t care.” Hah! You see, his mother is good friends with the grandmother of my boys. So he’s got the now years old story in his head.

Anyway, here was where the night really kicked in for me. First, I feel the ol’ phone vibrating–psyched! it’s Afternoon Girl. So I was able to get out of the conversation I couldn’t hear AND I got to talk to the sweet one. When I answered in the bar “Come On Eileen” was blasting on the MP3 so I couldn’t really hear much, except that she was saying something like “let me guess where you are…” So, I went outside and had a sweet ol’ conversation with her. If you know me, you know that I’m generally not a talkative guy–I mean, keeping up a conversation can be a chore when you’re talking to me. That’s how bad I am. But, for some reason, I can just talk to Afternoon Girl forever. Things flow from one idea to the next. We both have similar senses of humor. One minute we’re being serious and talking about heavy shit; the next we’re riffing on the ‘guy who lost his job from his drinking.’ Throw in some heavy flirting and you’ve got a sucessful phone call going.

At any rate, during the course of the call, I noticed that pretty much half the bar, including the bartender at one point, had gone outside. When I came around the corner I noticed R. looking at me that way he does–you know, like the other day when JetBlue and I were talking at the bar, R. came up to the bar behind where she was sitting and was looking at me with the Cheshire Cat grin of his. When it happens, I still don’t know if he’s thinking “what is that fool doing?” or if he’s thinking “get ‘er done.” But, at any rate, people shuffled in and out of the bar as we talked and talked.

And then I noticed that K2 was pulling in. Her car’s back on the road, looking not too much the worse for wear. And, man, she was wearing the cutest sun dress ever and as she walked in she waved to me nad gave me a sweet, sweet smile. So I mentioned her to Afternoon Girl–and that’s the cool thing about her is that both of us can talk about other people and there’s no jealousy–and she asked me all about K2. I told her a little bit, though I decided to save the seedy background part of the story for later. At any rate, the conversation wound down and we said our good nights and made our plans and all. When I hung up I realized that we had been talking for nearly an hour. Yikes. The Sox had long since lost. My old beer was gone and a new one was in its place–though it too had been sitting there awhile. When the Jilted One saw me she was like “Phew, I thought you had skipped out on your tab.”

And so I got to talk to K2 and M. for a while. To be honest, I hardly even remember what we talked about. I do know that K2 spent quite a lot of time trying to remember the name of the drummer for U2, though several of us had the correct answer right away. Although we were getting on well, I did notice once again that conversations with her are quite different than the witty repartee that Afternoon Girl and I have going. K2’s conversations are often seemingly stream of conciousness monologues on her part, with the occasional quirky body movement thrown in. Anything that I (or anyone for that matter) add to the conversation may or may not be accepted and processed. But that’s okay. Well, whatever the hell we talked about, it was a nice conversation. She even let me bum a cigarette off of her to keep the conversation going. Anyway, around 1:30 I knew I was beyond my limit both in time and in drinking so I paid my tab–thank you Jilted One for not charging me for half my beers–and said good night to K2. She hugged me and said she had a nice time. That was sweet. I said goodnight to the gang–D.R. asked me why I was leaving so early.  Heh. Oh–and did I mention that, when I was talking to K2, R. was once again giving me the look he gives me when I talk to women. But, at any rate, I headed home. I thought about calling Afternoon Girl, but had a vague recollection that she was going to bed three hours earlier when I had talked to her. So, um, I thought better of it.

And, well, the amazing thing is is that much more happened throughout what had started out as a quiet drink or two. I just recalled that I had talked to the Sunday bartender. She had been drinkin’ so she was in a talkative mood. She pointed out to me who the stiffs were. “That frickin’ guy over there left me 50 cents for two beers. I know bartending isn’t rocket science but fuck you buddy!” She pointed out how she makes a point of giving someone a fresh beer before they quite finish the last one–both because that’s the kind of service she likes and because you get people to stay a little longer that way. Yeah! And, though I was tempted, I didn’t make a fool of myself and try to chat her up or anything. Don’t want your bartenders thinking you’re a creep. That’s my motto.

So, there it is. I’m sure there’s more I’m missing–you know, like most of what I talked to K2 about. But that’s what afternoons are for: remembering the details of the night before.


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