Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Voulez-vous Duvet Avec Moi Ce Soir
Okay, so yesterday's entry started like this:
New comments from some MesteeBlogger readers prove that you can't please all of the people all of the time...
Mestee,
I'm a little upset our Friday night activities did not get mentioned in the Blog. I look forward to reading about your weekend escapdes, especially when they end with vomit and roommates passed out face first on living room floors. It's funny and, seriously, who wouldn't get a good chuckle out of these drunken meanderings? I think you can understand that inquiring minds want to know! So come on, let's step up to the plate here and try to please your readers.
-Skitts
Skittles,
I answered this question at length yesterday. Unfortunately, I was the only one to read my response. I will offer you an abbreviated version, which will hopefully touch upon the various highlights and lowlights of the evening.
-Brian
It was getting late on Friday night -- coming up on 11:00 PM -- and nobody at Boston Ave seemed to have any plans for the evening. My sister called me at 10:45, saying she was with a bunch of her friends and they were on their way to the Harp, near North Station. I told the guys about this situation, and after scrambling around for a few minutes Jimmy, Brendan, and I were ready to catch the 11:08 commuter rail and hit the town. We met the girls there, Brendan met some dudes who were either bartenders or knew the bartender. These guys bought Fernald and I some shots of Jagermeister, and apparently they kept buying Brendan shots after I hurried away to avoid more Jager. I went upstairs with Sarah and some of her friends to listen to the band that was playing. Later on, I met up with Brendan and Jimmy, so we could catch a cab home together. I didn't realize what kind of shape they were in until I was standing out in the rain, trying to catch a cab for us, and I turned around to see them wrestling with each other under the awning in front of the bar. Then, laughing like little girls, they ran out and tried to tackle me. We finally caught a cab and headed home, with Brendan sitting shotgun and navigating (while also asking the cabbie ridiculous questions...ex: So, like, where do you go after you just finish driving all these people home?). We made it back to Boston Ave and Brendan went to bed, while Jimmy flopped down in the middle of the living room floor, while I sat on the couch. The Jager and Scotch that Brendan had consumed earlier would make an untimely encore appearance, when Brendan bolted upright at about 4:30 AM, with some Scotch ending up on his carpet, some Jager in one of his shoes, and a combo of the two on his famous black velvet duvet. Luckily, Sheri was there for clean-up and the rest of us were there to laugh at him in the morning.
Okay, I've spent too much time on this, so I'm going to wrap it up here.
Click here to listen to George Dubya give Shatner-esque "performances" of Sunday Bloody Sunday, Imagine, and Walk on the Wild Side. Don't forget to listen to the original, obscene, and hilarious song about the Vice President, called "Dick is a Killer".
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New comments from some MesteeBlogger readers prove that you can't please all of the people all of the time...
Mestee,
I'm a little upset our Friday night activities did not get mentioned in the Blog. I look forward to reading about your weekend escapdes, especially when they end with vomit and roommates passed out face first on living room floors. It's funny and, seriously, who wouldn't get a good chuckle out of these drunken meanderings? I think you can understand that inquiring minds want to know! So come on, let's step up to the plate here and try to please your readers.
-Skitts
Skittles,
I answered this question at length yesterday. Unfortunately, I was the only one to read my response. I will offer you an abbreviated version, which will hopefully touch upon the various highlights and lowlights of the evening.
-Brian
It was getting late on Friday night -- coming up on 11:00 PM -- and nobody at Boston Ave seemed to have any plans for the evening. My sister called me at 10:45, saying she was with a bunch of her friends and they were on their way to the Harp, near North Station. I told the guys about this situation, and after scrambling around for a few minutes Jimmy, Brendan, and I were ready to catch the 11:08 commuter rail and hit the town. We met the girls there, Brendan met some dudes who were either bartenders or knew the bartender. These guys bought Fernald and I some shots of Jagermeister, and apparently they kept buying Brendan shots after I hurried away to avoid more Jager. I went upstairs with Sarah and some of her friends to listen to the band that was playing. Later on, I met up with Brendan and Jimmy, so we could catch a cab home together. I didn't realize what kind of shape they were in until I was standing out in the rain, trying to catch a cab for us, and I turned around to see them wrestling with each other under the awning in front of the bar. Then, laughing like little girls, they ran out and tried to tackle me. We finally caught a cab and headed home, with Brendan sitting shotgun and navigating (while also asking the cabbie ridiculous questions...ex: So, like, where do you go after you just finish driving all these people home?). We made it back to Boston Ave and Brendan went to bed, while Jimmy flopped down in the middle of the living room floor, while I sat on the couch. The Jager and Scotch that Brendan had consumed earlier would make an untimely encore appearance, when Brendan bolted upright at about 4:30 AM, with some Scotch ending up on his carpet, some Jager in one of his shoes, and a combo of the two on his famous black velvet duvet. Luckily, Sheri was there for clean-up and the rest of us were there to laugh at him in the morning.
Okay, I've spent too much time on this, so I'm going to wrap it up here.
Click here to listen to George Dubya give Shatner-esque "performances" of Sunday Bloody Sunday, Imagine, and Walk on the Wild Side. Don't forget to listen to the original, obscene, and hilarious song about the Vice President, called "Dick is a Killer".
|
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