Thursday, September 28, 2006

The Bash at the Boathouse: Part Three

The greatest glory is not in never falling but in rising up every time we fall.

-- Confucius (551-479 BC) Chinese Philosopher

After a surprisingly refreshing night of sleep the roommates BB, StB, BG, I allowed CJ and Spaceman to get some more sleep while we were seeking some diner breakfast food to soak up last night’s damage.

Friendly’s was a throw back 50’s malt shop, as Pauly described, with two rows of seats made for pixie-sized people. Frankly I’m surprised BB was able to squeeze his guns thru the rows. The lovely yet perpetually slow Amanda waited on the four hungover travelers with a tired smile which we returned being equally tired. After an hour of finally receiving our food and digesting the first (and only) real meal of the weekend we played a little credit card roulette to see who would pay for the meal. I chose my lucky Target Visa card, StB had his trusty orange on black Hooters card, BG provided the cap and everyone inquired the fresh faced Amanda to pick the lucky “winner”.

Hope you got some free wings StB.

On the way out I noticed the dry erase board contained today’s special but didn’t have the control to ask with a straight face about the “Fajitias w/rice and a Happy Ending Sundae”. The advertising mat plastered on the wall behind us proclaimed the sundae was “Warm and Gooey”. Maybe there’s a reason Amanda walked so slowly.

CJ and Spaceman were taking in the Michigan/Stinkin’ Badgers game as we returned to the room. Since there was a little void time before the Bash why not fill it with the activity that brought us together in the first place? BB fired up a little Razz game on Stars and of course there prop bets on the virtual cards being shot out of the RNG.

Soon enough it was time to get the least exciting part of the weekend over with. The Bash itself. (this is a bad attempt at internet sarcasm)

Spaz would have been a great way to describe my lack of self-control over the day at the Boathouse. I think the sensory overload of seeing so many people you want to talk to, catch up with, and of course the bursting generosity of the hosts made the Bash something I could gladly give up a little dignity for.

Yes, Stef had great boobs.

Al, BigMike, Steve, and Jen if you guys decide to plan the cotillion for drunken gamblers again next year, put my name (sans Captain Morgan boxers) on the list. I just can’t get over how people with such diverse backgrounds can gather tens, hundreds, or thousands of miles and act like nightly drinking buddies that you’ll see the next day.

Actually I’d like to see that chick in the white tube top flash those tities again the next day. Instead I got a muscle head waking me up during the first morning run of Sportscenter.

But before it was time to wait for four hours in Philly’s lovely shithole of an airport there was a little fun to be had.

I believe after the cash game (WITH PLAY CHIPS) and the big charity SnG with Gavin (congrats to the Luckbox!!), Al approached me about playing a little beer pong tourney they were starting up in the basement. For a moment of clarity came about to seek the perfect partner and stack the team so high that only an act of God would prevent victory.

Bobby “BOOOOOOOOOM HEADSHOT” Bracelet was that man.

After entering the downstairs bar, everyone correctly bowed in reverence to this legendary holder of Huge Junk. Over the next few hours we would leave a trail of mortals and broken beer bottles on the floor while raising money For Peyton at $20 a clip. Soon, a large man that made me look like I hadn’t eaten in two months, started up the tourney and outlined our path to the finals showdown with BB and Schafer. While double fisting Cap’n Cokes we breezed through the competition… high fives and chants of “BOOOOOOM HEADSHOT!” left opponents in our wake.

Then disaster struck, someone replaced our dainty cocktail cups with two gallon buckets and with that advantage a local team defeated us with one cup/bucket to go (actually they were pretty good).


The final hours are somewhat of a blur of moments.

Bobby working his magic (at least she was legal and beyond hot).
The bouncer acting robotic to my praise of this party (are you saying I’m drunk sir?).
Seeing the many tats of Falstaff’s friend and finding out how a Midwest beer like PBR became his choice of drink.
Watching Carter, Schaefer (after breaking the beer pong tourney posterboard over his head disgusted with 2nd place), and Gavin sing with the live band.
Dancing with a princess (how I didn’t fall is beyond comprehension). Washing my face after a quick (or maybe it wasn’t so quick) purge of stomach sewage.
Dawn and Karol finally make their appearance after hitting up three different home games in the area and taking the local's money.
Pauly trying to explain that MSU collapsed like the stock market on Black Monday and the Irish just cost me ten bucks.

All good things to have to come to an end at some point, and after seeing the picture on the link (because Blogger isn't letting me post pics) I’ll leave you to seek other points-of-view of this party of all parties, because I've reached my limit... until next time of course.

Thanks for dropping by, now the question of the day (if you like the NFL), did T.O. not get his ego stroked enough, or was it an outcry of a privledged person who had a moment of clarity?

Edit: This isn't cool for Crypto-US players if its true and I've seen some Interpoker blog banners out there...

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