Wednesday, August 24, 2005

Bad Idea Jeans

Here's the blog I started on Sunday morning before the kitten debacle, that I have more or less completed tonight, though not with the same flair I began with. But who cares, you won't make it to the bottom anyway. Enjoy:



I'm a little hungover (possibly still drunk) as I write this, so bear with me. I believe I have just completed the most monumentally stupid 48 hours I've had in quite some time. Let's start with Friday night (so technically I still have about 12 hours when I can add on to the stupidity) at my football game.

It's the first round of playoffs and we are the 3rd ranked team. Since the top two have byes, we get to play the lowest ranked team in what should be a beat down. Unfortunately, these guys have only won one game and that happened to be against us, 34-6. The game starts off pretty solid. We are kicking off and as the ball caromes off the back wall, their player miss judges it and it dribbles through his hands. By this point, I've sprinted down there and see this present rolling around on the field. I make a guerilla roll and snag the pill, recovering the opening kickoff for our team at around the 5 yard line. One quick running play and we're up 6-0 (we missed the kick...actually the ball hit one of their linemen squaw in the nuts).

Next possession, we've got the ball and on our second play I run a post and get behind their defense. I'm probably open by about 10 yards before my brother (the QB) finally sees me and puts the ball up. It's got a lot of air under it and the defender is able to make his way back to me, missing the ball on his dive by about 4 inches. The ball lands perfectly in my hands but the blur of this guy's body flying at me distracts me enough that I drop the ball. I wish that was the end of this horrible play, but we have a man in flight here.

I'm in the back of the end zone, with the wall on my left side and this guy lands on my right side at about knee height. His shoulder goes into my knee bending it down and knocking me over. Unfortunately, I can't fall to the left since there is a wall there, so I collide with the wall and my knee makes the rest of the trip, bending inward until it hits the wall. This is not good. After sitting on the ground for about 3 minutes I stand up and get some ice. My knee really hurts and I probably should be out of the game, but after sitting for two series, I re-enter the game and play the rest until we eventually win, 9-6. Probably not the best idea. (Bad Idea Jeans)

Enter Saturday morning. I stay home Friday night icing my knee and throwing down Aleve, but I was supposed to play golf Saturday morning with my buddies Dave, Mike and Brian. Yeah, I've only played golf twice in my life and I can't even walk up and down the stairs in my house, but I have to make this tee time. Probably not the best idea. (Bad Idea Jeans)

I play the whole round of golf wearing a knee brace and bending the knee as little as possible. I knew I sucked, so my pitiful score was no surprise, and the brace probably didn't hurt my final score any since a score of "I don't give a fuck" is probably not much worse than "Fuck this stupid game." On a high note, I was not the highest score on one hole, where my buddy Mike outdid my shittiness by hitting a 7 to my 6 on a par 3 (after throwing out a miserable Jewish joke) Definitely some smiting going on there.

Of course, I did not wear any suntan lotion and my face and neck are red as shit, and despite all my efforts, my knee definitely got some undo strain by wandering around looking for lost balls all day. Probably not the best idea. (Bad Idea Jeans)

Saturday night rolls around and I've promised my buddies I'd go out for some drinking. My knee brace is pretty ripe and it's been cutting off my circulation all day, so I decide not to wear it since I really shouldn't need to walk to much. So I drive over to the metro and walk to the terminal. Unfortunately, I am confronted by a policeman who informs me that the metro is closed or some shit and I will have to take a bus.

The good thing is that I only have to take the bus one stop to Medical Center. The bad news is, I have to take the bus and then walk about 1/4 mile from where they dropped us off to the metro. Of course, the metro is a mad house because they are apparently shuttling everyone from Strathmore north down to this stop. Thankfully, I find a seat next to a smelly deaf kid...I know he is deaf because he is signing to his friend, who looks just like Napolean Dynamite, as we go.

We get to the Dupont Metro stop and amidst all the commotion of all these people, I end up heading to the wrong exit. Instead of standing 100 feet from Buffalo Billiards, I'm about 4 blocks away and need to walk...without my knee brace. Fuck.

The rest of this I am adding today just to highlight some of the worst parts that ensue

After one normal Capt. & Coke, the entire group decides that ordering doubles is much more cost effective.

A girl comes over and asks me for some information about my buddy Carter, who she is checking out for her friend. I, of course, give her the most vital piece of information, "He's not a child molester"

After sinking the eight ball and the final two balls for our opponents, respectively, in back to back games, I demand we play the next game for $20. (I win though...don't mess with a Jew and money)

We have all finished about 5 doubles and it is 1:30, but we decide to go to a different bar.

We get to the different bar, Sign of the Whale, and decide to order tequila shots followed by Irish Car Bombs (and something in the car bombs had curdled)

This one's a little blurry, but I think we bumped into the wife of a friend of some of the guys and after I discover that she demands that her husband gets Season Ticket, I tackfully inform her that I used to think that she was stuck-up and perhaps bitchy, but now my opinion has drastically change. (I'm sure in my head, it was intended to be a compliment)

I somehow make it home after taking a cab to Van Ness, the metro to Medical Center, a bus to Grosvenor, and my car to my driveway....and all I remember of the journey is getting into the cab.

You'd figure I was definitely wearing Bad Idea Jeans, but in fact, I was wearing khakis. Yep, khakis. You got a problem with that Carter?

2 comments:

Carter said...

I have no problem with cuffed, pleated khakis worn out to a bar on a Saturday night

DeCoMpOsEd said...

you jews are sure funny... =-)