Geeks such as I are no exception.
I participated by attending the 2nd annual pub crawl put together by a few of my friends. Last year's outing included a fun train ride from the Mall of America to downtown Minneapolis where I and the rest of the nerd-herd wandered about from bar to bar until they all made the mistake of listening to me. I am persuasive and appear trustworthy to drunks and with way less trouble than I expected, we were all on the No.10 bus headed to the Moose, a bar over Nordeast, while most certainly terrorizing innocent riders with our insane conversation until our stop.
I believe at the end of the night there was some panic on my part (when I realized someone had signed me up for karaoke without telling me about it) and some panic on everyone else's part (when we realized the train didn't run past 10pm despite it being St Paddy's Day and everyone had left their cars at the Mall of America).
Everyone got home okay and no one died from my horrifying rendition of Journey's "Don't Stop Believing". But my very inebriated friend DID get kicked off the microphone when his song went a bit M-for Mature Audiences due to language.
This year's adventure was similar. We tried to plan a little better this time but like all things, it didn't quite work out the way we'd planned....
To be sure, I gained some valuable insights as the night progressed.
We started out the night at a bar on the third floor of the MoA that just happened to have a mechanical bull. My only experience with them, prior to a week ago, was the movies. I now have serious respect for any of the girls who have had to ride those bulls while simultaneously looking sexy for the big screen. Much, much, MUCH harder than it looks. Apparently my country upbringing gives me skills I may not be aware I have, until the opportunity arises. That or my over the knee leather boots were my ace in the hole. Several of our group rode the bull and were knocked off fairly quickly. They twisted my arm until I consented to try (they didn't have to twist too hard, being there was beer involved as well as my own natural curiousity, which is not be underestimated or under-cursed).
30 SECONDS HOEBAGS! That's right, I rode the damn thing for over 25 seconds the first time and 30 seconds the second go-round. I beat everyone else in my group who rode it. Holler to my BFF and Auntie Lynn for giving me horseback rides growing up. Thighs of steel right here!
Apparently for me, some sort of screaming/squealing was required to stay on.
Okay, so maybe it doesn't exactly look very hard (it is, trust me), and I didn't exactly look like Cameron Diaz a-la Charlie's Angels on it, but I bet with practice I could get better. Plus a friend made the point that in the movies they're not really trying to kick those girls off..
From there the night pretty much went as expected. We made it downtown, joined up with some more of our group and proceeded to devour as much green alcoholic stuff we could manage while still knowing who we were and where we were going.
The night progressed and once again we decided to make the trip over Nordeast. There was mention of karaoke, and I pounded everyone into submission until they agreed to never, EVER put my name down for karaoke tonight, lest we have a repeat of last year.
We closed the night out here and traipsed to the corner to catch the bus after that. We were shivering slightly with buzzes gone (for some of us, anyways), when we realized no buses were coming...and a check of the transit website confirmed our worst fears.
Bad planning had struck again! We should never have gone to sing karaoke. All ills come from karaoke! Or so I maintain.
Okay, okay, so it wasn't exactly karaoke's fault we didn't plan this outing better beforehand. We started tromping the infinite distance back to downtown where my car was parked, all seven of us. Then we (finally) wisened up and four of us caught a cab, promised the others we'd be right back, zoomed to my car, piled in, and went back for them.
Conundrum. I drive a 4-door Saturn Ion. It's a fairly large car for it's type. I consider it to be roomy but in no way was it going to fit SEVEN people.
Inspriration. One of my inebriated friends volunteer to curl up fetal-position in my trunk along with another unlucky passenger. Fortuitiously for them both, my trunk had been vacuumed and cleaned out prior to the first snowfall this year and therefore is clean and woodchip-free.
Prayer. Drive the 8 blocks or so to drop one of the trunk passengers off at his car downtown. Pop the trunk, discharge your passenger, and zoom the heck out of there before anyone notices you just disgorged someone from your car's ass.
Insanity. Having to stop for gas on St Paddy's day with a carful of people, including someone in your trunk, while a cop sits at the front doors, facing you and your white knuckled grip on the steering wheel, your only hope your misguided belief that the rainbow decorations in your car are a magic talisman against tickets.
Gratitude. When the cop looks away at just the right moment for your buddy to get back in the trunk without anyone around you at the gas station making an uproar so you're caught in this mess.
Relief. When you get everyone to their sobercab cars safely, without being pulled over & having the cops find that you have stuffed your friend in the trunk, and unbelievably said friend has NOT puked in your trunk.
Just file this one under "youthful indiscretions".
By this point it was almost 3am and I was way tired (Who wouldn't get tired if they were up until the wee hours on a weeknight?). I think this tiredness was also partly the absence of adrenaline in my system after the harrowing events of getting everyone home safe (my trunk-riding slushy friend got a warm meal at Perkins courtesy of our very sweet sobercab friend, who fed him despite the fact that he had to work at 8am, bless his heart).
I too had to work the next day (more bad planning) but that was okay. It's only one day and then the weekend arrives, I can drag my butt through one day's work on only a few hours sleep, no problem.
Then karma struck. Literally.
Or maybe I struck it. Either way, it hurt.
I'm driving along, the only car on the road for miles. Suddenly I see movement ahead of me skittering from the left lane to the right lane which, coincidentally, was my lane. The sequence of events goes like this:
Is that a cat?
I'mgonnahitACK
Waitaminute that's a rac--
*BAM*
*THUMP*
*HISS*
*Minor thumping*
Turning to look behind me
Poor little guy! His paws are all limp and floppy
*BEEP BEEP BEEP*
COOLANT
COOLANT
COOLANT
WTF?
Did I say little? Various curse words erupt as I realize that little brick house masquerading as a raccoon had damaged something underneath my car and now it was in danger of overheating.
I look up and pray for two things: That my luck tonight hasn't run out, and that I can make it to my driveway before the car overheats. My husband can't drive to come get me and I'm so very close to home...
I made it home with the car temp just barely out of the red. The raccoon, sadly, did not make it home. He did leave a big impression on my car, however. After his uncle checked it out for my husband, the Big B says to me, "There are perfect raccoon-shaped impressions on your condenser, fan, and radiator!" like we've just won a rodent killer award. I'm not amused.
I felt bad for the raccoon, until I learned that the damage was fairly extensive and will require a lot of money to repair.
Bad Mr. Coon!
I have less sympathy for him now, and more sympathy for my wallet. After all, I WAS THE ONLY FRAKKIN' CAR ON THE ROAD, FOR PETE'S SAKE! If Mr. Coon had just waited 10 seconds longer to skitter his way across, neither of us would be in this position.
However, spring is here and my good mood can't be beat (at least until I talk to the repair shop). After all, everyone got home safe that night (except Mr. Coon, of course) and this is what insurance is for, right?
Did I mention that next year, I will leave my planning-challenged friends to find their own way home?
