Okay. I'm back.
We were at our favorite tavern Saturday (and by favorite I mean the only one that would let us drink there when were in college before we were 21, so we feel a certain nostalgic loyalty) sending off our friend, Corin who leaves for Iraq on Tuesday.
As luck would have it, the Houston Rugby Team had it's Liquid Golf Tournament that day and decided to congregate at their favorite tavern (and by that I mean the only tavern who will allow them to continue drinking there after such an event).
Let's just say that if Griff's were a woman, she'd be a saggy bosomed gal in her late 50s, blue eye-shadow on her crows feet, pink lipstick on her teeth, with a skin-tight, leopard print camel-toe. Possibly dying of lung cancer.
So we were all sitting at a table minding our own business, listening to our friend and his friend tell a few marine jokes (they're Army), when a stocky woman in a golf hat adorned with an idiotic looking pom-pom, quite drunk, lurched up, demanded to know where our friends had served, and insisted that they cease and desist picking on marines (before they could respond) because she had fought in Desert Storm.
Have you ever found yourself in the middle of such a paradoxical situation? I was vacillating between avoiding her gaze like one does with the deranged homeless, standing up and punching her in the nose, and laughing my ass off because truly, can you imagine anything more comical?
Drunken Moron (for a moron she was) rounded on me for rolling my eyes and told me she had served so I could have the right to be a bitch.
I'm sure she was living out her fondest hippie-slaughtering fantasies, but reality was not quite the tableaux playing in her head.
I told her I appreciated that, and I respected her service, but our friends had both fought in Afghanistan and one was about to be sent to Iraq and I didn't appreciate her "dissing" them. Yes, I said "dissing" which upsets me greatly. Sometimes I revert to my '80s dork-self under pressure.
I was very concerned about getting hit in the face, but she ambled away after doing some more incoherent mumbling, and the evening progressed as smoothly as possible for having 100 drunken golfers in silly hats trying to get into each others' Bermuda shorts.
Later that evening, I was explaining what happened to one of my girlfriends while we were waiting in line for the restroom, when we were confronted again by Drunken Moron and her much larger, drunken sister who happened to be in the two stalls we were waiting to use (I'd have no luck but for bad). It actually ended quite simply with my friend timidly saying, "I'm a Republican" and watching the look of comprehension very slowly spread across Drunken Moron's Mongo-esque features.
I had some drinks, danced with a lesbian (who told me a great Halloween story about my sister which I will save for a later date), let Jethro videotape me and a few other girls dancing a little dirty with Corin, and talked to a great guy with an awesome tattoo.
So all in all, it was a fun night.
Keep Corin in your thoughts/prayers so we can do it all again when he returns in 15 months.
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