A Night to Remember

We met up at Brothers downtown: a Bro bar filled with sweaty alumni from Michigan State and Wisconsin. It was a Big Ten title game, which meant it was way too packed and way too rowdy for any conversation.

But I was elated. New job, but couldn't tell the friends: they were all feeling like shit.

Where to start? Pete got dumped a month ago by his girl of six years. Steve was leaving for good to a new job in Hawaii. Apu's Ninja 250 got totalled. Munna? Munna could barely make out the words when he arrived. His girlfriend dumped him. Wait, let me put it this way: Munna believed that his long time girlfriend was cheating on him and harassed her so much she dumped him. Who could blame him, she was much more attractive than him, she was white and he was Bengali, she was the former fiance of his best friend who died of a brain tumor. He took her under his wing and took care of her and the child she had with the dead best friend. I would be paranoid too, but alas it drove Munna insane, and the truth eventually came out and things went downhill.

We couldn't stand Brothers so we tried to move somewhere that would lighten the already depressing mood. Drink was across the street so we thought a little loud club music and a little conversation with the hoteling tourists might do us some good. The joint was aweful. 40 year old cougars mixed with Ed Hardy bedazzled fake Guidos. There were a few birthday twenty-somethings, but no one really wanted to talk to them.

Munna hung on my shoulder. He explained what tipped him off, and it was kind of sad. He noticed scratch marks on her back, he followed her home and saw a suspicious car at her apartment. He didn't actually see the guy, but it was enough to finally get her to admit that she was seeing someone else. It drove him crazy, he had a master degree and an IT background but a few weeks of stalking her and missing work he was quickly fired from his well-paid job. I got annoyed, there was no talking him to shut up and have a good time.

Finally we tried taking him to a strip club. By that time the libations had set into me quite fully and I didn't quite know where I was. After paying the cover I walked over to the bar and asked for a drink. "Uh we don't serve drinks here, this is a strip club." Fuck me. "Hey there." I turned around to see one of the employees looking into at me. "Hey do you want to let me know when you want a private dance?" Sure. "Hey you're really cute. My name is Katie" I mustve been way too drunk, cause I actually thought she was sincere.

I decided to be a man and let Munna take the first dance. In retrospect that STILL did not shut him up. Seriously, no failed relationship should take this much grief, right?? He thought we were being followed, he swore he recognized the white Caddy outside the club. She was out to get him. A posse was formed to take him out. This was getting weird. Where was Katie?

After a few hours and near closing time, we left. I never got my dance with Kaite. The Nantucket Nectar sobered me up quick, we made our way to the door and out into the night.

And that's when things got significantly surreal...

There is little of me...

that can reach the water
steady cold hand
on the midnight clear
balanced this coarse vein
of clever vengeance
upon the midst of colloquial
synapse
there is little of me
that can hear the morning
like dry dust of Whistler's white
folding upon your wings
of faded glory
in truth were never laid to rest

facebook status fads...

...are like a bad hangover.

Doppelganger week was quite revealing about some people's illusion of self-perception, especially when the celeb looks nothing like them or is 100-200 lbs lighter. Heres a tip: be yourself.

ipad ipad ipad...

..yadda yadda yadda.

I'm getting into rhythm with the writing. Thinking about changing the front page a bit when I have more time this week.

Since our coupling drifted on the last southern-bound barge, the girlfriend insisted on a date night. Krista's a Wisconsin a native, so while she was screaming at my sorry ass over the Vikings game she's never once seen the Ice Palace, the ice sculptures, or even met a Vulcan. We made our way downtown only to be trapped in a parade. I was screaming out my window while little twerps were packing into the St. Paul. Kris enjoyed the gay festivities...I might have been a little teary eyed myself if I had chugged a pint of Salmari 20 minutes prior. The lights and screaming, freezing children never appealed to my palet. I struggled to remain afloat until dinner.

2 hours later I was seated in a stout by Mancini's, the lady was appalled by the food by the cuisine but the alcohol was enough so I could stand her. As my colleagues remarked outside a Shanghai massage parlour, that was happy ending.

I love St. Paul.

-JKG

mm, Canadian...

...Club.

Storytime, kids. Sit down.

*sip*

There's an old drinking buddy that I've known for some time, we'll name him Dave. Dave's a sort of lucky guy: he's gotten away with a shitty job, above par looks, and simpleton personality by the longest degree. Here's the problem that plagues guys like him, he never attracts the men and women that are attractive to him. No, all day he gets to be advanced by the crazy bitches, the fat chicks, and the misanthropes. The most hilarious moments, though, are with the gays and the cougars.

One of my young male co-workers saw Dave while boozing on Seven Corners. I never batted an eye at his flirtatious inquiry, ignorantly suggesting to my sub-concious that Dave might have looked familiar. The pair chatted. Upon leaving I over heard my gay co-worker smugly remarking, "Oh we'll turn him." Fuck me sideways, but that's what it is to gays, its like big buck hunting for them. While no one should question their flamboyant sexuality but straight men are always the option. Poor Dave, I saw the horrified look on his face when he opened a Nordstrom bag of Armani fragrance. It was his favorite, but the gesture was too much to accept; one sniff and he'd probably be bending over.

*sip*

The most recent situation was with what the media refer to as a Cougar. I nearly spit up my mojito Dave with the other night. She was a co-worker from a different department. Obviously older but still containing her inner beauty, the two flirted awkwardly before turning to us for introductions.

See, everyone thinks that the woman, of an obviously higher sense of self-sexuality and experience, would be the one taking advantage of the lowly innocent boy. After I saw those two I beg to differ. Who says that men in our day don't like the independent, smarter, and much more self-aware. Perhaps we are sick of the constant need to explain, to cling, to be needy. We want a mature female, not these gut-wrenching, classless slobs who drink themselves to even refer to selves and equal parts as "Bitches". No, I think Dave was after her. She may have been, but I was too tipsy to tell.

*sip* Out, Bitches.

-JKG

Sheppard Rd Blues

The rat race decided that I would spend the past seven days working on a collaboration project with another site. In short, there was plenty of stress, confusion, and cold calling to the Atlanta site.

Cold calling is always a load of fun, emphasis on cold...and fun:

"Hi, this is Jorgen...I from the Minnesota office."

"Um...hi."

"Yea, I need to know the old 1999 specifications for XX program."

"Wait, who's this?"

Friday night was spent still at my desk, by the time I came home it was 2am with still a powerpoint to finish for a group meeting tomorrow. In short, by the time I was ready to show some Madisonite friends a night out I was cracked up on 5-hour energy and chocolate milk. We chose alcohol at Tom Reids, bowling at Airport Bowl, and relaxing back at the cribs. By the time we stumbled back, I was barely keeping my eyes open. Krista annoyingly insisted we bake brownies while I passed out for the night.

Sunday

The hangover was unbearable. We made our way to Pannekoeken Huis in St. Louis Park for morning grub. Not wanting to be the social type when the inevitable end occurred, I curled up on the couch and watched Farve smirk his way out of the Superbowl. I hope this isn't a sign for the rest of the week.

Out.

Weekend Beer Run...

..in St. Paul.

There are many ways a young Twin City-ian chooses to spend a weekend night, somehow I managed to glimpse into most of it. I was supposed to meet up with an old college-high friend who moved into the deep south, I stopped out near the Fairgrounds to get rid of some trash and came across a bustling strip mall comics store called Source. Having never been into anything close save Hub Hobby or the Library, I gave it a taste...

There were more D & D dice than literature. There seemed to be many different factions, the card players were the younger, teen- types; huddled over the magic cards yelling incoherently to each other. The college types were in comics section, split between the anime and graphic novels. The old folks were in the games. War games, sci fi games, medieval games; suddenly I realized that nerds were really closet militarists. A chill went up my spine. One of these geeks could be the next Hitler.

I bolted, grabbed the friend and made out to Cathedral Hill. My experience in St. Paul's drinking scene has been limited, so we cruised into the Happy Gnome and filled up on Sierra Nevada Ale and Murphy's Irish Stout in prissy glasses. Across the bar I started up a conversation with a wanna-be drifter. We talked hitchhiking and backcountry living, so I invited him to get a table. The firehouse was cozy, surrounded by 40 somethings on date night. Not our favorite atmosphere. In a bit of irony we dashed out again before we got too tipsy and made our way to the world famous Mickey's. Never did a bowl of chili, grilled cheese and bacon sandwich, and a banana chocolate milkshake taste so good.

The rest of night was a blur. Our companion, Wade, invited us to his Franklin bordello and we kicked a few PBRs, chatted advanced computer systems and property rights, and called it a night. I woke up late Sunday, watched the Cowboys got trampled, texted my friend home to the bayou.

What a weekend...

-JKG