If you're expecting to read about roses, candy, and candlelit dinners, you might as well hit the back button now. And I'm not complaining - flowers just die, candy makes me fat(ter), and personally, I enjoy seeing what I'm eating. I think my Valentine's Day was much better than that.
My husband and I left the kid with my dad, packed up, and headed out of town to go to a Cross Canadian Ragweed concert with ten of our closest friends (five of which I had never met before). It was basically a sausage fest, with seven dudes and three chicks, so testosterone and lots of beer carried us through the evening.
Our group of five arrived at the hotel first, so we all cracked a beer and lounged around in the room. When all three guys collectively looked up at eachother and realized that they had been watching "How to Lose A Guy in 10 Days" for the past 30 minutes, they decided they needed an activity that was a bit more macho. So, we all went into the other group's hotel room and switched the box springs on both beds to sit on top of the mattresses, and remade the beds. For future reference, this is a fantastic idea... Think about it - what's the first thing you do when you get into your hotel room? Sit/lay/flop/jump on the bed, right? Well, this particular group of guys (who had consequently been tying one on all afternoon) tested them out by body-slamming eachother onto the beds as soon as they entered their room. A good time was had by most.
Since all that bed moving made us thirsty, we grabbed some bro-skies and headed outside to have a smoke. While outside, a hearse pulled into the parking lot, and three questionable-looking guys started unloading some of the weirdest contraptions I've ever seen. By questionable-looking, I mean a 5-inch long "flavor saver" type beard and a padlock earring. By weird contraptions, I mean steel cage-looking devices. They even asked my husband and another one of our guys to help them carry some of the stuff inside. The "weird stuff" turned out to be some sort of sex torture chamber. The questionables turned out to be the hosts of a swinger's party just down the hall from our hotel rooms. Now for me, nothing says love quite like taking your significant other to a party and doing someone else - Happy Valentine's Day, honey! We were even invited to attend the free instructional seminar (yes, they have instructional seminars prior to swinger parties). We didn't go, but it's just not every day that you run into something that bizarre - they later brought dogs in. Use your imagination. Sick - okay, now stop.
By this time, we've all got a good buzz on (except for the other pack of guys who are just plain drunk) and we decided that we'd better get some grub before we chewed eachother's arms off. So, we piled into the trucks and headed to Buffalo Wild Wings. This was my first time to eat at BWW, and it will now also serve as my last. We waited fifteen minutes before I finally found a waitress and asked if we could get a couple menus. It was even longer before we got drinks, and even longer yet before we got our food. So, we ate, drank (and drank) and were merry. Apparently a little too merry, because one guy in our group was told that he wouldn't be served any more drinks. Since drinking is way more fun when everyone participates, my friend bought another beer and handed it to Mr. Cut-off. The manager didn't like that and started talking a gang of shit. Out loud. Just walking around talking to herself out loud about how unruly we were (I truly believe that we weren't being that naughty). Well, since I thought that the bitching was highly inappropriate and because sucky customer service pisses me off, I set my beer down on the bar, let little miss Pissy Pants know that I wouldn't be spending another blankety-blank penny in her blankety-blank establishment, and went ouside. Right after that, my husband very nicely asked Pissy Pants if she needed to change her tampon. That must have been a big hit, because she kicked him out of the restaurant. He complied with her request, and politely laid his full, open beer on the bar (on it's side) before he exited. My husband's best friend thought that looked like a pretty good idea, and did the same. Pissy Pants got really fired up after that, and started talking some more shit. So, while she's busy getting in people's faces, my new crazy friend takes a huge swig of beer and proceeds to power-spit beer point blank into Pissy's face - I'm told it resembled a whale shooting water out of it's blowhole. The rest of our group was helped outside shortly after that, and after a teensie little shouting match and a couple (okay, many) expletives, we headed on down the sidewalk to the concert.
Shortly after we got to the concert and started mingling around, we noticed a few cops milling around in the crowd with flashlights, as if they were looking for someone. That someone turned out to be our Turbo-Spitter - Yep, Pissy Pants called the fuzz. So, after some shirt-swapping, a little questioning, and a bit of blending into the crowd, we bellied up to the bar and got drunk while we listened to some live noise and looked at the backs of people's heads. The beer and shots started to take their toll, and my husband and his best friend had a disagreement and started a smallish fight in the middle of the crowd, and before we knew it, we found ourselves on the sidewalk again, taking care to not let the the door hit us where the good Lord split us.
At this point, the details of the evening begin to get a tad blurry. The remainder of our evening was pretty standard, consisting of more beer and a few WWF-style wrestling matches in our hotel room. My friend even got to meet the hotel manager, who came up to personally introduce herself, and to remind us that it was in fact 5:30 in the morning, and that there were in fact other people attempting to sleep. That was nice of her.
The only casualty of the evening turned out to be the door to Room 540, which was kicked in by our very own Turbo-Spitter. Apparently, at some point in the wee hours of the morning, he couldn't find Room 514, so he wandered down the hall, kicked in a random door, and passed out. It was, fortunately, not occupied at the time. He came down the hall in the morning to let us know he'd found us again - wearing a hoodie, a pair of boxers, and cowboy boots.
This is a true story - I couldn't make this shit up!
Happy Valentine's Day!
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