Packers Won – Puke

This title/heading might be a little confusing and I apologize – for now. The Packers won a decent game over the New York Giants. Brett Favre had a good day with 286 yards, 3 touch downs, and just one interception (which was tipped off the receiver’s hands by the way). Good thing, too; their running game is pretty bad. 83 yards on 29 carries = 2.86 yards per carry. If they continue like that they won’t be winning too many games this year. But the 2-0 start is, well, a good start (duh).

Let me jump back to Saturday. I got up to the bar just after the Brewers started. I got the evil eye from the Renter when I changed the main TV from America’s Next Top Model to the game. Seriously, if they had that show on 24 hours a day she’d watch it. I can’t stand it. Unless they’re wearing swimming suits. And I’m home alone. With my pants around my ankles.

The Brewers won a good game with Prince Fielder getting his 46th home run. The game ended right around 9:30 which is when karaoke starts (and you know my feelings on that). I had to usher in church on Sunday so I packed up my shit and left the Renter to talk with another of my ex-girlfriends (or more of a live-in fuck buddy – it’s not like I ever bought her dinner or anything). I got numerous text messages from the Renter. “You can’t leave, I’m going to be bored.” “You suck.” Like my sole purpose in life is to entertain her. I went back home, watched a little football and called it a night around 10:30.

6:45 am my alarm went off waking me up for church. Even though I had gotten a good night’s sleep I don’t think I would have gotten up if it wasn’t for a phone call from pops. I got up, took a shower and picked out the navy blue double breasted suit. Yes ladies, I looked hot!

After church I debated going to the parent’s house to say goodbye to Butthead and grab some grub but they didn’t have any grub so I just went home (sorry Butt but you should know by now where my priorities are at). I got home around 9:30 and didn’t know what to do with myself. I pondered lifting weights for an hour but my empty stomach was telling me that wasn’t going to happen. So I hard boiled some eggs (yet another splendid entree in my vast cooking repertoire), watched some of the NFL pre-game shows and headed up to the bar.

11:00 I had a pitcher of beer in front of me. As you might recall I get to drink beer for free when I’m running the football pools. This Sunday it was almost comical as the bar was pretty dead and I could only fill up one sheet (10 people) for each quarter. So I’d walk around for 5 minutes, collect everyone’s money and get them signed up, and go back to my seat to guzzle down the beer. Pretty sweet deal if you ask me. The free beer along with the free food at halftime – almost better than sex (from what I remember sex being like, it’s been a while).

At one point in the day the manager’s son came over, “Hey, my mom said you wanted to see this.” It was one of those fundraising catalogs with a bunch of over-priced junk in it. But since she had specifically sent him over to see me and since I had been drinking her beer all day for free I signed up for a $9 cheese pizza. See, I ain’t that stupid. I know when to kiss ass when necessary.

With two minutes left in the game I was looking at an empty pitcher. I managed to convince the bartender that since I still had to distribute the winnings of the fourth quarter pool that I was still “on the job” and finagled another pitcher out of her (not that it took much finagling).

We watched the end of the Brewers game and the end of the Cincinnati/Cleveland shootout (wow). By this time the bar had pretty much cleared out and it was just the Renter, myself, and another customer. What do you do when the bar is unbelievably slow? Shots! The bartender and I played one game which I pulled off a win by the skin of my teeth. She poured us both shots of Southern Comfort and we downed them with a little difficulty. Right away she picked up the dice cup and started shaking again. This time I lost. She poured herself a shot of Doctors while I had another Southern Comfort. Normally I can do shots all night long (read: till I get drunk) without a problem. But this one didn’t go down well. No, not well at all. After thirty seconds I knew something wasn’t right. I got up and said I needed some fresh air. The side door was open for ventilation so I headed in that direction. As soon as I stepped on concrete it started coming up – and there was no stopping it. There I was standing on the steps, cars and people going by, and I was puking all over the place. On the steps, on the sidewalk, on the hand railing, pretty much everywhere (I found that puke isn’t picky as to where it lands). It wasn’t technically a bad puke - I think I only had three actual hurls – but when you haven’t puked in years any puke is a bad one. I staggered back inside. “Oh no you didn’t!” Yes, the Renter heard the splatter going on outside. I raced to the bathroom and cleaned up. Thankfully none of it had gotten on my clothes or shoes, just my face and hand (which I think I used to open the door, gross). I sheepishly went back into the bar to the concerned faces of those sitting there. “I don’t know what happened. It’s not like I’m drunk or anything.” And to be honest, I wasn’t drunk. I might have been six pitchers in but if you know me that’s nothing. Bartender, “I’m guessing it just didn’t go down well.” Yes! Thank you for understanding! She went to the door to check out the damage and started filling the ice pail with water to wash it down. I felt like an idiot when she wouldn’t let me clean it up. I left shortly after that with my tail between my legs.

It was a nice fall day outside so I put on my sweatshirt and brought two chairs out on the deck and took a two hour nap. My neck started to hurt so I went inside and fell asleep again on my bed. Around 8:30 the other bartender called me to come up to the bar (I swear if they’re bored I’m at the top of the list). And I can see why he was bored; there was only one other customer in there. We talked about football for a while, the Renter sunk the eight ball at inopportune times twice while we played partners with people I can’t stand, and I left around midnight. I woke up fresh and wide awake this morning and went in to work with a smile on my face.

But now I’m wondering, is the whole puking thing going to happen again the next time I do a shot? Billy Bob kept on trying to get me to play dice games but after the afternoon incident I had to decline. I mean, fuck, I puked after two shots. I puked in front of people walking down the street. I don’t really do shots that often but now that’s going to be in the back of my head every single time. Guess I’ll just make sure the side door is open.

(Oh, I know I posted my football picks on here but when I went to submit them to the “stat tracker” (because we only play for fun because gambling on sports is illegal) I couldn’t remember all of them. I ended up doing Green Bay (yeah Brett!), Pittsburgh (Big Ben), Detroit (Kitna still can’t see straight), Cincinnati (defense?), and St. Louis (offense?). That’s 2-2-1. So I only ended up down a little orange juice.)