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Saturday, February 19, 2011

A Night To Remember

mom for some reason married dad seven years ago tomorrow, so we got a babysitter, for the second time in the year and a half since we landed in Georgia, to celebrate A Night To Remember.

You may wonder about the weird capitalization in A Night To Remember, and it's because we're trying to evoke a classic book. You know, the Walter Lord one. The one featuring incredibly refined luxury and high-class, well-attired guests. Most of whom die after the encounter with the iceberg. That night with the RMS Titanic was memorable. It's safe to say we won't forget the end of this anniversary.

Through a complicated set of factors, we wound up at a redneck country Irish bar. The bar owner later introduced herself, explained the Irish name was her familial name, her brother started the bar, and died two years ago Monday, and he was a bit of a redneck and she's still trying to turn things around. Apparently two years in, she's just about one week away from actually getting beer on tap.

mom upgraded her Diet Coke to a Malibu-and-Diet not long after this conversation. dad sought an Irish beer on draft and found a Yuengling instead.

It's worth noting that the front windows of the place are shared amongst shamrocks and Budweister signs, with a sole Miller sign to top it off.

So there's country music playing. And there's offers to let us sing karaoke, but we were worried we'd bother the other six patrons.

But other patrons began trickling in, including this one guy. Next thing we know ...

The bar owner's hopping on the microphone to say, "Hey, you all know me, and I'm not going to hold back. Can you check the bottoms of your shoes now for dog shit?"

That didn't work. Aerosol cans of some sort of chemical warfare agent were employed, but found ineffective as well. So then she has the DJ play "Who Let The Dogs Out (woof woof)" followed by a worse song with a chorus of "So you think your shit don't stiiiaiink."

But it wasn't dogshit, it was the guy. And at some point the owner dutifully reports that another patron reported someone's ass exploded in the bathroom.

After some strong drinks, this was funny. And it was a damned long leap away from finding out mom had a Diego sticker on her shirt through dinner.

We wound up having an appallingly good time at our neighborhood redneck country Irish bar. We laughed like we haven't in quite a long time. It wasn't exactly like we had planned, but it was fun in its own way.

We can't tell you what the hell we did for the sixth anniversary. This year's, though, truly, was A Night To Remember.


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