Monday, March 16, 2009

Restless Dog Syndrome

I would describe our condition this morning as "tired." Let's review and see if we can determine how this came about.

Daytime Drinking Season traditionally begins April 1, but we kicked it off yesterday this year. We began with brunch at Foreign Cinema with Super Hot Irish Girlfriend, The Sister and The Sister's bf. It was crazy fucking busy, so even though we had 1 p.m. reservations, we got seated at 1:15 and didn't get our food until about 2:00. No matter, though, as any incipient feelings of hangry were staved off by a succession of Fellinis (the drink, not the director - some combination of champagne, Aperol, and juice (maybe grapefruit?)). The food was pretty good, nothing to write home about.

We then relocated, minus The Sister's bf, to Valley Tavern and sat outside in the back, where we were soon joined by Laur and Linds, Stoney, and Olu and EReed. Now, I'm not one to cast aspersions on anyone for being - oh, how to put this - loud as a fucking jet engine - but The Sister is not renowned for her soft-spokenness, and get her together with Laur and EReed and things quickly escalate from "conversational" to "front row of NKOTB concert." Add some cold pops into the mix and you see where I'm going with this. We were shushed by the bartender.

Before we could get thrown out of VT, we left voluntarily and relocated to our place for more beers and pizza and downloading MIA songs and that kind of thing. Things broke up relatively early, like 8:30 or so, so that was good.

So, you're asking yourself, why tired then? I'll tell you right now. We kind of screwed the dog this weekend and never got around to taking him for some long walks like we usually do on weekends and this is how dogs let you know they didn't get enough exercise this weekend: starting at around 4 a.m., the dog would jump on the bed, lie briefly between our heads, get under the covers, shimmy down to the end of the bed, pop out, wander around the house for a minute, and then repeat the process. Until SHIG got up and walked him at 6:45. Oh, and this was also punctuated by the cat jumping on the bed, lying down on my chest, realizing the dog was also on the bed, and quickly departing from the bed whilst unleashing a stream of hisses. Fuck. So I'm kind of tired, and this time it's not from drinking.

P.S. Saturday night Stoney and I stopped in at Contigo for a bite around 10 pm. That place was fucking packed at 10 pm, but that's not the point. Can't two guys go out for a couple of tapas and a nice bottle of AlbariƱo without everyone thinking they're gay? Not according to everyone yesterday, no sir, not at all.

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