Friday, April 8, 2011

remember when...?


You know it's bad when you walk into your everyday hangout pub and the bartender points at you, laughs and says, “ OOooh, and YOU! [in his best English/Italian accent]”. “How have you been… better than last Friday night I hope?” Then continues to laugh some more.
A puzzled look consumes my face as I realize we never even came to Nelson’s pub last weekend, where my comedian bartender seems to be my number one fan. “Sorry?” I say, in my best Canadian voice. Memories of last Friday night flash back into my mind as if I’m having a near death experience.
Flashback One: playing Uno on the front deck with several bottles of wine, shouting, and at times, Uno becoming violent from my lack of winning.
F.B Two: Drunkenly getting showered and dressed. I like to think that I am a speedy person when it comes to getting ready, and generally I am. However, on that night, my couple glasses of wine too many made my sub conscience mind focus more on the music and ridiculous dancing in my cabin as oppose too focusing on the task at hand-- needless to say, I was the last one ready for the first time in my life. 
F.B Three: Going for a drink at Vinannio Bar listening to possibly the best Italian live guitarists in my life. After we decide to leave based on the soul decision that if we don't leave now the restaurants will be closed and for the rest of my night my stomach will be empty, except for the wine sloshing around back and forth. Never a good thing, so we make the grand walk over there. 
F.B Four: Seeing the best poster ever and refusing to leave without it. Meaning, we grabbed it off the wall without any hesitation this time [or butter knife] and down it came. In all its 50 posters stuck together glory! Shit. Now what? I have this poster that is "posing" to be paper, yet over its years of being stuck there has turned into a rectangle shape that wouldn't even pass at double-thick cardboard. I'm not leaving it there to get stolen, and i'm not rolling into the restaurant with it for dinner, so we did the next best thing. Hid it under a car so we could pick it up at the end of the evening. 
F.B Five: Sitting at the biggest table in the whole restaurant with the smallest group of people. A long drawn out meal was involved, with the best steak that I will ever eat. Stealing a butter knife for my next poster stealing, I was on a roll now. 
F.B Six: Going to a under-the-bridge bar where no one speaks English, especially not the Bartender. Instead of having a drawn out conversation and using god only knows what kind of hand gestures to order a Whiskey Sour, I used this word in a serious tone for the first time in my life, "Wooodka?" and I stare blankly hoping she realizes what i've just said. If not, I will bow my head in shame. "Ahhh, Si. Wodka!" "Thank god," I sighed in relief. 
F.B Seven: Being handed a pink hearted umbrella. Posing in the street. Camera flashes. Sitting on a scooter. And more posing was involved.
F.B. Eight: Having a jager-bomb with the most unrealistic proportion of red bull to 'Wodka' ever. Asking the 50-year-old silver fox DJ to play "Barbra Streisand." 
F.B Nine: Stealing two, maybe even three posters on the walk home. And getting busted. 
That's when it hit me like a Mac-truck... THE BARTENDER.
I was face deep in three posters that weighted about 20 lbs on my 2km walk back to the boat when he saw me. 
Ah yes. 
I remember now. I looked at him behind the bar, him still chuckling, and I let out a little chuckle too. 
"No, I'll be good tonight. Promise."
xoxo