Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Kiss me, my Papa drinks Irish beer

I love my kids. I love Irish beer. By simple association, my kids are drunken Irishmen. Not sure where their love of funny green hats comes into play, but they are obviously so hammered that it really doesn't matter. It's great, actually. I have often wondered how I would have to start funding the little shitters when they get out of diapers. Now I know. Bar tabs.

St. Paddy's was great. In the words of Caesar, I came (home from work), I saw (my wife and kids for two hours), and I conquered (the Irish Pub O'Reilly's). You might ask me to define how one would go about conquering an Irish pub. To that, I would tell you to ask my liver.

If you follow my family heritage far enough back, I am half Irish, half German. That actually explains a lot. First of all, why the hell I love Angie so much. But more importantly, my love of beer. Somehow, the two might be related, but if I dwell on that for too long, I will certainly end up on the sofa.

Angie is no stranger to drunken adventures on St. Patrick's day, and I feel that it is my duty to make sure that these stories do not go untold. Do you smell a flashback? The year was 2000...

Angie and I were devouring a pizza. Yes, even back then she did not cook. We tossed the empty pizza box on the stack against the wall that clearly indicated that I was not cooking either. It is not because I did not want to, but we were living in a closet at that time and cooking in a closet was hazardous to our coats.

We took off early to the bars to watch a soccer game that was on. We met Sebastian at our local pub (Napper Tandy's) and Angie discovered that there was a prize to be won for drinking mass amounts of alcohol. This turned into what I can only describe as a frenzy of guzzling drinks. For a beer, you got one ticket that was thrown into a big raffle bucket. For a mixed drink, you got two tickets. Angie went for broke and started downing long island ice-teas for three tickets a pop.

At one point, Sebastian and I looked over at Angie, who was at the bar, and realized that Angie and gravity were not playing well with each other. I decided that that would be a good time to ask Angie what it actually was that she might win.

Blank look.


Angry look.


Confused look.


I chose the low road and decided to ask the bartender instead.

'A bicycle', he explained to me.

I tried to rationalize with Angie that we already had three bicycles and that, despite many provocative suggestions, there was only two of us.

Confused look.


It was at this point that Sebastian and I realized that if we were to have any fun that night, we would have to ditch the drunk chick.

I gave Angie the keys to our apartment and pointed her in the right direction. After making sure that she rounded the corner, I turned to Sebastian. After several high-fives, we began to get our party on.

Five or six or maybe even seven hours later, Sebastian and I decided to head home. I naively chose my home to head home to. I say naive because I simply assumed that Angie, who at this point had my keys, would wake her ass up long enough to let me into my own house. Oh, you stupid, silly person named Steve...

Around the time that Sebastian and I made it back to MY house, it began to rain. Heavily. Let me also say that we had no umbrellas and we were drunk. I rang our doorbell. Nothing. I used Sebastian's cell to call Angie's cell. Nothing. I used Sebastian's cell to call MY home number. Nothing. I noticed that MY bedroom window was open. I tried screaming, yelling, shouting...nothing. I then tried chucking tiny stones into the window, hoping to peg Angie in the head and wake her from her coma. Nothing. I then picked out bigger stones...nothing. In the end, I went home with Sebastian and crashed on the sofa at his fraternity house.

Now, flash forward to the next morning. Ok, let's be honest. At that time, we had no kids, so it was most likely afternoon. Ok, let's be really honest - I got the call at 3:30 PM from a very angry and hung-over Angie demanding to know where the hell I was and wanting to know where the hell I had spent the night.

It did not take much for me to get out of that little predicament. I simply asked her to search the bedroom for any mid-sized to very large stones that were certainly scattered throughout our bed. She admitted that she had thought the stone collection was odd and had wondered about the 'sore points' on her forehead.

My, how things have changed with kids. Tonight, I went to the Irish pub. I had a few beers with my dart team. I came home, but - surprise, surprise - Angie had not locked me out. That's good, since Sebastian now lives two hours away. What is also good is that we did not wake up a 3:30 PM. Trust me, our kids would have still woken up at 06:30 AM and would have loved it if we had left them to their own devices for several hours. They might have even found a way to rack up some of those bar tabs that I am dreading, but which will surely come one day. That's ok - bar tabs I can handle; I just hope our kids don't start pelting large stones at me one day while I am sleeping.
Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When I played with David Spiderman.
David: When I want to play with mommy.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When David did poopy in his underwear.
David: When I want to make Rob a ghost book.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To play with Arman pirates.
David: When I want to play Hippo Flip.


  1. It's comforting to know that nowadays it's a good night for you when you don't have to stone your wife after a night of drinking. Good for you!

    BTW, Peter's comment in #2 on David's... #2 is hilarious, but David's complete dismissal of the incident is even more so. :P

  2. Very interesting that the poopy thing is not DAVIDs worst part of the day!!!

  3. Didn't you win the bicycle though? Or was it a DVD?