This past Friday night Mrs. ACW and I hosted Tish while she was in town from Texas. Intent on showing her a good time in and around Baltimore, we picked her up at the Light Rail station and went over to Fell’s Point to grab dinner and some drinks.
Tish was very friendly, charming, and quite funny. We talked about blogging briefly, but mostly spent out time just joking around, talking about anything and everything, including: glass eyes, poop, bar fights, traffic, drinking, Saddam, bestiality, family, and a little chocolate-cake-with-the-appearance-of-poop thrown in at the end. We had a really good time.
Then the drinks started to kick in. For starters Tish was drinking Black Russians by the pitcherful. I didn’t realize Black Russians were available by the pitcher, but she seemed to change the bartenders mind when she threatened him with that broken beer bottle and sociopathic glint in her eye. I swear, every time she started dancing on the table, throwing drinks at the television, or physically assaulting other bar patrons the bartender would show up in an attempt to curb her behavior, but she would pull that broken beer bottle as if out of thin air and the bartender would just cower and offer another pitcher of Vodka and Kahlua, further fueling her alcoholic outbursts. I don’t even know where she got that bottle from.
We moved from bar to bar, each location a worse dive than the one before it in the hopes that we’d find a bar crowd rowdy enough to match our boisterous southwestern Hooligan, but we were at a loss; Tish raged on, and by our count, deflowered at least four virginal men PURELY BY ACCIDENT.
By the time we reached what would thankfully be our final bar for the evening, Tish had become tired, and a bit more sedate, but as we quickly learned, just as violent as ever. We thought she had settled down, her rage relaxed by bucketfuls of grain-alcohol and a quick back-alley blood-letting with a hobo whose consent was questionable, because she was showing us pictures of her son and daughter on her camera-phone. “What are their names?” Mrs. ACW asked politely.
“Dump-truck and Steamroller,” Tish said.
We laughed at her joke, thinking she had returned to the delightful, charming, and wise-cracking out-of-towner we had seen earlier in the evening.
“What are you laughing at?! Are you making fun of my children?!” she bellowed. “Those are powerful names! My children have names of immeasurable strength and fortitude! How dare you mock them!”
And with that Tish launched into her final rage of the night. You’ll probably read about the aftermath in the newspaper, and I don’t think they’ll EVER get some of those stains off the ceiling, but I don’t think that’s the greatest injustice of the evening.
Her daughter was the one named Dump-truck.
I hope that if we ever meet, you can embellish the boredom of the evening along these lines. But less violent, please.
This is not fair. Tish emailed me because she had a few hours layover in Dallas on her way to Baltimore. We were going to hook up and get loaded in the airport bar before her Baltimore flight, which would have made your night with her even MORE interesting…but her layover coincided with a yoga class I had to teach that day. So we could have hooked up on her return flight on Sunday–but I didn’t get her flight info until too late. God is cruel.
Although I do remember asking her via email what the hell she was going to Baltimore for, and she was too embarassed to tell me she was meeting up with you. She said she was visiting her mama in prison.
this was excellent.
HA! HA HA! Man! ACW, if I come down to B-More, will you host my stay too? Oh! The fun we could have with broken beer bottles….
I just noticed I listed myself in the above comment as “Kara” instead of “Karla.” That’s what I get for Drinking While Blogging.
This was hysterical!!!