I have talked before about how sometimes, the best of times, the funnest and funnyest, happen randomly, when they are unplanned and just out of the blue and spur of the moment. Sure, a good planned party with friends, or weekend getaway with details all worked out can be good in it’s own right. But there is something to be said for the goodness that comes out of spontaneity. Like that time when my roommate and I went out to pick up a gallon of milk to enjoy with a warm treat, and ended up at a bar downtown, meeting half of the city fire department. If that doesn’t speak to the power of spur of the moment I don’t know what does.
A similar scenario occurred last night (minus the firemen, unfortunately). After she returned from the Cape and I woke up from my afternoon nap, we decided to walk downtown to the brewery and grab a bite to eat. We each had a Sam Summer look-alike (it was pretty much a Sam Summer, just a locally brewed version of it). We did some people watching and realized that we could work at this joint and not have to worry about driving or having to wear any special outfit (having worked in the restaurant business before, I’m kind of done with the crisp shirt/blank pants required getup). Apparently the waiter is allowed to sport his chain-wallet-look and that’s okay at this place. Which we thought was pretty interesting, and are now thinking that a part time bartending job might not be so bad.
And since it was still before 8pm, at which time we thought a Lifetime movie would be a swell way to top off the weekend and start the week off on the right heel, we had time to head next door to this little pub that we used to frequent back in the days when we lived with two other hotties from college. The four of us girls would hit up this haunt both Friday and Saturday nights as if it was our job, on a pretty regular basis. Then we realized that we were in fact, not in college anymore, actually had a real job other than bar hopping, and really just kind of dug the band and the Irish bartenders, and that was the extent of it.
On a Sunday night, this little pub offers a whole nother’ scene. Gone are the jam packed Saturday nights with the band and the Jack and Cokes that we’d consume as we tried to avoid another frat guy trying to mack it. Last night, Irish music was the tune, and we just so happen to learn a couple new key dance moves (quite similar to Elaine’s moves in that Seinfeld episode, if you ask me), which we later demonstrated for Cosmo in the living room. I didn’t know Irish dancing was all that “in” really? (if that’s even what you’d call what these two uh, ladies?, were doing in the corner of the bar with some jazz type, pointy black flats on?) Anyway, it offered us some serious people watching entertainment, and we decided to screw the potential Lifetime and instead ordered a second, real, Sam Summer.
As we sipped on our beer, rehashed some good stories from back in the day, baffled by the fact that summer is flying by sofast, we met Carl Winslow. No, not the real Carl Winslow that we all know and love, but it might as well have been. He was a dead ringer, and even though my roommate and I had already decided this would be our last beer of the night, as it was a Sunday (and it seemed like the right thing to do?), seeing this guy pretty much sealed the deal that we would, in fact, stay for another round. How could we not? This was serious as Carl was all smiley and looking friendly as he ordered some turkey dinner and offered my roommate his mashed potatoes, so we couldn’t just leave. It would be wrong.
Well Carl manages a Friendly’s, and you can bet that even though this isn’t a usual restaurant that we visit, we now have an in with good ole’ Carl. The conversation was quite entertaining with the three of us. Carl seemed to be right on top of the fact that we simultaneously cleared away our beers, at which time he suggested that he order us a “real drink.” He thought it was odd that we were drinking beer (this is where Carl and I differ), saying that there was something “nice, about women drinking a Cosmopolitan.”
Minutes later, Irish bartender had placed two cocktails in front of us, and we were cheers-ing with our new pal.
Key moment was when Carl made it clear that this wasn’t a “boy meets girl” situation, a disclaimer which roommate and I found quite amusing and have now worked this into our lingo.
So I guess there’s another one. Another random occurrence, spur of the moment and not planned. We had many laughs and sure, came home on a Sunday night with a spec of a buzz; but it was very worth it. I’m not sure Cosmo enjoyed our antics all too much, as he was not too cooperative with us. Two grown women, skrinkering around on the kitchen floor, chasing a kitten around to make him “dance” didn’t seem to be amusing him. He wanted out, at which point we gave him a treat and topped the evening off with a couple Stuart videos, which always leave us in tears of laughter.
I swear, you couldn’t plan these nights. And really, that’s what makes them so much fun.
