The Penn of Sin

Friday morning I thought I might not even be going out that night for St. Patrick’s Day. Instead I never went home. My friend always refers to Portland as “the vortex” that sucks you within it in just a few days time. If that is true, then the Newport Peninsula is the “super vortex” that will suck you in, chew you up and spit you out somewhere random in just a few drinks time.

Friday night Beach Chic, Natasha and I hit the bars, once again reminding ourselves of just how much of an “amateur night” holidays like that are. I will say, however, that there is a certain sense of importance when every bar has long lines of people waiting upwards of an hour outside and we never had to wait in one line at all. It helps that the girls both work in the bars on the Penn and that Beach Chic put her tongue down every door-guy’s throat.

The tone for the evening was set while approaching the first bar of the night. We saw an older guy in a flashing-lights necklace attempting to make a citizen arrest on another older guy. Not much will bring groups of police officers quicker than two old men drunk and wrestling, while Flashy Necklace screams “Citizens arrest!”

I was in the mood Friday night as was Beach Chic and Natasha. We thought of all of the days to get laid, a holiday like St. Patrick’s Day would be like shooting fish in a barrel. Unfortunately I didn’t take into account that I would have to be coherent enough to shoot the fucking fish. I was told Saturday morning by Natasha that two guys approached us in a bar. After some chit chat they said something along the lines of, “Do you guys want to hook up.” (Romantic, I know) I gave an enthusiastic “Yes!” and then proceeded to fall on my face.

Natasha promptly removed me from the bar (through my stumbling), after being unable to find Beach Chic, and the two of us grabbed some pizza. Sitting on the curb eating it, two other guys walked by. As they did Natasha said some smart ass comment to them, which she and I found quite amusing. Getting up to walk down to Natasha’s car, carrying our shoes and a pizza box, we saw the two guys had just gotten in their car parked on the street. The driver asked us if we wanted a ride. We were so relieved to not need to walk. Natasha and I got to his car door… as he stepped on his gas, peeled out and laughed at us, leaving us standing barefoot on the curb. Batting 1000, lades and gentlemen, batting 1000.

Natasha and I retired to her house, while Beach Chic had met up with some guys she has known forever and proceeded to hook up with a guy that has, for years, been her “arch nemesis”. They opened their eyes Saturday morning, looked at one another and both had a collective “Not you!” moment… the love.

Natasha and I returned to Beach Chic’s house around 8 am on Saturday morning and we decided it was necessary for a Saturday Funday. Looking smashing in bright yellow sweat pants, my long sleeved maroon Roll Tide T-shirt and the previous evening’s makeup, we headed out to open up some bars… I don’t remember much past 2pm, but know that I woke up topless in Beach Chic’s bed and missed the Bama game… the only thing I really wanted to see. Brilliant.

Needless to say, yesterday was spent in bed, licking our wounds from the rough days before and playing catch up with one another in a feeble attempt to piece together what had exactly happened throughout the course of the last few days. My sore throat that had disappeared last week is back and I once again have told myself, “I am never drinking again, and this time I mean it.” At least until Friday… I have plans on the Penn.