Friday, Dick, Continental and I decided we needed to go out to celebrate the launch of Dick’s company’s new website, and to get prepared for our weekend of partying in Minneapolis in three weeks. So we planned on going to the Homy Inn on Saturday evening.
When I got there at 9:30, it was the most surreal moment I’ve experienced in a while. Two groups of people, neither of which had any clue who the other was, waved to me as I walked in the door. One was Dick and Trudy, who I was meeting there obviously. The other was Janell’s (my bro’s wife) cousin and his wife, who were there with some people. Paired with the rock star parking — front row, right in front of the door, which in absolutely unheard of at the Homy on a Saturday — and I was living a charmed life.
Dick and his wife had apparently been there since 7-ish, when they headed there after dinner with their dinner guests, who had left just before I arrived. A pitcher of Bud Light was already at the table. I introduced everyone to everyone, and we had some beers. And made the first of several phone calls to people who weren’t there, each of which got increasingly more and more bizarre.
First we called Continental, who was not there yet. He played coy, as if he had no idea what the plans were. And then strolled in the door, still on the phone, still lying to us. Hilarious. After us three guys started dominating the conversation with our talks of going to see Foreigner on Tuesday night — a concert only the three of us are truly awesome enough to properly enjoy — Dick’s wife called it a night. It was at this point that the night turned decidedly into a Guy’s Night.
In the midst of pitcher #2, a bachelorette party entered the bar. These girls were trouble. They were parading the bride-to-be around the bar, selling gumballs for a dollar. The ol’ Suck for a Buck game. Dick and I happily obliged. I mean, I’m single, I pretty much have to, and I of course went in teeth first and grabbed a gumball off the sash that said “Ride Me”. Nice. Dick’s a good sport, and also went in and got a gumball that said “Muff Diver”. Continental paid a buck but simply picked a gumball with his hand, like picking an orange from a tree. The girls were disappointed. I made some disparaging remarks in Continental’s direction, which Continental laughs from everyone. And the saleswoman — the girl parading the bride-to-be around, negotiating the deals — patted me on the head and tassled my hair, like a grandparent does to their 4-year old grandson right before saying “i can’t believe how big you’re getting” or “aren’t you just the cutest!” Wait, that came out wrong. That’s totally gonna be misconstrued. Soooo…moving on then.
No caption needed.
At this point, with pitcher #2 gone, Dick noted this was about the time of the evening we would ordinarily call Mr. Kadavy and tell him about all the fun he was missing, and to get his ass to the bar, since it was like five minutes from his place. I said, just because he’s living in California now, we should still call him — he’s two hours behind, so its only 9:30 there. “I’ll go get us another pitcher, you call our boy.” Had to twist my arm to make me wade through all them ladies on the way to the bar, they did. So Dick calls Kadavy, who was really pissed. I don’t know what was said so I won’t attempt to tell second hand stories, but apparently he didn’t take kindly to us calling him. Maybe he misses Omaha already, maybe he was upset thinking about all the fun we were having. Like I said, I don’t know so I won’t speculate. But when I got back from the bar with the pitcher, Dick and Continental were quite amused, and to say they were proud of themselves would be an understatement.
As we drank pitcher #3, Continental said he wished we could call Nate, who was in Colorado with his girlfriend. I noted he was only one hour behind, so it was 10:30 there. A regular AM radio newsman, I am, giving out the proper time for various time zones. Someone smack me.
Of course, Continental tried to cop out. “But as luck would have it, I don’t have his number in this phone.”
I wasn’t about to let him off that easy. “OK, but you’re not calling from my phone. I’ll give you the number.” To my great surprise, Continental was waiting for it. He dialed and…no signal. His service with Cingular gave him zero bars in the Homy Inn. My phone, with Verizon, was getting full bars, and a nice clear signal. There was no going back, at this point, so I handed him my phone. He dialed, and as we had hoped, we got voice mail. Since I’m pretty sure Nate could hear none of the message — it was likely just ambient bar noise — I’ll try to give a transcript, as best as I can remember.
Continental: Nate! What the hell are you doing! We’re all at the Homy Inn, you should come over and meet us for a drink. You’re missing a hell of a good time. Again.
Dick: What’s up mutha fucka!! We goin’ to see Foreigner Tuesday night!! Yeaaah!
Tom: Continental’s doing his best impression of you, here, buddy. Just pointed to a really drunk girl with a six-inch sun tattoo on her shoulder and told me I need to be on that. You should come kick his ass.
Continental: Yeah, so if you get this message tonight, come meet us. Bye.
And with that, we’d pissed off one friend who had just moved 2000 miles away, and probably angered another who was on vacation 1000 miles away. And we couldn’t have been laughing harder if Tater Salad was at our table. No harm done, we’re just having some fun with a couple good friends. Believe me, its all in fun. But just picturing the scenes of them both being pissed at us for prank calling from the bar was enough to warrant another pitcher.
It was on that last pitcher that Continental told us now that he has HBO, he’s been watching Entourage, which of course is just about my favorite show ever at the moment, until something better comes on, and is a favorite of Dick’s as well. He also dropped this bombshell: he’d watched Spiderman 2 finally when it was on the HBO, and he thought it was awful. So bad, in fact, that he could only watch 20 minutes before he was so nauseated he had to turn it off.
Personally, I thought Spiderman 2 was terrific entertainment. And I’ve never been a big Spiderman fan. But I’d never heard anyone who hated it. So-so, maybe. But awful? Wow.
He noted the CGI was so bad it looked like a cheap Xbox game. He thought the CGI in the first one was bad — which it was, admittedly — but figured it would have to be better this time, but instead it was worse. I don’t know about that, but Continental is a pretty smart guy and one hell of a designer so I’ll have to watch it again and see if my opinion can be swayed. Doubtful, since I’m my own man and make up my mind for myself, but its an interesting argument nonetheless.
I’ll probably still be agitated watching it, but for different reasons. Just as I did the first time I saw it, I’ll be real pissed at Spiderman for turning down the advances of Mary Jane. Turning down ladies! Must be nice. I mean, I do it all the time, but that’s cos they’re always married and its not right. I’m telling you, this thing with only married ladies making veiled sexual references, grabbing my behind and tasseling my hair is getting out of control, and if some single girls don’t disprove my theory pretty quick, I’m gonna be so upset I might have to eat two packages of Nutty Bars instead of one. Crazy, I will be.
After we left about 12:45, Dick remembered this was the first time we’d been to the Homy on a Saturday since that time in April when some girl left a note on The Colorado. So we looked, but no note this time. Then we stood out in the parking lot talking about Foreigner on Tuesday night. Can’t wait. But more on that tomorrow.