Thanks to the generosity of Iced Tea, Can’t Be Bothered and I were able to spend the night in a mountain resort town East of the big city.
This isn’t the first time we’ve been to this part of town and, based on our previous adventures here, trouble would soon ensue. It started mildly with a couple of ho made enchiladas and margaritas. Contrary to popular belief, I can be pretty homestic and make a mean margarita. After a couple of margaritas, Can’t Be Bothered and I grabbed our mittens and made our way to the bus stop, finding multiple photo opportunities along the way.
As we approached Main Street, I asked the driver when we should depart. “You get off here,” she replied. And so we did – not sure if she’d had enough of us, this was the last stop, or both.
We went to the bar we always go to and, as is most often the case, met really interesting people. Friend of Bjorn was seated next to two empty chairs at the bar, so we saddled up next to him and began chatting. His friends, Just History, Almost a PhD and 28 were soon to be arriving from New York. As we were chatting about different things, Can’t Be Bothered noticed a camouflaged tank top for sell that she quite liked. “What does that top say?” she asked Friend of Bjorn. “Boy Beater. Do you want it?” With a look of great disappointment she replied, “No, I thought it said ‘Boy Eater.’ I would have bought that.”
As we waited with Friend of Bjorn for his friends (who are not friends of Bjorn) to arrive, he was telling us a little bit about each of them. One of his friends was in the process of getting his PhD, so I advised Friend of Bjorn of our interpretation of PhD. He quite liked our interpretation and, when his friends arrived, encouraged me to ask him about his ‘degree.’ “Do you have a PhD?” I asked. “Almost,” he replied while using his hand/fingers to imply something small. Friend of Bjorn almost choked on his burger.
They planned to ski the next day, as did we, but were a bit more serious about it so they called it a night and we stayed for more mayhem. We decided it might be fun to check out a few other bars on Main and, as we started walking, we found more photo opportunities. At one point, we met Snowball’s Throw who offered to help out by taking our picture.
He led us to a ‘locals’ bar and we arrived just after they announced last call, which meant we wouldn’t be getting drinks. “We can go to my place,” Snowball’s Throw told us and added, “It is just a snowball’s throw away.” He then proved the point by picking up a snowball and throwing it West of Main Street. Where that snowball landed, we had no idea, but opted to head there anyway.
Snowball’s Throw lives in one of the old historic houses, which was great news for Can’t Be Bothered. “I have always wanted to see what these looked like inside,” she told him. “Wanna see my hatchet?” he asked and then pulled his wildland firefighting ax off the wall and posed for a picture. We took a quick tour of his house, which provided additional photo opportunities, Snowball’s Throw poured us drinks and his friends – Jesus and Spicoli – arrived.
In true Spicoli fashion, Spicoli loved a good time and didn’t have a job. In true Jesus Christ fashion, Jesus was a white man with long dark hair and full facial hair, whose full-time job was turning water into whiskey. Spicoli, sadly, didn’t stay long – we’re guessing he needed to study for a history exam.
As Can’t Be Bothered and I continued to chat with Snowball’s Throw and Jesus, Jesus told me he wanted to show me something. He led me to the back room where he lit the fire and then pulled me close to him and attempted to light my fire. We snogged for a minute before I asked him the big question, “May I call you Jesus? You look exactly like Jesus Christ.” “Sure,” he replied. We snogged a little while longer and then I told him, “Jesus Christ, you’re a good kisser.”
This may be way I don’t snog often – I get too caught up in funny one-liners resulting in ‘missed’ opportunities for funky one-nighters. Not wanting to be the friend who shagged the guy in the back room, I thanked him for the make-out (and patted myself on the back for ‘bringing kissing back’ – one of my many goals) and Can’t Be Bothered and I started a long, not so full of shame, walk home.
Jesus