I don't want her, you

I don't want her, you can have her, she's too fat for me. Hey!
I woke up singing the Too Fat Polka this morning. I'm fairly certain that I've never woken up with a Polka in my head before and it frightened me. As I lay in bed humming, I slowly began to put the pieces of last night together. I think I may be missing several key details that would explain this splitting headache and the sudden urge to vomit but I am hoping that my dear friends and partners in crime Mopsa and The Irish Girl (TIG) will help me fill in the blanks. As I recall, it all started out innocent enough...

"So this would be Uptown then"
I've never been to Minneapolis before (other than the MSP airport). To assist us in getting past the awkward stage of not having seen each other in 17 years, Mopsa was kind enough to give me the 5 dollar tour of the Greater Minneapolis Area including The Target Center, The Metrodome, SexWorld (she wouldn't stop for me...bi-ach), House of Balls, her old apartment, several lakes with names I can't remember, and one very big river. It actually is a really pretty city but very leafy. We could have gone to the Mall of America but this was the right choice. It was great to see my old friend again and great to confirm that even though I know we are close on the online - we still have something cool offline too.

After my tour, it was back to the house to meet Mopsas lovely partner. In some bazaar parallel life thing, Mopsa and I are both with very similar looking women - it's a bit eerie - kind of a separated at birth thing. Lovely Partner is indeed lovely and loads of fun. We all had a couple of beers and watched The Twins (that's baseball folks) self-destruct. I really didn't think it was possible for a team to choke like that. It was a fucking train wreck. I was quite content to sit in the basement, drink beer and watch baseball all night with my old buddy but there were other plans afoot. Something about food.

"There's always Montes"
Miss Saucy Pants a.k.a. The Irish Girl joined us for the evening. She's cute as a hell and is my favorite kind of party girl. Immediately I knew that this would be a long fun night. After much circuitous debate as to where the hell to eat, we ended up at a place called Nyes. I am speechless folks. I have no idea how to describe the time warp I walked into, but I'll try. It's 1 part Elks Club, 1 part karaoke bar, 1 part Prime Rib Palace "I'll just have half the cow please", and 3 parts Polish Dance Hall. It was unreal and exactly the right place for us to go. Post-pierogis and three side cars, I wisely switched to beer as we sat and listed to "The Worlds Most Dangerous Polka Band" in the Polonaise Room. I think the side cars were the one thing that kept me from getting up there and joining Mopsa and TIG belting out show tunes at the piano bar.

"All the girls are prettier at closing time"
After a brief stop at Boom, we ended up at a Latin club called Conga. Having had my advances repeatedly turned down by the Future Miss Shamrock (for fear of jeopardizing her chance at the crown, she wouldn't kiss a married woman - at least I think that was the story she was giving me) I took a look around and evaluated my options. This, folks, is where the night took a turn.

I kissed a midget. Not a midget per se, but I'm only 5'3" and I had to bend down to kiss her - so you do the math. She wasn't my type at all and was only cute in that "2a.m., I'm drunk, I'm horny and it's really dark in here" kinda way. Having left any semblance of sanity back at karaoke central, I kissed her not once but three times - once while dancing, again after the lights came up and my friends (and I) could see what (who) I was doing and again outside the bar as we were saying goodnight. I tried to tell her that I was from out of town and had a plane to catch in the morning so no, I would not be going home with her but I think there was a language issue, so I just told her that I would see her at Conga next Sunday. I imagine she'll be looking for me next week.

After that, I don't remember a goddamn thing. But at least I didn't wake up humming the Too Short and Ugly Salsa, gnawing my own arm off trying to escape and catch my flight.

Thankfully, there's no photographic evidence. We all conveniently "forgot" our digital cameras. All in all a great visit and next time I'll plan for at least one recovery day before I have to get on a fucking plane. The girls said their goal was to make me puke on the plane and I have to say - it was touch and go there for a while somewhere over Colorado...

For those of you who don't give a shit about my trip to Minneapolis (and why would you really? you don't even know me!) Click Here