Sunday, December 27, 2009

21

Last night was Daniel's 21st. First trip to a bar in America.
Too many hilarious things happened.

We went with his momma and friend Ashley to a bar named Boatsies. Sitting at the bar were older men, glazed eyes, rough faces, baseball caps and beers. Sitting at various tables, playing pool, standing at the juke box were younger people. Men with something dark in their eyes. Women with bleached hair and sunken cheeks. They all stared as we walked in. Newcomers.

The Lonely Planet Guide to the USA offers this introduction to the state of Indiana;
"As Chicago newspaperman Mike Royko once wrote: 'In Indiana, a real good time consists of putting on bib overalls and a cap bearing the name of a farm equipment company and sauntering to a gas station to sit around and gossip about how Elmer couldn't get his pick-up truck started that morning.' Royko was exaggerating but, er, not terribly far off the mark in describing this farm-filled state"

We managed to befriend some of the people. I think Ashley and Daniel may have been at school with a few. My Felon Friend, Keith, came over because his friend had bet him $10 he didn't have the balls to ask the Irish Girl to dance. Daniel screamed Cultural Experience at me. His friend came over and set $5 on our table. Ruby told him off, said her 'daughter' was worth more. He returned with the Car Bombs. His girlfriend works in the local supermarket. She knew Daniel and bought him a shot. There were endless bottles of beer, pitchers of beer, Jaegerbombs....Irish Car Bombs.

Ashley had asked me earlier in the evening if we had Irish Car Bombs in Ireland. I had never even heard of them. I said I could not imagine it as history isn't yet history. I still remember the Omagh Bomb. 29 people were killed. Over 200 were injured. When my mother first moved to Northern Ireland, car bombs were such a constant threat that in city centres, one was not allowed to leave a car unattended. Car Bombs aren't funny. When I think of the history of my country, I almost cry. It has all been so tragic. I told them my uncle had died in a car bomb so the drink tasted like death. It wasn't a very funny thing to say. No one understands my situation. Northern Ireland is a little pocket of uniqueness. And not in a good way.

They asked us back to the After Party. It was at the girl from the supermarket and $5 man's house. It was a nice house. They had a hot tub in the back. They all drove, we walked. I don't remember the walk there but I think it only took like 10 minutes. The walk back home took about an hour. A guy there had a bottle of cherry vodka. There was much shot taking. Daniel stopped being able to stand. He needed to use the bathroom, I took him and held him up in front of the toilet. This took a lot of strength. I held his penis to aim it in the toilet, he was peeing all over these poor people's bathroom. We carried him home but it was snowy and icy and he kept falling over. Hard. He died today. Supreme Death.

I videoed the whole walk home; Daniel is a dick.

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