Lisa's Birthday & Scottish Accents

Last night was an event. There weren't any birthday cakes, candles or singing. No no, none of that. Just drinks. And lots of them.

We started with a few rounds back at the room while everyone took their time getting ready. We showered, got dressed, and eventually made it over to a bar across the street called the Irish Pub. It was your typical American take on an Irish bar, green-painted walls, shamrocks everywhere, and a few cherry-stained booths thrown in for good measure. That didn't stop us from enjoying every second of it though, and here is where we stayed for the majority of the evening.

Claire and I stuck with Guinness, while Lisa and Garrett tried different variations of a local microbrew called Fat Tire. Before long we acquired ourselves a table and ordered a few rounds of appetizers to dull the effects of our multitude of pints and shots. We spent most of the time laughing and sharing stories, taking incognito photos of the man with the mullet and making up ridiculous background stories for the strangers in the bar. It was just around that time when I broke out the Scottish accent.

I do it sometimes. I don't know why, but I think it's funny. It catches people off-guard and, especially in the confines of an "Irish Pub," if pulled off correctly, guys and girls treat you like you own the place, as if you're a depiction of some faraway land that they can only try to experience through pints of Guinness and shots of Jameson...a symbol, if you will. And it's all a lie.

So yeah, I messed with people. I went up to strangers and asked to be excused through the crowd to the bar, sounding like a mix between Billy Connelly and Desmond from LOST. I went up to other people and commented on their silly hats, fighting words in most places had I not delivered it in the appropriate brogue. And I swore. A lot. And people love it when a Scottish guy (or at least a guy sounding like a Scot) drops as many obscenities as possible. It's just fun.

We met up with our friend Chris and his crew, and the lot of us headed over to a basement bar we saw the night before called Ullr's. Don't ask me how it's pronounced, but it has to be something Norwegian, because there was a big Viking looking-dude on the wooden sign hanging over the entrance. Garrett and I spent the next half hour caught up in the midst of some epic pinball challenge while Claire entertained her new friend (let's call him Moe) at the air hockey table. Lisa bounced back and forth between the two games, most likely entertained at the intensity of each and the awful display of reflexes. Before long, it was time to head home.

At this point, smart people would stop drinking. Apparently, we're not smart people. Three hours later, I woke up at 3am, alone in the living room, only to find soon after that my "friends" took video of me snoring obnoxiously loud on the couch. I'm embarrassed and my throat hurts.

The rest of the gang is still asleep, so in the meantime, give me a quart of Gatorade and some eggs, and I'll be set to hit the slopes again. Today is our final day out there, so we're going to make the most of it, hungover or not.