Monday, September 19, 2005

boot n rally


well, labor day has passed. i'm still carrying around my white patent leather handbag (the rules have changed, just ask patty hearst as you beat her to death with a payphone receiver), the days are getting colder (um, not really) and shorter (yet i still have to be at the office for 8.5 hours) and intramural happy hour's season is over.

there are about 15 people between the ages of 22 and 32 at work, almost all of whom are pretty awesome, and we had toyed with playing intramural volleyball this summer, but no one ever really got around to looking into the league, and i was thinking about why we would all want to play on a team together anyway, and came to the correct conclusion that we really just wanted to get together to hang out and go to the bar after our games. so i cut out the middle man and kept the competitive edge by devising intramural happy hour.

there are rules, of course; you can't just grab some beer after work with a few of your coworkers and call it intramurals. the basic rules are that everyone has to be invited at least twenty-four hours before the event, and at least three people have to be there for points to be earned (this rule gets more important the later in the evening it becomes). you get 1 point for beer, 1.5 for a mixed drink. you get clocked in and clocked out. the amount of money you spent - plus tip but minus food - is recorded. shots had to be purchased for everyone, but if you were the one who bought the round, you'd get 3 bonus points and obviously got credit for the money spent. the key is to drink the most points in the longest amount of time for the least amount of money - the true point of happy hour.

it was super fun - we chose different bars in different neighborhoods to check out, we got to hang out about once a week, we all got to know one another better. i still haven't come up with the proper and final count, but i'm fairly certain i came in second (and the top-scoring girl - boo-yah!). we decided that we were called boot n rally and had a "secret" hand signal (something like a boot kicking a glass over but it ends up looking like you're making a "J" in sign language), we talked about having shirts made. we even had a mascot - a runaway horse. during the second or third boot n rally we were at a downtown pub, sitting out front, when a spooked horse that had tipped its driver and carriage over in the street came careening past us, racing directly into rushhour traffic. it was pretty surreal.

one of my boot n rally team members sent this forward out at the start of the season (it's from www.thephatphree.com) and i now share it with you out of homage. viva boot n rally!

Happy Hour Heroes

Here's to those who observe strict cocktail hours, from 5pm sharp until last call. Thank you, Happy Hour Heroes.

The rest of us owe these marathon binge drinkers a great debt of gratitude. Sustaining themselves on nothing but tortilla chips and buffet chicken wings, these Friday night Knights begin their evenings hours earlier than those who feel it necessary to go home after work and change, nap or shower.

If it were not for the Happy Hour Hero, who would call you at 7:30pm and remind you that you are, indeed, a pussy?

Thanks to those who turn a few beers after work into a Grey Goose-fueled blackout, Happy Hour Heroes test their limits every weekend. The rest of us should be ashamed to be content with simply "going out", as opposed to the biological feats these hardened heroes pull off week in and week out.

When their ties are loosened and their sportcoats are on the floor of a corner booth, Happy Hour Heroes rule the roost until they can no longer speak. These brave, drunk men are the ones who creep out any woman they approach and force them to talk to the lesser men who watched a few hours of TV after work and put on some jeans before hitting the bars.

Thank you, Happy Hour Heroes, for buying the entire round of shots. At least that's what we think you said. And thanks to the credit card you will leave behind at the bar, we will always remember your name.

In the trenches longer than a full day's work, thank you Happy Hour Heroes for fighting the good fight against unconsciousness. By all means, rest for awhile. You've earned it. Lay your head down in that comfy ash tray. As God as my witness, no one will be allowed near your forehead with a permanent marker.

Happy Hour Heroes, your breath may be heavy and strong from a long night of Marlboro Lights and well gin, but it is not offensive to anyone who knows of your quest. That smell of decay is merely a reminder to the rest of us that you get more done before midnight than the rest of us can accomplish all night.

Happy Hour Heroes, even though the bartender, who you thought was your new friend, turned against you after he slipped in your vomit, don't lose sight of your duty. He, like you say, is indeed a jerk, and is incapable of understanding the life of a man with the courage to begin his night at 5pm.

For all you do, Happy Hour Hero, from the bottom of our hearts, we thank you. Now it's time to go. Get up off the floor. You've ruined your suit.

1 comment:

roya parsay said...

interesting