Geaux Saints Geaux

Football Sunday. Only one place to be - Hooters.

This time we brought along two of our guests that are cool as hell - for the sake of their reputation (and the damage it would suffer by being associated with us hooligans) I'm not going to use their real names. Let's call them... Guy and Gal. So Guy and Gal are New Orleans Saints fans, which means they were definitely going to get along with Rae Rae and Nicole. This was going to be little VR's last shift in the Virgin Islands, and because of this the entire crew came out to celebrate. While Guy and Gal could celebrate a successful day as "Cool" Brees led the Saints to a win, all the other games were epic failures. At this point in the day, I had no idea the travesty that was going to take place in Indianapolis, but there's no need to dwell on that now.

We talked about mud bugs and Dixie beer - we discussed the frivolity of marriage - we lived, laughed and ate naked wings. By the time 5pm rolled around, the Saints had won and I think Guy and Gal reached the full limit of awesome that one can experience in a day, so they took a taxi back to the hotel.

The other reason everybody was collecting themselves at Hooters was because there was a concert in Yacht Haven that night. The band is called Third World, and they were set up right outside Fat Turtle. By the time we got there and got settled with a beer, one of the opening acts was just finishing up. Between their set and the main set featuring Third World, the roadies were blasting reggae music so we decided to chill on some rocks that did not solicit a view of the stage. About 10 feet behind us there was a gentleman that I could only really describe as "not awesome". For the sake of this story, lets call him Malaca. He had a serious problem with the fact that we were blocking his partial view of the stage being set up. It was enough of an issue that he physically walked up to us and threw a tantrum-arm-filled fit. We moved, feeling slightly hated upon because of the color of our skin.

He however was not the only moron of the night. Later on when Kiersten was waiting to use the facilities, the men's room became available and there was nobody in line. As logic would dictate, she used the available washroom. Upon exiting the washroom this one loser decided it was worth giving her crap about being a female exiting the wrong door. Kiersten is not the kind of girl who will take crap, and apparently neither was the friend she made waiting in line. DC and I came upon a situation of some forty year old d-bag in a screaming match with two twenty something blondes.

Things quickly escalated to the point where we had to escort them away from the premises and distract them with the live concert 20 feet away. Kier went home while DC and I danced with the other girl (never caught her name) and about six of her friends. Good thing I practiced on my Dance Dance Revolution pad earlier that night, otherwise it would have been ROUGH.

We got home just in time to see the Colts score a game winning touchdown in the last drive of the game to beat my Patriots. Drenched and depressed, I went to bed.