Putting a Hammer to a Nail

There is no physical device in existence that can do what I can. See, I have this keen intuition that let's me know, all without the software complications and service plans of an electronic device, where the best places in town are to party on any given night. I try to put my adept ability to use as frequently as possible, primarily in an effort to help others but also to keep it honed razor-sharp. It's the fulcrum of necessity in my opinion…"What's that keen intuition?...yeah...I know I'm right!"
At some point Friday I began feeling pretty exhausted. The week was catching up with me and even though I tried to brush it off I couldn't shake the feeling that it might be an early night. This lasted about five minutes. Downtown seems to be like some sort of a cult leader that brainwashes me of whatever feelings and occasional priorities that I become preoccupied with and replaces them with social ambition and a seemingly inborn desire to soak up everything that I possibly can. I won't lie, the beer helps too.
I met up with Joe Tuff at the Rook around 8 and had a couple of cokes and a few cigarettes. I didn't stick around too long because I wanted to head to the capitol so I didn't miss any of the show. The Capitol set up a full bar and Magnificent Bastard was poised to take the stage followed by Sons of Roswell, a band I wasn't familiar with, and Hank Vegas was scheduled to wrap things up. By the time everyone who had gathered outside to smoke and socialize decided to head inside, Mag Tard was just getting things warmed up. After they had played a self-proclaimed "Badass" set, which I won't disagree with, I wondered back out front to meet up with a few friends and make some new ones. I ended up out there longer than I anticipated, missing a portion of Sons of Roswell. Back inside, what I did hear got me interested. They have a very distinctive sound and the rockstar image you can only achieve with pants so tight they must be painted on and hair so glamorous and rockstarrish that well…you know what I mean. I realized I would never wear skinny jeans, have kick ass crazy rocking hair, ergo I would likely never lead a kick ass band to commercial success. R.I.P dreams of a Heart tribute band!
By the time the music had stopped and the crowd was leaving it was relatively late. I had to get up early to head to Savannah for a rugby match (Macon Love Rugby Football Club vs. Savannah Shamrocks R.F.C.), so I did the only logical thing and went to the Tic Toc for a glass of water…and another beer. When Toc started closing I went looking for my friends, who had disappeared like a girlfriend when you answer the "Do you think I'm fat question?" the wrong way. I just hoped they weren't in a corner crying somewhere like sissies, too. An hour later I had met up with them and was at Oasis finishing the night off by committing a coup de gras on a Philly cheesesteak.
7am Saturday got there faster than a college freshman passing out and before I could figure out who put a headache in my own beer the night before, I was on the way to the Sav. Despite the absurd cold, the rain, and the muddy pitch that seemed to mock us like we where the fat kids with lisps, we won our first match by 5 points. After snagging a room at a cheapo hotel and a hot shower it was off to the Shamrocks club bar, Murphy's Law. The remainder of the afternoon (3pm -3am) was spent gorging on Sheppard's Pie, drinking free draft beer while we sang rugby songs, and repeatedly losing, finding and then losing one another at the different bars downtown. Last I recall, Dirty, a new rugger on the team, and a few of us who decided to spend the night, where singing karaoke at a blues bar on bay street. The next morning as we searched for credit cards and car keys, we tried to piece together the final moments of the evening and figure out where Dirty was. I would later learn that around 4am he jumped in a cab of his own, and taken it from Savannah to Macon! I love rugby days!
Since Sunday was a recovery day, I did little after lunch at Mellow Mushroom other than nap on and off during and after the ride home. I had heard rumors of an upcoming visit to Mercer University by former president Bill Clinton. Having never seen a current or former president in person I decided to attend. I would arrive early, get a good seat, and if I was lucky, have the opportunity to ask a question.
Early to me was an hour before doors opened and by then the line waiting to get in was wrapped well around the building and into the parking lot. I was the last person through the door before the guards arm dropped like a guillotine and cut off everyone behind me the same college freshman's parents after finding out what their kid has really been doing their first semester. I felt good because I never get that lucky bad. Then I got over it. Although Bill was there to campaign for his wife, it seemed most others, like me, where just there to see a former president speak. I think I was the only one with plans to drag him out for a beer afterwards though. I've got to say, there is something about his demeanor and the way he speaks that captures the audience. I think it's because he doesn't say "umm" or "like" at all. I wanted to harness that and use it to impress cute girls.
That same evening I showed up at Red eye for wings and pitchers as I am wont to do on Mondays to begin my week. I also wanted to see if the respect and admiration that a former president receives had somehow rubbed off on me due to my close proximity to one earlier. I'm not sure if it did or not, but I saw a few people point and stare as I was passing out on the bar, so it's quite possible. My keen intuition is rarely wrong.