Apparently "medium" means "pink", too.
So we're gabbing away when, unbeknownst to me and our neighbor, my roommate spies a couple of ex-pats at a table across the way. A walk to their table and twenty minutes later, she returned and informed us that we were to join the men. Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyy...
I went to the bathroom to wash the ketchup off my hands because I refused to shake hands until I did. While there I prepared myself to assume the role of Fifth Wheel. I emerged and our neighbor and I walked to the table where the guys and my roommate were already sitting. There were two seats open - one next to one of the guys and one at the end of the table. I whispered to our neighbor that I call dibs on the end seat, and we sat down.
Now, although I was initially mortified at the idea of playing Odd Man Out, I quickly realized there was a lot less pressure on me that way, and it left me free to sit back, observe, and dip into whichever conversation I found more interesting.
One guy was from Louisiana, sporting a New Orleans Saints jersey and still high off the Saints win against the Redskins earlier in the day (bringing their record to 12-0 for the season), and the other was from South Texas, and believe it or not, plays the drums and rides a cherry 2009 Goldwing.
After a while our neighbor decided it was time for her to leave. My first thought, was "Oh thank god, I don't have to be social anymore", and then I discovered that the plan was for her to leave, and my roommate and I to stay. In my head I screamed, "No no no, take me with youuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!", until I realized I couldn't just abandon my roommate with two strangers, nice as they may be.
F**k.
So now I'm trying to figure out how to be a fifth wheel when there's only four people. As I'm pondering this, I realize the Saints Jersey guy has started talking to me more. In my head I started to yell again, mentally clawing the walls of my cozy anti-social cave as I got dragged kicking and screaming into the limelight, but ultimately I accepted my role as my roommate's Wing Man. Of course, I have no idea how to be this person, but that soon didn't matter, since the dynamic quickly turned to "Let's all gang up on Giovanna and see how much we can embarrass her", a game to which I'm very accustomed.
One of the running themes of the night was Try to Make Giovanna Drum, which I fought every step of the way, until it came time for Show and Tell. Motorcycle Drummer guy showed us all a fairly complex rhythm. Then Saints Jersey guy offered to show us a magic trick, said, "I'm going to make a drummer appear", and with a flourish, pointed at me. Ha ha ha. I finally relented when Motorcycle Drummer guy showed me a simple pattern that I followed while he put fill notes in. Fine fine, whatever.
Then it was my roommate's turn and she told a hilarious joke in this frigging spot-on Irish accent that shocked the shit out of me. I was completely impressed.
At one point Saints Jersey guy gave us a valuable piece of information he'd learned in his years working in Brazil, Mexico and Trinidad: when trying to determine how long a project is going to take, the time ratio is 1:7. Something that would take one hour (or one day, one week, one month) in the States will take seven hours (days, weeks, months) here. It's the 1 to 7 Ratio Rule.
Wish I knew that before I got here.
At another point Motorcycle Drummer guy tried to quietly tell me, without his buddy hearing, that he'd seen Cher in concert in 2008. But his friend overheard, and shockingly, immediately, without even blinking, said that he loved Cher. These were two longtime buddies in their late 40's, early 50's, oil workers from the South, who'd just found out they both loved Cher. I nearly died. You honestly couldn't script this shit.
We closed the place out, refusing to leave before Saints Jersey guy finished making the origami bird he demanded he could make (out of an 8.5x11 piece of paper he bribed the waitress to find for us). After several minutes of struggling, he ended up with a hilarious pile of messy folds that looked less like a bird and more like one of those paper fortune-telling games we all made our life decisions with when we were in middle school. We of course tortured him about this until he was forced, in his embarrassment, to try again, with the same piece of paper. The result was a more-recognizable pile of mangled folds, but still nothing like a bird. He said this was the worst one he'd made since the 7th grade, and I asked him if that was because it was the only one he'd made since the 7th grade. Then I demanded that I be allowed to take it home with me.
When we got to the car my roommate and I sat in the back, where we discovered two hard hats. In unison, we each donned one.
And apparently put them on backwards.
On the way home we stopped at a convenience store and my roomie gained my eternal respect when she allowed us to convince her to go into the store still wearing hers. I was so flipping proud of her.
The guys tried to get us to go to their sailboat and watch the sun rise with them, but I felt I'd done my part at this point and quickly assumed the role of Captain KillJoy. A glut of coaxing ensued, but I would not be swayed. I had reached my social saturation point.
When we got home, after a little girlfriend-deconstruction session, we each went to our rooms happy. It was a great, unexpected night. Then I decided I needed something to drink. I opened the fridge and saw that in its zeal to keep our food fresh, the fridge had turned my pitcher of iced tea into iced tea. Unthinkingly, I proceeded to violently shake the pitcher to clear the top layer of ice out of the way.
Do guess what happened next.
Yup. Two seconds later there was iced tea dripping from my hair, my face, both forearms, the pitcher, my feet, and two square feet of floor around me.
Again, you couldn't script this shit.
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