Monday

Typing that makes me think of the movie "The Shining," and along with the quote from Fight Club on the masthead - it occurs to me that I am probably less of a douche bag than I could be. But then again, people always tell me I sell myself short. That's not really that relevant, so let's move on. I will get to the wings, but we'll be taking the scenic route.

I had a conference call run late and left work about 2 hours later then I normally do. I arrived at bowling 2 frames into the first game. We were bowling against Cheeseplate's team. They have X-Ray. Just as an aside, and as much as I think X-Ray is a good guy, I'm not sure he should be allowed to bowl in our league. I mean, he has robotic knees (and probably a sophisticated pin targeting system.) I didn't realize I signed up for a league where I was going to be bowling against cyborgs. Anyways - X-Ray and his pin killing technology bowled really well. My captain - LAPSE (that's an acronym - Lance Armstrong's purchaser spandex e-bay - periods are for pussys [that was unintentional - I'm keeping it]...) wasn't able to keep up with X-Ray. We were swept, but as always, are already plotting our horrible revenge. At least we lost in a hurry - so we left the alley to head to the bar. I had to stop and pick up Big Cancer, but he lived along the way. (We bowl in Lawrenceville, he lives in Bloomfield, and the bar is in Shadyside.) Big Cancer is either 30 or 31 but does not have his drivers license. He just never got it. Weird - huh? Along the way, I noticed how they've really invested a lot into East Liberty. Gentrification for the win. They opened a lot of those smug ass yuppie stores for people that care about saving the whales or the world or something unselfish like that. To each their own I suppose.

So we arrived at Buffalo Blues. The lot across the street was empty. I was going to park there, but Cheeseplate warned me that my car would likely be towed. He's sensible like that. I ended up parking on the bridge. He had the shirts with him. They turned out really well. They've remodeled Buffalo Blues. I like what they did mostly. Lots more TV's. all high-def, but at the expense of some seating. We get a table for 10 - it takes a minute for them to set it up. LAPSE arrives as we are waiting. We head back into the room for wing eaters I guess. Or at least, the room for male wing eaters. That is ok - we're here to eat wings and take names - not to break hearts and get numbers. That's a good thing - as we're far more likely to be successful in the former endeavour compared to the later. Our waitress is named Sarah. I'd say she's cute - but I guess reasonable minds could differ on this point. She's impressed by my box of shirts, and seems interested in subscribing to my newsletter pertaining to the week of wings. I suppress the urge to be an asshole when she asked if I made the shirts. (I answer - "Well, I had them made", as opposed to "Yes, I actually have a cotton farm and a polyester factory, and a sweatshop overseas. God bless those hardworking Honduran Bastards.") No sense in annoying the waitress.

Now Buffalo Blues has very good wings, but they may have the best wing special of all time. That may be an oversell - but here it is: On Monday Nights, for every pitcher of beer you order, you get a free dozen wings. Seriously, if you live in Pittsburgh, like good wings and are going to a bar to watch MNF and don't go to Buffalo Blues, well then sir, I question your intelligence and the makeup of your general character. We order a pitcher of Miller Lite and one of Yuengling for the beer. For the wings, we start with Red Hot and Spicy Garlic. The waitress approves of the spicy garlic order. Thanks. The defending MVP of the week of wings, Double Down, had requested that we have some waiting for his arrival. I start passing out shirts. LAPSE tosses his on, as does Big Cancer. I throw mine on as well. Cheeseplate is just too cool to put his on. He's difficult like that. At bowling, all the yinzers were making fun of him for wearing a girls shirt, not totally unjustly, so why he is too cool for my awesome week of wings shirt is beyond me. Whatever. The beer arrives and is cold. I hadn't eaten dinner aside from some combos at the alley, and had drank beers while bowling - so I was hoping that the wings were going to be forthcoming, otherwise, I was going to get more fucked up than I intended. They arrive before too long and are very good. The chicken is consistently a high quality. Not once during the evening did I bite into one of those wings where it has an off taste or texture. The Red Hot wings are their standard Buffalo-style wing. While I like my wings very hot, I still thought these were very tasty, despite being of medium heat. They weren't claiming to be very hot, so they lose no points. The spicy garlic are umm, spicy and garlicy, I guess. Also very good. I may like them better.

Sarah asks if we need anything. I answer "world peace." Ouch. Terrible. I wasn't trying to work her, really, so I'm not even sure why I would answer anything cute. As I was saying it I realized it was terrible. Sort of an "age of enligthenment" moment. I actually look away as I say it. She tells me that she'll see what she can do. Big Cancer tells me that while that was terrible - he was proud of me letting it go. He tells me he's seen me chase bad lines/jokes before, and that I had apparently learned at least something. (I'm blaming the world peace thing on the gentrification - fuck it - I'm off to Whole Foods...)

The Fence and his brother, Juice, arrive. Double Down is right behind them. All of them get shirts. I try to pawn off a XXL on Double Down - but he isn't having it. They all toss on their shirts. Cheeseplate, ironically enough, is unwilling to stand alone, and finally puts his shirt on. Big Cancer claims his wife called that. Cheeseplate unwilling to wear the shirt until everyone else did. Good call. Two more pitchers are ordered - same beer. For the wings, we get some type of BBQ and another spicy garlic. I don't like BBQ as a flavor in general, so I forgo those wings. They all get eaten - so they must have been tasty. Peaches has arrived and also puts on his week of wings t-shirt. We look bad-ass. Ok, we look like a bunch of guys wearing the same t-shirt, but still...

Two more pitchers - the Yuengling is going much slower than the Miller Lite. I switch to Yuengling. I think we get Howling Wolf and Red Hot Parmesan. I don't remember what Howling Wolf was supposed to be. Someone help me out. I don't like parmesan wings in general, but these wings aren't covered to the point of being obnoxious. We're becoming too much work for just Sarah so she is getting help from another waitress. She's cute -I don't remember her name - let's call her Blondie. At this point, I'm probably close to drunk - so events may not have happened in this specific order or at all from this point on. We order more wings - red hot and 2 orders of spicy garlic. Sarah tells me that she is working on the world peace. Ouch.

Cheeseplate is still a little disappointed that I didn't have the shirts named/numbered. He's planning on bring a sharpie on Tuesday to mark up his shirt. The waitress hears that and says she has a sharpie. Someone suggests that she signs everyone's shirt. She's actually excited to do so. That's pretty cool. She shows her loyalty to her employer by tagging it with the restaurant name, the date and her signature. Well, except for Peaches' shirt, where she includes her phone number. He's a handsome devil, he is. I ask her to call Blondie over - she's also up to sign the shirts. She's less the model employee and more the narcissist, whereas she signs them "I'm awesome" along with her name. She includes her myspace page addy on Peaches' shirt. Seriously. It's probably too easy to make the joke about one being awesome and one having a myspace page as mutually exclusive, so I'll pass. One of the two have vandalized Juice's and Double Down's shirts, adding an eye patch, or a mohawk. Not sure I'd have allowed that, but again, to each their own. Peaches and Double Down decide to go mano y mano and order wings without beer. They are both going for that coveted MVP trophy. (Fuck - I have to find a trophy...) I drink some more and remember less. I wake up on my couch at 3:19 AM.

So, as far as the MVP race goes, Peaches learns you can't dance with the defending champ, you've got to knock his bitch ass out. Double down consumes 35 wings to Peaches 30. I top out with 20 (all drumsticks - rock on.) Big Cancer is around that amount too. Not sure about anyone else - help me out here.