GolfHos

Thanks for volunteering to risk meeting the grim shadow of existence that is Aske,  Clive.


Metup at D+B Waterfront, PGH, PA.   Clive was a few late due to some crappy navigation and my poor directions.  No Biggie.   He had some Guiness and I downed a few rum and diets (actually a lot I think, he seemed amazed I put them away so quick).   Lots of fun discussion of local PGH stuff , and Clive couldn't bear to watch the Pats-Ravens replay that was running on NFLNet replay.  At least looking away we could watch the Pens pull out the OT win against the Caps.

 [sm_beertoast]

aske on figs: 3 years, no meetups
aske on golfhos: 15 months, 3 meetups

 [sm_shock]

Cool.  Did Clive revert to a 'burgh accent while in town?

he didn't say yinz or n'at   once
 [sm_shock]

Sweet!   [sm_beertoast]

Wow, Aske gets around.  [sm_shock]

Wow, that's like Jimmy Neutron meets Ken Jennings or something.   :o :D

Well done lads.

Every time I hear a successful men meeting men story on the interwebs I get a tear in my eye.   :'(

A successful Clive meeting men story on the interwebs usually results in a tear in something else.   :o

[sm_devil]

LOL  a tear in my beer

 [sm_beertoast]

More evidence to convince my wife that you all aren't serial killers.  ;D

I think.

I thought that was the reason that he likes his chaps assless--so that it doesn't get torn.

Aske and I exchanged a few PMs about possibly meeting up while in Pittsburgh.  I put off a meet time as long as possible, hoping that things would work out and we’d not find the time.  Alas, he cleared his schedule and my family obligations ended on time (marking the first time I ever wished that family time would drag on endlessly).  I’d called fifteen minutes prior to the appointed hour, proferring some BS about things running over and hoping he’d get the hint.  But he only murmured an incantation of some kind—something about entrails, hail and kill, followed by a giggle—and said he’d wait.  Sigh.

I arrived some ten minutes early and sat in my car, debating whether or not to go through with it.  How bad could it be?  I mean, I survived JDerion—I should be able to handle this.  And so I doused myself liberally with Betadine, climbed out of the Subaru, then marched resolutely toward the entrance of the “D+B”, as he’d called it.

Aske had written that he’d not be hard to recognize.  Truer words and all that.  As I reached the doors, I spied a skinhead sitting on a bench inside.  Aryan Pride meeting, I gathered.  Then the skinhead turned and I saw the square, reddish beard, reminiscent of that sported so elegantly by Victor Buono as “King Tut” on Batman.  I came through the door and veered over.  He rose, and I was treated to a full view of his long, full cassock, of a rich greyish eggplant.  Breathtaking.  I straightened my sweater, smoothed my poodle skirt, and extended a hand.

We sized each other up, then headed immediately to the bar to order drinks.  Guinness, I said; Bacardi and Diet Coke, he said.  Apparently, I was harder on his system than he was on mine.  We chatted about my drive over, I made up an involved excuse about being late, I played the doting parent and talked overlong about my kid.  And then to the goods: Steelers, Pittsburgh, careers, and all the freaks on Golfhos.

One of the main screens above us was showing an NFL Network broadcast of the Patriots-Ravens game, in which Baltimore was winning.  I was really getting into it, hoping that Baltimore would snap the Patriots’ winning streak.  We talked briefly about NFL Network and Aske mentioned that they showed the games without commercial breaks, etc., jumping straight from tackle to snap.  About an hour into it, a light went off in my head.  “Wait, this game was already played?”  “Yeah.”  “Last Sunday?”  “No, like five weeks ago.”  I’d managed to think that NE was facing BAL again and the Ravens were battling them just as tight the second time around.

At another point, a woman a couple seats over lit a cigarette.  My mind flitted from her lighter to Aske’s Bacardi, then to the two together, then to Aske on fire.  I wondered: would anyone piss on him?

At some point after 11, we realized the lateness of the hour and called it a night.  There was an awkward moment when he went for the handshake while I went for the kiss, then he went for the kiss while I reached for the handshake.  Finally, we both laughed and then embraced.  Through the robe, I’m pretty sure that I could feel a good deal of metal (at least, I think it was metal); it may well be that Aske, like Darth Vader, is more machine than man.  Nonetheless, the hug was dreamy, in the same way that Supperman’s eyes are dreamy, or that Uisce’s are not.

Ultimately, it was a treat.  A great evening spent with a very nice young man.  (Sorry, dude, the secret’s out.)

Supperman beats me at everything.  He's my Troy Peterson.   :(

Poor Aske.  3-and-0 on the 'very nice young man' thing. 

 :sad3:

I remember Ravens v. Pats and I was paralytic at the end of the Tufted Puffin bar. 

*humid grotto*.

(http://www.alexanderpalace.org/gilliard/images/rasputin2.jpeg)

lol. GHMMMOTI, ruining online personae one encounter at a time.

I met puttnfool once.

That's cool! 8)

Rah-rah- Rasputin Russias greatest love machine... errr umm something like that, what in the heck song is that from?

Ps. Man that Clive sure gets around, he's starting to rival Supperman for man to man hookin' up!

Rasputin, yeah man.

Rasputin.  Blood.  Cassocks.  Cossacks.  Turnips. 

Serendipity.