So, on to other happenings. As you know, this past weekend was Remembrance Day, which I enjoyed immensely. Dave Dull had lost his Nextel a few weeks ago, so neither Matt nor I could get ahold of him for any details, so I met up with Matt on the ‘ol fitty John street and we rode up there together. Our plan was to just bar-hop for a while and hope we ran into anyone from the 6’th. Well, lemme tell ya, it worked! Matt decided that our first stop would be The Gingerbread Man being as it was last years most popular Friday night haunt. Not only did we find them, but we had to force the door open because ALL of the 6th were standing right in front of the alley entrance drunk as a legion of sailors swimming in a rum puncheon. Our entrance was quite a comical scene, if you ask me!!! You shoulda seen it, Jesse! Matt and I push our way in and are instantly recognized by Tom who, not realizing in his inebriated state how much his voice travels,
exclaims at the top of his lungs “LOOK HONEY!!!!…….VAGABONDS!!!!! Heads turn toward us and Matt and I are soon drowning in hand-shakes, how-ya-beens, good-to-see-you’s, glad-ya-made-it’s, and beer (Grolsch German Lager was my primary selection for the evening). I believe Matt indulged himself in Becks. So, after that comes the normal small talk, mostly comprised of “whutcha-been-up-to” and “how-is-and-have-you-heard-from-Jesse”. Hence, you can guess at the rest of the night. You’ve seen, you’ve heard, you know. The only other portion outside the norm was when John Cappazzo pulled everyone out into the alley to read aloud the letter you sent to him and the rest of the unit. Your address was then passed around and Z vowed to post it in the members area of the company website. Expect an influx of letters from them. However, don’t worry…..I made sure that everyone knew to send only small envelopes and certainly no care packages (because the DI’s inspect them) unless you were to specifically request anything. Of course, HAHA….the jokes begin flying about how one person will send you an enormous box with a black rubber cock in it, or someone else will send an oversized “Happy Kwanza” card, or the next person will send an autographed portrait of their hairy ass in a “Thinking of You” card. You know the routine.