Every Wednesday the husband drags a few of his work slaves over to a local pub for a drinking session that's theraputic as hell for keeping everyone from going postal at his place of employment. They're a funny group of people who happen to be working on something so craptacular, it's mind-boggling. I encourage the husband to do this...after all, if I'm going to go to derby activities anywhere from 3 to 7 nights a week, he had better be able to have a life, too. He's managed to make this weekly event worth noting at his work...one of his nicknames is the Leader of the Drunk Scouts.
The husband has told me in the past that I should skip practice and come out drinking with him and the coworkerbees. He seemed to think that I'd actually add to the fun quotient. Well, last night was the proving ground for that theory, since I blew off practice(still can't skate anyway so why go?)and rode the bicycle to the pub.
3 Long Island Ice Teas, 3 Irish Car Bombs, some pub food and a Sharpie later, and the husband's crew was covered in drunken doodles. I also tagged the bartender. She was pretty cool about it even though she had no idea what she was getting herself into.
This-here picture is just disturbing. In case you can't tell, the guy who has his shirt pulled up has a tatdoodle on his stomach. Poor bastard.
Here's a nice cross-section of some of my handiwork, as well as the efforts of the other redhead in the group:
Luckily(?!)for me, I have to be at derby practice on Wednesdays for most of May. I don't think my liver would be able to manage a weekly abuse session like last night.