Pub Crawl?! What Pub Crawl?

So here's the deal. For the past three years, I've organized the Willie Pub Crawl, an evening of drunken debauchery and general mayhem shared with my circle of friends. In 2001, we ran rampant in the streets of Miramichi, apparently smashing a beer bottle over someone's head in the process (at least, that's what the moron who accosted us seemed to think). In 2002, we took the show on the road, and F-city has never been the same (okay, I suppose it kind of has). Last year, we brought it back to the roots, hitting the 'chi harder than a whore on payday.

And as for this year? There is no pub crawl.

See, I'm going to be 28 years old on the 18th. The time for wandering aimlessly from bar to bar in a drunken stupor seems... I don't know... behind me, I guess. Call it maturity, delusional musings of a mind that's much too sober, whatever you want. What it all boils down to is that I don't see the allure of saving every last penny I have to drive a car that needs engine work 2-1/2 hours across the province just so I can get drunk and make an ass out of myself, then have to bother someone for a place to crash, get up the next morning, spend my last five bucks on breakfast, come home hungover and penniless five days before payday.

Granted, I really wanted to see gNosh play again, as they're always mucho bueno. But, I've decided (after much deliberation) to keep the bash closer to home. Besides, as the vast majority of my friends are in the 'chi, and wouldn't be able to make the trip to F-city, it just kind of makes sense to kick it at the homestead. That way, instead of getting wasted with a few select friends, I can get wasted with MOST of my friends.

Anyway, the tentative plan is to have ourselves a barbecue on the 15th of May (that'd be a Saturday) at a yet unconfirmed location (trust me, we're working on it and it's 95% at this point; you don't really think I'd dangle a steak in front of your face and then yank it away, do you?... okay, you're right). Follow that up with some more drinking, some rock n' roll blasting from the stereo, and a game of cards or two is bound to break out. And, for some strange reason, that seems a hell of a lot more fun to me than paying cover charge + $3.50 a drink to spend the night in a darkened room full of sweaty, barely legal cheerleader wannabes.

I think I'm gay.