A night with Samantha, the Sex Crazed Irishman, and Andre Agassi

DISCLAIMER: Please be advised that I may not have included every detail of this evening out. Also be advised that my order may not be sequentially accurate. Alcohol may have impaired my ability to recollect the exact times and order of events, but they DID happen.

Saturday night, Sam and I decided to go "in town" to manhunt and take advantage of $1.50 Bud light drafts at Daddy O's, one of our favorite pubs. Armed with hot outfits, just the right amount of lip gloss, and our authentic IDs, we were ready for a night out.

After arriving inside Daddy O's, we scoped out "the man scene." There was a tall cute guy that we liked, and we smiled and gave off our come-hither vibes. We also were busy admiring a group of cute guys, and one of them looked strikingly similar to Andre Agassi. I half expected Steffi Graf (his wife) to walk in as well. While we were looking sexy and smiling seductively at any half-decent man who looked our way, NO guys were buying us liquor or even talking to us. They were all too absorbed in the Yankees/Boston game. As I shouted in the ladies bathroom (that was the only place I could say it without the fear of being booed or shot): "Who gives a fuck about baseball?!"

We wandered upstairs to the almost empty dance floor and the blinding flourescent lights, where sadly, there was little dancing going on, except for a lone man. His name was James, and he was an older (40s) black man wearing a bucket hat, khaki shorts, and what looked to be hiking boots with white socks. He was the most out of place guy in the whole bar. He started shimmying and two steppin it on the dance floor while the crowd watched him, clearly entertained and amused.

Sam kept checking out a guy with an eyebrow ring, and suggested we approach him and talk to him, along with his asian friend. Of course, Sammy Jones gets to talk the cute, tall eyebrow ring guy (he looked just like this guy from Sam's theatre campu) and I get his asian friend. I have nothing against asian people, don't get me wrong! We actually had a a lovely conversation about college and the working world. But I quickly lost interest and was anxious to move on. Sam and I told the guys we were headed to the "bathroom" (Aka let's check out the cute guys downstairs). As we were walking back downstairs, I decided to stand on the steps and shout, "ANDREEE!! ANDRE AGASSI!!!" to the cute, bald guy who looked a lot like him. Standing there shouting ANDRE, slightly intoxicated with a cape codder and bud light in my belly, I don't know why I expected the man to acknowledge us or respond to Andre. Of course he didn't look up! We had to go down and yell that he looked like Andre. We couldn't even get near him because of the amount of bar stools/chairs/people. He apparently was freaked out because that was the second time that night someone said he looked like Andre. The girl who relayed the message to us said, "He's cute. Go talk to him." Yeah, we would if we could get within a ten feet radius. He was definitely Andre. Or maybe his long lost twin.

Somehow, while we were down there, Sam literally ran into this guy who started to talking to us. I thought the guy had a serious speech impediment, becuase all I heard him say was, "Me blannkin ye ginne." It was all gibberish to me. But gradually, the language barrier broke free and we could gather bits and pieces about him. He was from Ireland (hence the brogue, but not the speech impediment), and was visiting America and his last name was an O' something. We exchanged greetings and chatted for a bit, then went our separate ways. Sam and I were anxious to get back on the dance floor to move to "Sexy Back" and "Promiscious Girl."

Upstairs, on the dance floor, we started grooving until Sam was pulled away by what seemed to be a skeevy guy. Another guy came up to me, pointed at the guy Sam was dancing with, and said, "He has AIDS." "How do you know?" I asked. "You can just tell. There's a big AIDS sign written all over him," he commented. Then he complained, "You're her friend, you're supposed to protect her." "I am," I retorted. "I am standing two feet away and watching her closely, making sure he doesn't slip her a roofie." Sam escaped skeevy guys' grip on her and we danced some more. Then, out of nowhere we saw our Irish friend. He came over and proceeded to talk more gibberish..."Ye ankee me blaten" and "Sonna like ya annon." We asked him to do an irish jig and he tore up the floor with his rendition that could have rivaled Riverdance and Michael Flatley as Lord of the Dance.

He then started to dance with us. I thought he was a friendly, respectable Irish man, but I quickly found out I was COMPLETELY wrong. With my back to him, he grabbed me and pushed me closer, which is fine, but then he reached for my underwear (or, as victoria's secret insists "panties") and pulled them up. So yes, at one point his hands were inside of my jeans pulling my underwear. Is that sexy? No. Is that acceptable? No. Is that even respectful? Of course NOT. I was extremely annoyed and pushed him away. Some background info first. Because I hadn't done laundry for a good two weeks, I was down to my absolute last pair of underwear. They were probably the most UNSEXY thing ever created. I had purchased them years ago in a fit of desperation, and they were my good ol' hanes her ways high cut briefs purchased at Wal-Mart. It was underwear fit for a forty year old hick on welfare. It was, in essence, my reserve underwear that I only break out for utter emergencies. So yes, it was quite a Bridget Jones moment as he grabbed them and pulled them up, as he must have had to pull them up a mile, definitely over my belly button and probably near my rib cage to get the full "high cut" brief effect. I was beyond mortified and of course could not share that info. with Sam at the time. I'm hoping the Irish man was too drunk to notice.

He danced with Sam as well, and she was extremely annoyed at him as he kept wanting to kiss her. I snapped a great photo of those two. Probably the most flattering thing the Irish man said that I could ACTUALLY understand was, "Are you two related? You sort a look alike." I considered that a great compliment, because Sam is gorgeous and petite and I was shocked to be compared or likened to her. We definitely look differently though, Sam has olive skin and blue eyes, while I have fair skin and brown eyes. We have different body types too, but I guess it is our dark hair and our smiles that Irish man must have seen through his druken haze.

On our way to escape him, we ran into the guy who warned us about the AIDS man earlier, and he said, "I like you. I like your friend. I don't want you to get AIDS." We of course had to get a photo with him, and gave him a high five. We're not sure if he's gay or straight. Either way, he was AWESOME.

As we left Daddy O's, we reflected on how the night was definitely interesting, but not the best. Certainly, my expectations were higher and I wasn't counting on the stupid baseball game to ruin some of our fun. But all in all, running into Andre Agassi and escaping molestation from an Irish man was kind of a big deal. And of course, having more memorable info for our blog made it worthwhile!