The Pens are going to the finals!!!
For this special occasion, I have decided to tell a story from last spring. I do hope that it brings a smile to your face.
Girls' night out. Me, Julie, Dara, Melissa, Sara, Cathleen, and some other lovely young ladies (yes, I suppose I did just refer to myself as lovely) headed out for a night on the town, ending up at Matrix, a 21+ den of dancing, alcohol, and sin that is oh-so addictive to the youthful twenty-somethings.
Sometime in the night, a group of guys "approached" us, if you will. Some of them danced with some of us. They sort of talked and flirted. There were a lot of them, and they moved about the dance floors, never committing to a particular group, but seeming to take interest in ours.
They were strange. It's hard to describe. They were all attractive, relatively well-dressed, and in notably good physical shape. But, they didn't actually approach us individually, they were joking and laughing to each other, and seemed more interested in themselves than in the ladies.
One in particular was an all out mess. Oddly enough, the most physically attractive of the bunch, he ran about grinding on any random girl, yelling things somewhat lacking in cohesion, and pulling his shirt up to reveal a sexy six-pack, which he subsequently rubbed on unsuspecting victims before taking off for another young lady.
I danced with this crazy gent for a while, while my friends looked on and laughed and cheered. He was fun, and funny, and--if he would just tone it down a bit--really quite attractive.
Then things took a turn. Mr. Crazy-abs turned into a flaming asshole as he pulled his torso revealing stunt on a woman then ran over to me to report that he had "Danced with a fat black girl." To this I responded, "You're a douche-bag; get away from me." I returned to my chic posse.
Also, Dara, likely miffed or at least confused by the boys' apparent interest in each other, asked them if they were gay. The response was as puzzling as it was hilarious: "No, we're hockey players."
The girls tossed out various responses, mainly to each other, not the strikingly large men with Eastern-European accents. Oooooo, athletes, yeah, that'll take you somewhere. Go Robert Morris (insinuating that they were players for a not so impressive college team).
The night ended a few hours later without the not so gentle men, rather uneventfully.
Two weeks later my phone rings as I'm walking down Craig. It's Dara.
Hey Shannon. Do you remember those guys at Matrix two weeks ago?
Ummm...Sort of, which ones?
The group of 'hockey players' and the one really crazy guy?
Oh, yeah, them. Sure, why?
Did you know they were the Penguins.
Yeah, the Pittsburgh Penguins. That crazy guy, you know, the one you called a douche-bad and told to get away from you, that was Maxime Talbot.
You have got to be shitting me.
And so, that's my special little connection to Pittsburgh's very own Stanley Cup hopefuls, the Penguins.