You know it has been a good night...

When you can't really recall everything that happened (or at the very least you tell yourself that until you find out exactly what bridges you burned and how much excelerent you used).
So in case you haven't already guessed I woke up this "morning" (ha) with a few blank spots in my memory about the activities of the night before. However, with a little detective work I have begun to put together the pieces.

I found the clothes I wore yesterday crumpled up on the floor and smelled them, they reeked of cigarettes & beer - no baby powder, thank god (I don't smoke, and only have one friend up here who does - so bam part of the puzzle solved).
I then rifled through my pockets & wallet for any clues as to where we had been. Bingo: receipt for a bowling alley and a print out of my game: we were bowling.

Now I know some of you right now are wondering how the hell you get that tanked at a bowling alley - well the bowling alley we frequent is actually a very well stocked bar, that's open till 3am every night, with 8 lanes of bowling in the back. It's hell on weekends but during the week, it's just regulars (and random alcoholics). We also get great service as we know all the bartenders by name.
I even can trace where the night went wrong from the time stamps on my print out. The first three games all was well as I was having a good night averaging 120. At the fourth game things clearly started going down hill and by the 2:30am mark I was bowling a 56.

So since I can't really entertain you with the story of my shenanigans at the alley last night. I will relate, something that happened to me a couple of weeks ago while I was there.

It's around 1am and I'm a little hammered and at the jukebox, wondering why the hell they don't have any Beatles songs and only one album of Parliament Funkadelic. When out of nowhere this blonde haired woman sitting right beside the jukebox turns to me and asks, real seriously: "Do you listen to your heart, or to your head."

Now in case the picture over the the right doesn't give you an adequate idea, I'm a big guy with a propensity for Hawaiian shirts, who at that moment had clearly been drinking and was singing "Make my funk the p-funk..." under my breath. So this question is a bit surprising.
Now if I remember correctly I responded something along the lines of: "it depends on the situation. For example my heart doesn't know shit about investing, so I'm not going to let it tell me how to spend my money" (oh I'm so witty when I'm drinking).
So she giggles and then proceeds to get serious again and ask me about relationships - and if it's more important to follow your head or your heart. I believe my conclusion was there's probably a reason your head is in charge, so don't completely ignore it, but chances are it's more of a pussy than your heart and you should keep that in mind and not let fear get in your way.
She thanks me profusely, telling me how she will follow her heart, and runs to join her male friend who is paying at the bar. I finish at the jukebox (and realize that she distracted me so much I put in Prince's Raspberry Beret twice somehow) and then return to my seat at the lane - feeling proud for just having done my good deed for the week, when suddenly an idea hits me.

What if I just sent this crazy drunk girl back to an abusive boyfriend? I mean she was asking things like: what if you know it's a mistake, but you still love someone - and - I'm afraid to be with him, but I'm also afraid to be without him - and my friends tell me I'm crazy. I mean it could be a possibility - she is definitely not a good judge of character if she's asking relationship advice off a drunk stranger in a bowling alley. I might have just talked this woman into staying with someone who beats her unconscious every other night.

Then I think - holy shit what if she's in a cult where everyone has to marry the leader? I might have been her one ticket out, and my drunk ass sent her right back on her way to the Koolaid social planned for later that morning.
A million of these scenarios start flying around in my mind - maybe the guy is a serial killer and likes her to watch - or perhaps he has a sexual fetish that involves reenacting scenes from Schindler's List - or a LARP'er for god's sake.

Then, just as I stand and am about to go drunkenly search the bar for her to rescind my words and beg her to follow her head, I see her walking to the door smiling arm in arm with a handsome young black male.
And I think to myself "Aha! Mystery solved: her friends and her are just a bit racist" and begin to sit back down.
When suddenly the "logical" part of my brain jumps in (please keep in mind - I'm really drunk though all of these thoughts) and I leap to my feet realizing that I was the one being a bit racist and he could still be a part of any of the millions of scenarios running through my mind and she might still be on her way to a poisoned Koolaid social, or to get the crap knocked out of her if dinner is a little cold, (though the serial killer one is out statistically speaking), etc, etc.
But it's too late - they're already gone into the night and I missed my chance.

The moral of this tale I suppose is, as the Musical Avenue Q states, Everyone's a little bit racist sometimes.
And perhaps only slightly less important: don't ask a strange drunk guy in a Hawaiian shirt hanging out in a bowling alley at 1am about love.