Friday, March 17th 2006 - A day which will live in the annals of drunken douchbaggery...
All day Friday when someone would ask "What are you doing tonight for St. Pat's?", I'd swear up and down that the LAST place I wanted to be was at the bar with all of the drunken novices. I would then explain how that day was a 'perfect storm' scenario involving the following factors:
- St. Patrick's Day
- The NCAA tournament
- Friday
- Tourist starting to file into town for the fucking cherry blossoms
The preceding factors spelled out a pretty shitty scene out at the bar, so I was determined to sit this one out.
Around 4PM my buddy Steve gave me a call to see if I wanted to grab a quick one. What the hell, I haven't seen Steve in awhile - It'd be good to catch up over a beer (or two). I made it abundantly clear that I wanted to be far clear of the bar by 6PM when the work crowd started filing in, Steve agreed (he had to be home to his family by 6:30), and it was on.
We get to the bar; have a couple, and then Steve leaves. It's getting crowded, so I decide to finish my beer, and slip out.
Then came the shots.
My friend Lyn came in with her mom (visiting from London), grabbed me and forced me at gunpoint to drink a round of shots with them.
You need a chaser for the whiskey, so I order another beer. Now that I have a full beer, and Lyn was nice enough to buy me a shot, it would be rude to split without catching up.
Another round appears out of nowhere.
Plus, her mom is here from the UK, and I'm (in my mind after the second round of Jameson's) a goodwill ambassador of sorts. It's my job to make sure the Limeys are having the time of their lives, and I wouldn't want the Europeans to think that we Americans are uncivilized.
This involves me buying another round of whiskey shots, and another beer (all of a sudden the one I just ordered had emptied... must have spilled, or something).
BARKEEP!
Anita and Jes entered the bar and came over. They got there just in time to catch my charming soliloquy on the fall of the British Empire, and how in the spirit of the holiday we should go steal the drinks from those Irish faggots who were singing "Danny Boy" over in the corner.
I was doing a bang-up job of good-will ambassador, and was sure that the queen of England would be sure to give me a commendation once she heard of my servitude. So good, in fact, that I felt obligated to order another round of shots.
It was sometime around here that something weird happened it was either:
a) I was abducted by a UFO, cryogenically frozen for the remainder of the evening, replaced by a replicant with severe behavioral problems, and later had those memories implanted into my suspended conscience
-or-
b) An evil wizard cast a spell on me, reversing my personality from 'Charming Rogue' to 'Surly Jackass'
Anyway, things kinda' get "fuzzy" around this time:
- I remember moving down to the basement bar in order to fortify a good drinking stronghold.
- I remember that I decided that Jes would be my "stunt-girlfriend" for the night, which (apparently) involves doing shots and being picked up and spun around over my shoulder.
- I remember getting into it with some yuppie types because they were wearing green, which I claimed was tha gang color 'o' the Paddy McGuiness Street Brotherhood, who killed my brother.
- I remember screaming and laughing at the same time.
- I remember people buying me shots as 'peace offerings'.
At about 11PM The Girl calls with the obligatory "where the fuck are you, you said you'd be home 4 hours ago you asshole" call.
I figured that I had probably an equal chance of getting shot at the bar or getting shot at home, so I paid off the tabs (plural) and staggered out the door.
I didn't puke on the train!?!
I got home, and was still in surly-overdrive. The dog went and hid in the bathtub, and the girl wandered off to bed while I was mid rant about something.
Who needs them? I can have fun all by myself.
I poured a glass of Maker's, opened a Bass Ale, and woke up on the couch 6 hours later.
It might have been a shitty night to go out drinking, but I OWNED that fucker.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to correlate the subpoenas which I acquired that evening.
6 comments:
All drunken horror stories start the same way. "I just stepped out for a quick one." How many times have I said that... to a cop?
I at least hope you didn't drink any green piss-water. I would lose all respect for you then.
He did drink green piss water, he just doesn't remember. I fed it to him myself after he flung me over his head like a hellicopter...thanks again for another night of, "just one beer, Jes"
'Nuf said.
I said I didn't want to drink with the amatuers, and you said you would come home at 6:30 because you didn't either. Then you don't come home and make it out like I'm the bad guy because I called you to see WHAT YOU WERE DOING? Then you come home and start bitching me out for no reason?
Next time you are out at the bar without me, would you like me to call you and say all those things that you wrote? Because if you want me too, I will. I don't want you to have to lie anymore.
re: Next time you are out at the bar without me, would you like me to call you and say all those things that you wrote? Because if you want me too, I will. I don't want you to have to lie anymore.
You called and asked where the hell I was, and that's all I wrote. What I SHOULD have written is that I got home and found you smeared with feces eating a live chicken. Now THAT'S some good lyin'.
In The Girl's defense, I was in a foul mood and harangued her endlessly once I got home. My bad.
In The Girl's defense, I was in a foul mood and harangued her endlessly once I got home. My bad.
that's why you get a bitchy comment from me one your blog.
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