19 posts tagged “drinking”
Uck! I actually had to, you know, work at work today. It fully harshed on my mellow. No matter, though, The Weekend is about to begin, which pretty much solves all my problems.
On Tarwoj, on Bigej, on Emon, and Vet's Hall. Now Snakepit, now Beer Garden, now Music Fest; drink away, drink away, drink away, all!!
Oh, muchachos. This weekend's pool party almost defies description. But not quite, really, since I'll be attempting to descibe it now.
When Sunday finally rolled around, I was so excited to be done with practicing our dance, um, I mean, for the party that I actually got there on time. Usually when that happens I'm pretty bored for about an hour, but not so on this occasion. No! How could I be suffering from ennui when we were dancing within minutes of my arrival? I knew then what the night had in store, or at least, I thought that I did. People slowly started to trickle in as it got dark, and I have to say that it was really, really cute how excited the birthday boy and event planner were about the lights. They kept saying things to each other like, "Do you think it's dark enough for the pool lights?" and, "God! the dance floor lights are bangin'!" Cuuuute. Then we did a couple tequila shots and the night truly began!
Predicably, once we got a few shots in us, more sounded like a helluva good idea, so we brought out the luges. Not for this birthday boy a crude, hand carved luge. Oh, no - these were molded, wavy tracked works of art. Since these were tandem luges, couples and rando pairs of people queued up for the chance to have some alcohol slide down their throats with barely a whisper. And when I say people lined up, I mean a lot of people. Everyone was crowed around the ice like kindergardeners at a kitten givaway. Except for the new couple who had just arrived on-island. They just looked confued, and not a little bit frightened. Welcome to Kwaj, fuckers!! Hahahaha! Anyways, as with the last go round with the luges, the birthday boy, the holy one, the event planner and I were partaking the most often. In fact, PC was getting so drunk that he hauled out the most ginormous bottle of Henessy that I've ever seen and was passing it out to all and sundry. No wonder he had to write to everyone a couple of days later to figure out where all his liquor all went.
Even though I was taking shots, I was still trying to be a little bit careful not to get hammered, because I had to do our awesome dance routine later. We were waiting for people to start dancing, but they wouldn't budge. Everyone was either clustered around icy magnificence or sitting in groups with their friends. I swear, looking out across the deck was like getting a visual lesson about who hangs with who in what clique. Sure, we're all friends and have great good fun together, but when it comes down to it, there are people who matter more to each other; it was funny to see it laid out so clearly in table arrangements.
Then, dum dum DUM. It was time for the dance. That is, after we collected all of our members; one of us got a leetle bit too tap hackled and dipped home. We finally tricked people out onto the floor by saying that it was for "PC's birthday" and that to celebrate everyone needed to come and get jiggy with it. HaHA - fooled you all! When it came time, PC shooed everyone off the floor as we danced to our positions and then got the fuck down. I do have to say that I think we did fucking awesome; we nailed it - cold. It was really great to perform, too, after all the practicing that DC and I had done all week. People were yelling and clapping; we were a huge hit. I loved every second of it. The only sour note was my outfit. Lured into complacency by an earlier conversation with a more sober Ninja Slipper (his choice of nickname - not mine), I was standing near him a couple of songs before the routine. He noticed that my shirt was cut to show some cleavage and decided that the neckline wasn't nearly daring enough. He proceeded to rip it down to my bellybutton in two passes as I tried valiantly to slap his hand away. Good thing I was wearing my bathing suit under the tank top, otherwise I would have been SUPER, SUPER PISSED. As it was I wasn't what you would call thrilled, but what are you going to do at that point? It's laugh or pout, and I'm not the sulky type.
After the formal dancing was over we then spent about two solid hours dancing our ever loving asses off. I looked like I'd been through a trainwreck by the end of it, but who cares about that petty shit? Drunk The C was in full on entertaining mode, and that's pretty much all anyone needs to have a good time. Along with the other refugee from the boatshack, me and about thirty of my closest friends sweated until we couldn't sweat no more. Then things got a little crazy. The C decided that it was high time that people started getting in the pool, and he was gonna make sure that happend by throwing innocent dancers right into the water. I only escaped due to the camera in my pocket; he was determined! TP even did a full on layout on the deck to try to resist, but to no avail. She went in regardless. I thought myself safe, but a canny Surfer Girl was watching; the minute my camera and I parted comany - in the drink I went. Pretty much everyone went into the pool - willingly or no. It was an epidemic, one which some people were pretty indignant about. Angry enough, in fact, to provoke a fight with Dorothy - someone who should never, ever be trifled with. That fight, of course, provoked andother mini fight, one that was just serious enough for the holy one to start showing the Mel Gibson Crazy Eyes. Luckily nothing came of it, and we were able to get everyone calmed down with no further fisticuffs thrown. It was, to say the least, dramatic.
The night just kind of tapered off after the many forced pool entrys and the subsequent shenanigans. I don't mean to say that it ended, but it did devolve back into the groups sitting and talking about nothing whatsoever. We must have calmed everyone down a little too much. Either that or the punch/flammable fruit kicked in. After all the stock was depleted, people trickled out just as they'd trickled in hours before. It was a grand night; a superb party. I wasn't even hungover the next day!!! Now that's living.
PC, may your next birthday be as much fun as this one, wherever you're living at the time.
I was all prepared for the St. Patty's day celebration at the Vet's to be an exercise in wonderfully hyper lunacy. Instead it was more of an exercise in mediocrity. Seriously - the most exciting thing that happened was when one of the crazy marrieds got her husband to take down the festive green banner for me to keep as a souvenir. Which I was completely geeked about, actually. So that was fun, and, well, the beer pong was pretty sweet, too. I could have used some air conditioning, but I betcha I lost a couple of pounds while I was sweating out of every pore on my body. I then proceeded to put it right back on with that drink that is the all and everything - beer. Though it was of the non-green variety (roomie - I don't care what you say - it IS the food coloring that gives you a wicked bad hangover) I still felt very festive after about, oh, ten cans or so. Still, I was expecting capacity crowds and beer pong that extended at least a little after the tournament and a hell of a lot of fun. While it was an okay night, the reality fell far short of my expectations.
The real St. Patty's Day, though, did not disappoint in any way, shape or form. As is traditional, I spent it over at Lando and TP's house. Less traditionally, the celebration started at ten in the morning and involed Irish breakfast and coffees. Mmm, the only thing that could make coffee in any way palatable is whiskey, so I added lots of it. And it was deliciously intoxicating. I was pretty much on an even keel until evil Lando waved temptation under my nose and got KL and I to do a shot of Jameson. My bad girl in training got caught in the crossfire, and she bore up under the strain like a champ when we did not one but two shots of whiskey. My young Paduwan comported herself brilliantly - I was so proud. Muahahahahaha!!! Another corruption complete.
More of the same followed. While we sat around the backyard and talked, many carbombs were downed and many shots were undertaken. V brought her homemade Irish creme, and even though she refuses to give out the recipe, I'm always glad to see the thousand calorie a sip stuff. LL brought the fluffy ducky and while we were all cooing over her Lando was busy brewing up more dastardly mixes in the kitchen for us to imbibe. It was the perfect mix of family and utter inebriation. It's funny, this year was definitely less populated than other years past, but it didn't bother me one little bit. You would think it would, considering that that was my complaint of the Vet's Hall, but this was different in ways I can't explain.
By mid afternoon I was pretty well pie-eyed, but not nearly as bad as KL, who, as he predicted, was the first to arrive and the first to pass out. The tides of the day washed people in and out, and all of them left a little merrier than they'd arrived. Slainte (and all it's approximations) was heard being yelled regularly as the volume and gaiety gradually increased. There was defintely a core of people hitting the holiday bottle that day, and according to Lando, the 15-20 of us drank the following:
4 and 1/2 case of Guiness
1+ cases of rando beer
3 and 1/2 bottles of Jameson
3 bottles of Bailey's Irish Creme
1 bottle of Kahlua
Finally and strangely 1/2 a bottle of Chambord
Priceless.
That's not even counting the massive amounts of delicious food that we ate nor does it account for the alcohol we don't know about or forgot to include. Goddamn, I said goddamn!!
The best part of the day, though, was getting to spend all day here with the people that I really love. The drinking and resulting hilarity was only a great, grand and wonderful bonus. I suppose that accounts for my differeng reactions to the crowds on my two St. Patty's Day celebrations. In the end, the people make all the difference.
Cilantro!
Oh, this one's going to go down in my fucking history books. The stupidest stunt in a looooong line of stupid stunts. Let me 'splain.
In traditional fashion, we were all at the softball field sucking down beers and heckling the players while trying to keep salty coral dust from choking or blinding us. The wind is quite chilly, too, especially for the thin blooded. I'm sure we, or at least I, looked quite the asshole with long winter sleeves and sunglasses on. Oh the struggles that our tropical weather produces, sigh. I bet you don't feel very sorry for me, do you? Wardrobe issues aside, things were going just swimmingly until that nine run inning. I really thought that my boys were going to pull this one out, but alas, it was not to be. Not much you can do with hits like that, I told them. But they were determined to be despondant, which actually kind of worked out in the long run, seeing how they were ready to pop open many cold ones before the night drew to a close.
So, by the time all the beers were harvested from the coolers, those of us softball soldiers who were still hearty enough to stick around were feeling pretty merry. I personally was just merry enough to think that the boatshacks sounded like a smashingly good idea. On a Thursday. Damn that Chrancy for twisting my arm (well, okay, maybe it was merely a suggestion/question), and getting me to pedal down there. Now, at this point things were still well in hand. I was feeling good, but by no means would I have labelled myself smashed or trashed. After all, the first couple of trips to the bathroom were actually to a real bathroom - the perpetually unlocked boy's room at the SBM. It was after a couple of hours of storytelling and reminiscing that things got a little dicey.
I started to feel that the five second bike ride to the marina was just too, too much to handle and was taking shortcuts. Most of you know what I mean, but for those of you who don't; there is a spot where we all go that's shady enough to do our business unseen and also one that's much closer to the party. It happens to be off the edge of a deck. Pssst, remember that - it will be important later. I had "used the facilities" a couple of times without incident, and the night still seemed young. We were having a ball, talking about all that had been and the antics of friends long PCSed. I also smoked about a million cigs, and that should have told me that I was far drunker than I thought.
Happily unaware of my inebriated condition, off I traipsed once again to relieve myself. Hopping down off the deck, I dropped trou and got to it. Soon, though, horrified that I might have felt a droplet splash my ankle, I hastily widened my stance. Because, EW, right? It was my fastidiousness that proved my literal downfall, though. For as I widened my stance, I leaned over a little too far and felt an alarming wobble in my balance. Panic immediately stopped me in mid-stream. As the wobble became the beginning of a pitch forward into the ditch/lagoon, I reached out desperately to stop my headlong tumble into nasty territory. Unfortunately, the trashcan that I grabbed hold of was completely empty and skidded out from under my hand, further upsetting my precarious situation. Having lost my one shot at recovering gracefully, I flew forward, only stopping the fall with my face. Against the deck. In fact, my head hit so hard (with a loud and hollow THUNK!) that my headband sailed off my head and into the somewhat icky water below. After confusedly thinking - "my sunglasses!" - (since that's what's usually holding my hair back) I realized that I was kneeling on blessedly dry ground, bare assed, and that my eye hurt a lot.
Fearful, I went back up to where the boys were (after I got my pants back on, natch) to see how serious the damage was. Quaveringly asking, "Is it bad??" I uncovered my left eye. I got the non-verbal reaction of HOLY GOD AND SONNY JESUS WHAT IN HELL DID YOU DO TO YOURSELF?!?! Basically the guys jumped a mile and scrambled to get first aid, pronto. After we'd figured out that it wasn't quite as bad as it looked, we decided that we'd had enough fun for one evening and closed up shop. I guess it's not a party until someone splits their face open!
Here I am, now, several days removed, and I can only marvel that I have one small cut under my eye. No bones broken, no damage done to my actual eyeball. I may be an asshole (for this and many other reasons), but I'm a damn lucky one.
SHE. NAN. I. GANS. Shenanigans. That's what Saturday night abounded with. For a long time here on this blog I've been feeling kind of tired. You know, like a housewife with four sets of twins. You love your labors, but goddamn could you use a friggin' break! I couldn't understand why I wasn't inspired to write like I had been when I first started this thing. I thought that it was just my typical laziness catching up to me, but lo and behold, after Saturday I realized it's because the parties that I've been going to have been flipping BORING! Or at the very least run of the mill. Big M and I were talking about the state of things lately, and he came to the exact same conclusion, saying, "We used to have so much fun, but now we just get tanked." I couldn't agree more, oh, party swami. Thank goodness, then, that the seventies party at the Vet's on Saturday filled our hollow hearts with all that we've been missing.
The evening started out typically enough, with me running late due to unauthorised Guitar Hero usage. Consequently, by the time I got on my way I was hauling ass trying to make up some time that I had wasted with about four " just one more song" songs. Well, as I arrived at the Vet's, I leaped off my bike in a skidding, hopping monument to grace (a patented move), aaand just managed not to plant a facer in the gravel. I must remember to account for velocity. Sigh. I then blew by some good friends who tried to say hello to me, screeching, "I gott go find C and J - I'm super late!!" It was only after I found them and did my whassups that things calmed down for a while. Tasty way to start the night, huh? Fuck's sake - I have to get a handle on my GH addiction - it is raging wildy out of control.
Anyways, things got a lot better a lot quickly when I found out that it was open bar. Open bar, dude (give me six Shlitz's)! One of my most favorite things. Things proceeded apace, what with the sucking down drinks and the dancing all nasty and the making fun of peoples' costumes. I can't explain why this night was different than so many that have come recently before it, but everything sparkled. It was truly fun. Maybe it was the company; with Big M and the T-ster single again, things are much more lively more often. J and C, too, don't come out often enough, and getting to hang out with them was a real blast. How could you not have fun with someone who grew a molestache specifically for a costume party? Them's is my kind of people!
As it got later, things got a little more crazy. True to our tradition, the shots started to flow with copious abandon. It was after this started happeneing that the married girls got a little loony, as they are wont to do. I, conversing innocently with the shag man, was drawn into the maestrom that is the married girls - much wilder than us singles and ready to party! Of course, the partying took the form of many, many photos. Pics posed naughtily, pics with pizza, pics with funny faces, and of course, the ubiquitous fake blow job shot. Our finest moment. Guess who gets the honor of being the girl to do the fake deed? That's right - Noodle! If you ever see a shot of a chubby redhead that looks like she's going down on some random guy, don't worry; it's just me being very innocent and looking like a dirty, dirty girl. I would have left after that, but K and company kept me there against my will! Well, not really, but they did ask me nicely (albeit loudly), and so I couldn't refuse - it wouldn't be polite!
By this time the party had thinned out considerably, with people wandering off left and right - pizzas in hand. There were still enough folks to keep it lively, though. I mean, I'd say that S would call catching a glimpse of bare assedness in the back room pretty lively. Her eyes were certainly wide enough when she came barreling back out with her hand over her mouth, giggling like a scandalized school girl. After getting over that little incident we danced crazy. Amid laughter and affirmed friendships, we drank until we almost fell over. Our own private bar - existing solely for our pleasure, our follies, and our good times. Nights like this come along but rarely, and we squeezed every drop of goodness out of this one like it would be the last.
Finally at four thirty, I was all in. The young marrieds had caught the T-ster trying to sneak out and accused him of going home with someone unsuitable, despite his vociferous protests. I even vouched for his good sense, no matter how hammered, but they were not to be denied. He got dragged back into the depths of the bar, escape foiled. I, on the other hand, glimpsing echos of the next day's headache, slipped out in the commotion and headed straight home.
Waking up the next morning on my couch, guitar in hand, I decided that any hangover that resulted from the night before it was well, well worth it.
More and more these days I find myself looking forward, to vacation, to April, to Jersey, to new Baby Crazy. I've been busy turning over a new leaf, you see, and moving (right before I move again, what fun!), and various other sundry nonsense that's been taking up my time. But turning over a new leaf isn't always pleasant, and so often I slip into daydreams about when this or when that. Then I remembered that I'm still living here, and that I shouldn't waste it - not a second's worth. So in that vein, here's a story that's gotten neglected in the whirlwind that is suddenly my life. Picture it...
A quiet Sunday evening, ripe for POKER!! I was so excited about the party, since, as we all know, I have a perfect poker face and am very stoic and secretive. Ha, yeah, right. I was actually doing really well that night, though. Winning pots and amassing a good many chips is more than I normally do, but apparently I am now lucky at cards and unlucky in love. Celibacy is unlucky, right? Anyways, like I said, I was making a pretty good showing for myself until JS managed to deke me out with a fifty dollar raise. As the cards played out I realized that I had had the winning hand!! Arg, that was so aggravating. In fact, it was quite aggravating enough to get into my head and send my newfound skill at cards tumbling into the realm of brief and extinct. I promptly managed to loose every fictional dollar I had won, and wasn't happy about it, either. Keep in mind, too, that while all of this was going on I was drinking steadily. That would not ordinarily pose a problem, with my Kwaj tolerance, but for two factors: one - I was not drinking beer, but vodka, and two - JF the smart ass was making my drinks. These drinks were strong enough to knock out a donkey, let alone one chubby gamester. Especially me. Vodka is not my friend, I must remember this.
So, here I am, sucking back vodka Red Bulls with the quickness, and mayhem followed the drink right up the straw and into my brain. It was a direct hit - BLADOW! Blackout. I guess that's misleading. It wasn't an instant blackout, but more a slow, gentle glide into the darkness. I remember playing with the girls, chasing them around and trying to give them kisses as the "Kissy Monster." I remember making L show me all her Barbies, vaguely. But then things start to fuzz out slowly, like a TV with bad reception. I don't know how I came to be back with the adults, but once I was it was all fun and hijinks. While SS was gone I grabbed her martini and quaffed it in one gulp. To add insult to injury, I then ate every single olive that was in her glass!! Apparently she was quite indignant, and with good reason - I would have been, too, if somone had been so bold with my liquor.
I, of course, had made good on my getaway by that point, and was engaged in helping LE battle with The King of All Smartasses, otherwise known as the arbiter and originator of my current predicament. Well, LE dropped out, wherupon TKoAS porceeded to repeatedly make me hit myself in the face with my own first. I'm sure those of you with older siblings are familiar with the frustration this causes. I bacame overwhelmed with said frustation and started trying to knowck his block off for real, for real, swinging wild roundhouses and uppercuts with all my crazy as a shithouse rat drunkeness. KF said that I was swinging with all my might, all the while yelling and grunting, "Ugh, UGH!!" I was really going for it. No doubt I would have done him quite an injury if I had manage to connect, or stay on my feet, even. That last missed roundhouse was one too many, and my shaky equalibrium was not up to the challenge. Too bad, sine it was all his fault that I was three sheets to the wind. He deserved to get hit.
Needless to say, I was not really up the the challenge of biking home alone, either, nor was I able to speak English at this point. Luckily, TKoAS forgave me my violence and decided to escort me home. I proceeded to go the wrong way and run afoul of a sneaky, sneaky ditch. It just leapt right up and gobbled me whole. Swine ditch! Miraculously I emerge unhurt and made it home without further mishaps. I think. Not content with the buckets of booze I had imbibed at the poker party, I decided to drink a little straight rum with my bedtime movie. GOD! I even remember wincing after every sip.
No wonder I threw up before Bigej the next day. So. Classy.
Duuuuude. I am hung the fuck over today, that's for sure. Looking back on it, I see now that I made several crucial mistakes last night, a school night. There are some things you should never do if you have to go to work at the butt-crack of dawn the next morning, and I did all of them. Silly chit.
On a weeknight you should never:
1. Start early.
2. Start before you've had some sustenence to mitigate the effects of an early start.
3. Answer the question, "Do you have tomorrow off?" with, "No, but I'm drinking like I do!"
4. Drink for hours on end in multiple locations.
5. Try to keep up with the Coastie drinking next to you.
6. Play Ship, Captain, Crew until you have tons of chips so you're forced to drink for free.
7. Do shots.
8. Give in to friends' exortations to stay for "just one more!"
9. Decide to make some after dinner dinner once you finally pry yourself away from the party.
And finally, never:
10. Pass out on your government issued loveseat practically sitting up with the TV blaring on and on in the background only to wake up at four and get only three hours of real sleep in a bed.
Learn from my pain, dear readers, and take what I say as gospel. Your head, stomach and liver will thank you for it the next day. I promise.
I was so worried that when RQ and Rolando moved away from our little yayborhood, the good chummy times were gone forever. Stupid. Things have changed, but only in the best possible way. Now we have a new stomping ground down the alleyway, and if Mr. Mom ever gets his bar mounted on wheels, things are going to go apeshit with the quickness. Yes! New people, new haunts, new habits; they're all great in the worst possible way. Hey, we're not going to change all our badassery just because of a new location! No apologies.
Anyways, what brought me to this philosophical denoument was the fact that I found myself at the shrine to surf house for the third Saturday in a row. These little dinners are proving to be quite the meeting ground lately, and this one was the best yet. Since I had invited V as my date, martinis seemed just the thing. I forgot the last incident with margurita madness, and dove right in. Incidentally, I can't seem to leave that place without being three sheets to the wind. And, while this is probably amusing to all of my friends, it often leaves me with fuzzy memories of the bar. That might or might not be a good thing, but I would at least like to have the choice of being embarassed or not! Okay, moving on.
This particular dinner proved to better than most because simply everyone was there. LA made her debut appearance and was summarily doted upon by everyone. A couple of times I thought that people were going to get into tug of war over her; she was definitely the most popular girl at the party. SM remains the same, and I almost cried when she got back, I was so glad to see her. Life has now returned to normal, plus baby. I got to talk to the Surfer Extrordinaire about the upcoming football season, which is all set to be ROCKIN'! I hung out with everyone and had some great food; it was sincerely a fantastic way to start THE WEEKEND out.
After we had exhausted the liquor reserves at the shrine to surf house, a bunch of us headed to the club for dancing and debauchery. When we arrived it was pretty dead, which I was bummed about. We consoled ourselves by taking shots, which worked pretty well, actually. I was busy talking to some rando, and all of a sudden when I looked up the place was packed! Feeling much better about things a group of us swung out onto the dance floor and proceeded to get down. We thought we looked awesomely hot at the time, but thinking about it now, I can say almost conclusively that we did not. Later on I was talking to one of the many TDY hotties on-island at the moment; I wouldn't say that I was exactly macking it, but it was headed that way. Thinking that everything is going fine, I continued talking blythely, unaware that E was bearing down upon me like the force of unstoppable destiny. Right as I opened my mouth to lay another witticism on tall and hot, E reached around me and gripped both boobs in what I can only describe as a very firm hold. I just stood with my mouth gaping unattractively as the guy that I had been talking to literally pivoted in place and walked away swiftly. I don't know if he thought E was my boyfriend, or that we were all crazy, or he had just been desperately searching for a way out of the conversation. I guess he didn't know that that's just drunk E's way of saying hello. Boobs are like braille to him at that point. Oh, well. Another mac effort down the tubes.
That's about where my memory fades out for the night, but I was updated later and learned that this had been a grabby fest all around. I guess E's boob handshake gave me some bright ideas, becuse after that I apparently zoomed in on P-funk's ass and wouldn't let go. According to him I was "holding on to it like a lifeline." He actually demonstrated my hold for me, and damn! I must have been drowning, because I had a death grip on that boy's butt. All up into the curve of it and everything. Things got worse, too. I guess that I was feeling belligerent after that, because I was flat out convinced that someone had stolen my food that I ordered. They hadn't, but that didn't stop me from accusing half the bar before finally realizing that me food was right in front of me. Sometimes I would really like to get into my drunken mind and figure out what was going on in there. Sadly, the world will never know.
I have an entirely new sympathy for people who've had their thumbs cut off, or were born without opposable thumbs, or for some other reason can't use their thumbs as nature intended. It fucking SUCKS! More on that later.
So, the evening started out fairly normal for one of our Mobile Kitchen nights (oh, except for the lack of tarp - our trailer actually looks like it belongs in a real trailer park now), you know, get the house cleaned up, dress up, crack the wine open and wait for the girls to show up. Show up they did, looking very beautiful and stylish. The wierd thing about this little pre-game, though, is that since we didn't have a tarp and it was kind of drizzly, I thought that we would all chill inside. Nope! Instead we just stood around on the step and had to move every time someone went in or out. Go figure, huh? Anyways, after sucking down about three big glasses of wine each we peadalled our way the far, far, endless (in all actuality right around the corner) distance to Emon to pretend that we were actually eating at a real restaurant.
Dinner was surprisingly good as those thing go; I wasn't expecting five star cuisine, and lo, I did not recieve it. What we did all manage to do (except L, who's knocked up) was get rip roaringly drunk. I mean, we couldn't help ourselves, you know? Drinks are included in the price, so it's pretty much open bar, and waitresses are hovering close by in case you need a refill, or hell, even a top-up. We shamelessly plundered the contents of the bar until there was nothing left worth consuming. After a toast to the departing Role Model, TSK and I convinced the ladies to ride the fo' real long distance to the Vet's Hall to see Mr. Mom, who was bartending. All in all, still a pretty standard night.
Once we got there, the reckless abandon with which we threw ourselves into more drinking would probably upset even the most hardened liver. To make things even better, I had spotted some TDY guys and was in full mac mode; or so I thought. I forgot that I was completely loaded, which is never something that brings out your most shining moments. It certainly didn't do so for me that fine evening. My dear, sober RQ said that when I took a shot (provided by Mr. Mom, who can always be counted on) she thought I was going to puke right on her sandals. I didn't, but I did make the puffy cheeked urp face, and immeditaley commented to her, "I bet that was sexy." I think I was beginning to get the point that it wasn't gonna happen tonight, but I gamely kept trying. I only wish I had a video, or perhaps clear recollection of the events that followed.
Pretty much the next thing that I recall we were all at the Yuk, and everyone was pretty gone, and we were dancing around like fools. The very next second that I can recall was lying on my face on the dance floor. I had no idea what had happened, all I knew was that I couldn't breathe for a few seconds, and the tally of non-sexy things that I had done that night had been raised to two. Also that my thumb had turned into a useless bit of pain attached to my otherwise very useful left hand. That I write with.
I found out later that the cause of my full on flying Superman facer was the result of ice that I slipped on and lost my balance. I'm sure the fact that I was three sheets to the wind didn't help, and reality had finally sunk in enough by this point that I commented (to RQ again, source of the story and now my bar memory girl), "I just can't mac it tonight." Meanwhile, as TSK was helping me stand up she whispered in my ear, "We'll just tell everyone that someone pushed you." I guess this was so that I'd be less embarrassed, but as far as I'm concerned the ice was excuse enough. At the time, though, I thought it a splendid idea. So, she follows through with her plan, and as she's got me by the arm she YELLS, "Someone pushed her!" DJ P immediately asked who did it, and instead of telling him that I didn't know, I apparently tagged "the guy in the white hat" not thinking anything more of it as I went outside at this point to smoke a ciggy and get my composure back.
Little did TSK, T and I know, but our little white lie almost started a shit storm inside while we innocently went about our business outside. Apparently DJ P, one of the sweetest and least confrontational people that I know actually found a guy in a white hat and was trying to fight him! I guess the combination of liquor and as supposedly pushed Noodle brought him right to the boiling point. The worst part of it is that he was about to beat up some poor, innocent sap who hadn't done a thing wrong. My Role Model had a similar reaction, and stormed into the club with fire in her eyes. T had to pull her aside and let her in on the low down before she got booted.
The lesson here? Just take the heat, otherwise a brawl might ensue. It was very sweet of them to defend me, though. I left shortly after that and slept until it was time to go to the hospital the next day.
You know how sometimes you don't mean to go out, and then accidentally do? Yeah, that's what happened to me last Friday. It was a total surprise when I found myself peadalling down to the Vet's Hall. Or maybe what it is is that, like E, I have no willpower to say no when fun times and partying are offered. I think that's probably it. I have to give props, though; you at least have to ask him a couple of times before he caves in and cracks one open. I, on the other hand, didin't even utter a whimper of protest when Rolando (names have been changed to protect the not so innocent) queried me on what time we were going to head out. Even though before that second I hadn't had any intention of leaving the yayborhood, I imdediately replied, "Mmm, about nine thirty." That's pretty weak, man.
Thinking back on it, though, that was kind of the tone of the whole evening. I was coming home from some errand or another when I saw that Jodester had some people over for dinner. Incidentally, she only meant to have one or two people over, but it turned into more like five or six. Guess the night was full of surprises for all of us!
Anyways, everything looked pretty jolly, so I thought I would walk over and have a glass of wine. Well, you know how it goes; one glass turns into a couple, a couple turns into lots, lots turns into shots, and so on. It's hard to go home when the conversation's entertaining, full of spice, and everyone's laughing. It's funny, as things have changed around here, so have I. It used to be that I only wanted to hang out with a certain set of people; they provided a comforting little nest for me, you see? But recently I've been thrown out of that orbit quite a little bit, and I think it's been good for me. Now I absolutely adore chilling with people that I ordinarily don't talk to; it provides an interesting look at other people's perspectives. It's like when I wear heels in the house and do something at the kitchen counter; I always think, "Is this what it's like to be tall? Cool!" It's a funny thing, point of view, just a little change can make a huge difference. Okay, moving on...
So, after we had almost completely depleted Jodester's stock of wine, we decided that the Vet's sounded like the perfect way to round of the night. Once we got there, darts also sounded perfect. It turned out to be a fiasco, instead. What with crappy darts, long waits between turns and the somewhat risky chucking of crappy darts while people were still right next to the board, we probably could have done without. Fuck's sake, J almost took my ear off with a badly placed shot!! Other than the darts, though, the night turned out to be a fun Friday at the Vet's Hall. And if we got a little more faded than is prudent for a school night, well, worse things have happened.
It's often the most unexpected nights that are the most fun.
