Monday, May 03, 2004
What a glorious bender, boozing Wednesday through Saturday night. I thought that I was getting too old to drink that much, but then someone goes and puts it in front of me, and well, you know how it ends: on the floor of a gas station bathroom in rural Pennsylvania, so drunk and hungry that you would kill your little sister with your bare hands for $3 to get that "two hot dogs and a bag of Dorritos" special.
God I fucking love Dorritos. And isn't "Dorrito" a really cool name? Like, for a dog, or a really fat Mexican guy?
Anyway, Saturday night was wonderful. My friend Nevin had a birthday dinner at the Big Easy on the UES, which has a phenomenal special - $55 gets you a bunch of appetizers, and entree, and all the booze you can drink from 7-10pm.
Naturally, we abused this special, tearing through pitchers, and ordering double vodka tonics in pint glasses (is there anything better than ordering a double vodka tonic in a pint glass? Well, anything better that's legal and moral? Obviously, vandalism, arson and hitting your enemies with a car that you've stolen from your Uncle Billy's housewarming party are better, but unfortunately, I know all too well they are illegal. Especially that last one. Trust me.)
At about 9pm, panic mode set in, because there was only one hour left to abuse our bodies with liquor. So we ordered a round of shots, and shortly fifteen SoCo & Lime shots were delivered. Ten minutes later, we did this again. Ten minutes after that, again. This went on until 10pm came 'round.
The horrible beauty of doing shots is the delayed reaction. Immediately after taking the shot, you might feel a little queasy, but the full effect hasn't really hit you yet. That doesn't happen until you try to get off the barstool to take a piss, and you fall down and break your wrist because your skimpy girlish wrist isn't strong enough to break your fall and can't stop 200+ pounds of drunken maniac and fury falling to the ground. Not that I've ever done that.
And the delayed reaction was no different this time around for me. I wound up doing ten shots in an hour (in addition to the other booze I'd been pounding for three hours), because people got too drunk to do their shots and kept passing them to me. I should mention that I wasn't nearly the biggest boozehound at the table - my friend Nicole, instead of continuing to pass the shots down the table when the waitress dropped them off, would drink them up as they reached her, at one point doing six in a row. Sure, it's only SoCo & Lime, but six shots in a row for a girl, well - it's a shame she has a boyfriend, and she is NOT racist, because otherwise we'd be a perfect couple.
[An aside: turns out those shots we were doing we NOT included in the all you can drink special. When the waiter came over with the egregiously high bill, it lead to this exchange:
Me: "I thought shots were included in this."
Waiter: [motioning to my friend Lara, who set up the party and was the mouthpiece through which we ordered the drinks] "No, I told that girl over there that the first round was on me."
Me: [going over to Lara, hoping the waiter is lying] "Lara, what did the waiter say to you about the shots?"
Lara: "Oh - he said that the first one was on him."
Information that would have been useful before ordering $200 of SoCo & Lime. Thanks again Lara.]
We left that bar and went to Blue & Gold in the East Village, which should really just change its name now to "Home of the Bathroom that Jason Mulgrew Died In", because $3 everything and I really don't mix too well. More drinking continued, and then, while I was sitting talking with some friends, it hit me: that "Dude, I'm a REALLY fucked up right now" flash. I completely shut down. I stopped talking, and couldn't keep my eyes open (drinking until 7:30am on Friday night probably had something to do with this too). I pulled out my cell and said, "I'm going to make a call" and took off for home.
Sadly, I missed out on something that surely would have changed my life. My friend Terry's "girlfriend" and her friend (a girl) showed up at the bar after I left and starting making out all over the place. My roommate Ben described it thusly: "I've never been into girls making out or whatever, but Jay, it was the sexiest thing I've ever seen in my life. They were all touching up on one another and rubbing each other's hair - it was love, pure and simple. And I could not stop staring."
Just my luck. But hey, good for Terry. I am sure he took his girl home and tried to murder her with his penis.
Some day perhaps I will be so lucky.
But probably not.
Unless "lucky" means hungover.