Monday, August 30, 2004
Thursday Night Recap: Dr. Jekyll/Annie Hyde
Most of the time - and I'm not ashamed to admit this - I am the drunk one.
I'm the one buying shots and beers for everyone, running up my credit card bill to an exorbitant amount, because, after all, it's fake money.
I'm the one harassing women way out of my league, spitting all over them while I talk to them, kicking lines like, "You know, in my spare time I teach music to retards" or "I haven't hit a women in about three weeks" or "I definitely want to get married and start a family, because family is the most important thing to me. Hey, have you ever made out with another chick?"
I'm the one who gets "escorted" out of the bar and goes straight to the nearest deli, where I order two pounds of imported ham, sliced thick, take it home and dip each slice in a jar of mayonnaise as I eat it, as if I were dipping chips in salsa. [Also, most times I do this I'm not wearing a shirt, and the mayo fails in little globules on my chest.]
So it is rare when I am out with friends and I'm the sober one who gets to see the debauchery first hand, with vision unclouded by vodka, Bud Light, and Southern Comfort. Thursday night was one such rare occasion.
As I mentioned in my post on Thursday, on Thursday night there was a going-away party for my two dear friends, Annie and Nicole. Knowing that this night would be a long crazy one, I took the day off Friday, just so I could be hungover in the comfort of my own home, rather than in my office at work, ignoring my ringing phone, and taping a piece of paper to my door that says, "Hungover - Please Come Back Monday."
And it was a crazy night, though not in the respect that I thought it would be. Why? Because I remained sober, while Annie and Nicole (especially Annie) got blasted.
My roommate Brian and I got to the bar at about 9, already having had a few drinks at our place. Brian, god bless him, came out even though he had to be at work at 6am on Friday morning, meaning he had to wake up at 4:45am, a time that we only see at the ends of evenings, not at the beginnings of days.
When we arrived, the first thing we noticed was that Annie and Nicole have some really attractive friends. Like, really attractive. I don't know why it took me seven years of being friends with them to realize this, but this didn't make me happy. Definitely information that would have been useful years ago, rather than their last night in the city. Given my record of dropping the ball, neither I nor Brian were very surprised by my failure in this regard, and spent most of the night ogling the women, breaking our silence with the occasional "Oh my god" or "Are you fucking serious?" or "I think I have to run to the bathroom to take care of something before the Sex Crimes Unit has to get involved."
And Annie and Nicole, god bless 'em, were absolutely fucking wrecked. Nicole was otherwise predisposed, so it quickly became apparent that my job was to be protector over Annie, and make sure she got home unharmed without being sexually assaulted by a gang of Haitians (which is ironic, because if you're looking to not be sexually assaulted, I'm probably the last person whose care you should be in).
My friend Chris showed up with a lady friend, Lisa. Chris had met Annie and Nicole a few times, but didn't know them too well - it was the sort of thing where Brian and I were out and about and said, "Hey, why don't you join us for a beer? You can watch us make these women really uncomfortable."
Chris showed up with Lisa, a charming girl. By this point, Brian had left, so Chris and Lisa sat at the bar next to me. Annie, seeing the new arrivals, came over (read: stumbled over with eyes half-closed) and introductions were made.
Chris: "Hey Annie, happy going away party. This is Lisa."
Annie: [drunk to the point of lacking motor skills, but angry, vituperative] "Let me tell you something: Chris is a man-whore. You're just another pretty face to him. How long have you known him, ten minutes?"
A few things:
1) Annie does not know Chris that well.
2) Chris is not a man-whore, and, though in much better shape, has about as much game as I do.
3) I think Chris actually liked this girl.
Our jaws just dropped. Annie, who normally is the sweetest girl in the world, apparently transformed completely into Mr. Hyde and laid the fucking smack down. I don't remember exactly what happened next, though I thank the gods that Lisa had a sense of humor about the whole thing. She said something like:
Lisa: "Actually, we've known each other for ten years."
Annie: [slowly (I mean, really slowly) realizing error, becoming remorseful] "Oh my god - I have to give you a hug."
And this behavior continued for the rest of the evening. We soon left that bar, and moved to the next. Annie was asked to leave pretty much immediately. As she argued with the bartender about getting "just one more" drink, I grabbed her by the hand and tried to take her out of the bar. It was quite a scene: me dragging Annie by her arm, her other arm reaching back toward the bar, grasping for floaters to drink, as she yelled at the bartender.
As we were going to the door, right before the exit Annie plopped down at a table that had a couple at it, interrupting their conversation, asking to have a sip of their drinks. I mean, wow.
Again, you have to understand, Annie is nothing like this normally. But, just like the rest of us, when under the spell of booze, all bets are off. It was glorious to see her in action, and I nearly shed a tear because my friend was kicking so much ass.
After much more struggle and drama, I finally got her home. She passed out lying on her couch with a slice of pizza in her hand, the slice just touching her mouth. It was probably the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and exactly the way I want to look when I die.
And sure, maybe it wasn't the most fun I've ever had, but in a way, it kind of made me feel good. I had forsaken booze so that I could take care of my friend, who had apparently had drank gasoline before I arrived.
The moral of the story: sometimes, when you're drunk, you can be an asshole. And you know what? Who gives a shit? Getting wasted is awesome. You just have to make sure that you have someone around who will NOT take pictures of you when you've passed out. And I'm not talking pictures of you with "poop" written on your forehead, but pictures that might wind up on any number of sites that you can't view at work. Meaning pornographic sites. Meaning pictures of you, lying on your couch, naked from the waist down, and me in the background, smoking a cigarette and giving a "thumbs up" with one hand, and with the other hand high-fiving a homeless guy.
Just forget it.