My Epidemic

I'm not usually the dd. It's not that I am unable to sit at a bar without drinking, it's just that I only started drinking about a year ago and don't trust myself to drive if I've had any liquor at all. Seriously. I know this blog makes it sound like all I do is drink but I'm hardly the stereotypical kegger frequenting College kid.
A couple weekends ago a friend of a friend bought me a couple shots that didn't mix well with the drinks I'd already had and...long story short, I puked more that night than I ever thought was possible. So I'm steering clear of liquor for awhile. Just a short break.
So I volunteered to dd for Sunshine since we already had plans to go out twice this past week. I was completely sober at 3 different bars and managed to be bored out of my fucking mind.

Bar 1: A New WinterLodge Themed Lounge
Crowd: Youngin's - College Kids
"Look," I glared at the smoking loser sitting next to me oggling my boobs, not taking the hint at all. "I'm not drinking tonight."
"Why?"
"I'm driving." I scanned the bar again for my two drunk charges stumbling in their heels to the outdoor smoking area to make another drunk dial.
"And..." He slurred.
"Yeah. Okay. I'll talk slowly for you. I. Am. Not. Drunk Enough. For. You. To Be. Hitting. On Me."
"Bitch!"
"Yeah, I know."

Bar 2: The College Hotspot with Dollar Drinks on Saturday Nights
Crowd: College Kids to Young Professionals
"And then we bought this christmas tree but I thought it was too small and then we put it all together and seperated all the branches and it took seriously like, how long do you think honey?"
Sunshine's friend's husband grumbled something unintelligable while Sunshine's friend took her first breath since we'd gotten there.
"Yeah. Like an hour and a half! Can you believe that? But it's all lit up with pretty little white lights and I put angles all over and it's so pretty even thought it's bigger than I thought and then..."
"Sunshine," I whispered.
"Yeah," she whispered back.
"If I stab myself in the leg with that fork can we leave?"
"Go for it."

Bar 3: Some Country Shit Bar
Against every Metallica bone in my body, I found myself in the dirtiest, most rundown Western bar in the city. Sunshine was at the bar making out with man du jour while I sipped at a glass of water at a table inches off the designated dance area, whining endlessly to Chris.
"I can't believe you're in a country bar. Classic!"
"Shut up."
"Describe everything. In great detail."
"Every chick in the bar is atleast 200lbs. They're all wearing tummy shirts or football jerseys."
"Nice!"
"One is pregnant. She has two beers in one hand and a cigarette in the other."
"Ew...what are they shouting?"
I lifted the phone so she could make out the lyrics to some Yin Yang Twins rap.
"I thought they listened to country in country bars...I mean...isn't that like...the point?"
"Who knows."
"Are the guys in chaps?"
"Nope."
"Damn. Are they line dancing?"
"Nope. One is doing the moon walk though."
"What the hell? My world is all askew now."
"Oh. Dear. God."
"What!"
"I think these people are having sex."
"Yes! Now that's country!"
I jerked the phone away from my ear, "Ew. Ew! Get away!"
I can only imagine what Chris was thinking when she heard me shouting on the other end. "Look, Asshole! I'd rather tear my own arm off and beat you to death before I ever EVER touched you! EVER!"
Muffled response that even I didn't understand.
"Will punching you in the face make you go away!"
Chris cackled like mad. "Tell that guy he totally just made my week."

Labels: Drunken Adventures

A friend sent this to me. I couldn't help but post it. It's hilarious.


Beer vs. Vagina
A running tally for the typical male who has taken part in that endless debate of which deserves more attention, beer or the vagina.

1.Beer is always wet. Vagina needs a little work.
One point to BEER.

2.Warm beer tastes awful.
One point to VAGINA.

3.A really cold beer is satisfying.
One point to BEER.

4. You don't have to worry about finding a hair in your beer. Vagina is a different story.
One point to BEER.

5. If you get home reeking of beer your wife may get mad, make a scene, kick you out, etc. If you get home reeking of vagina your wife may get mad, kick you out, even leave you. There's definitely a point to be had here, depending on your point of view and personal circumstances. I'll just call it a DRAW for the time being.

6. Ten beers in one night and you can't drive home. Ten vaginas in one night and you don't want to drive anywhere.
One point to VAGINA.

7. If you have a lot of beer in a public place, your reputation may suffer. If you eat any vagina in public, you become a legend.
One point to VAGINA.

8. If a cop stops you and you smell of beer you may get arrested. If you smell of vagina he may buy you a beer.
One point to VAGINA.

9. You normally don't find old beer.
One point to BEER.

10. Too much beer and you'll think you see flying saucers. Too much vagina and you'll think you've seen God.
One point to VAGINA.

11. Ripping off a beer bottle label is boring. Ripping off panties is fun.
One point to VAGINA.

12. In most countries there's a tax on beer.
One point to VAGINA.

13. If you have another beer the first one never gets pissed off.
One point to BEER.

14. You can always be sure if you're the first one to open a bottle or a can. One point to BEER.

15. If you shake beer it'll get all agitated but eventually it settles down.
One point to BEER.

16. With beer you always have choice: clear, dark, pilsner, ale, lager, etc... with vagina you also have a choice, white, black, asian, hispanic, and eskimo...
Call it a DRAW.

17. You always know how much beer is going to cost
One point to BEER.

18. Beer doesn't have a mother
One point to BEER.

19. Beer never expects to be hugged for half an hour after you drink it.
One point to BEER.

20. An excess amount of vagina will not force you to have your liver detoxified in the emergency room.
One point to VAGINA.

21. Your access to beer is not limited by menstruation cycles, emotions, principles, or your beer being tired and/or not in the mood.
One point to BEER.

22. Having an open beer in your car is illegal. Having a girl in your car without pants on is just fucking cool.
One point to VAGINA.

23. Beer will never complain about how fast your are done with it and on to the next one.
One point to BEER.

24. No matter how many times you partake, the opening to a bottle/can of beer never gets stretched out to where it's no longer enjoyable.
One point to BEER.

25. If you are at a party and you grab a beer, regardless from where you pick it up, there is absolutely no chance that beer will give you a disease that will ruin your life.
One point to BEER.

26. Vagina from places other than Germany, Ireland and Canada are worth enjoying. The same cannot be said for beer.

One point to Vagina.

27.Vagina makes you erect and wet, beer gives you erectile dysfunction and dehydrates you.
One point to VAGINA.

28. You dont have take beer to dinner and a movie to enjoy it.
One point to BEER.

29. if a beer gives head, its a bad thing. if vagina gives head, its all good.
One point to VAGINA.

30. Two beers at one time and you're content, but two vaginas at one time and you're in heaven.
One point to VAGINA.

31. One too many beers can ruin a night; one too many vaginas... well now there's just no such thing!
One point to VAGINA.

32. If you throw up after drinking alot of beer youv'e had a good night.... if you throw up after having vagina you need to go to the doctor
One point to BEER.

33. You dont have to be 21 to get vagina legally.
One point to VAGINA.

34. The going rate for beer is around $3 at a bar - the going rate for vagina is about $50 on the street.
One point to BEER.

35. Waking up next to a disgusting beer is not as bad as waking up next to an ugly girl.
One point to BEER.

36. You might wonder what you're drinking if the beer doesn't have a label but if the girl doesn't have clothes then you could care less
One point to VAGINA.

37. If one of ur friends drinks ur beer its fine, but if they hook up with your vagina then you have a problem.
One point to BEER.

38. I've had more luck shoulder tapping for beer than I have for vagina.
One point to BEER.

39. it's simple...stick your dick in a beer can...and see how that goes...stick your dick in vagina...and well ENJOY!
One point to VAGINA.

40. Beer will not cook you breakfast in the morning.
One point to VAGINA.

41. Beer doesnt need more then a sip every once in a while to keep it happy.
One point to BEER.

42. Beer can turn green if left out to long, vagina can turn green also if left out to long, but you can stomach the beer.
One point to BEER.

43. Beer doesn't expect you to shower gifts upon it every anniversary. It doesn't even expect anniversaries.
One point to BEER.

44. When you finish a beer, seeing it again later is a bad thing. When you are finished with a vagina, seeing it again later is usually a good thing.
One point to VAGINA.

45. It takes multiple beers to get the feeling you're after. It should only take one vagina.
One point to VAGINA.

46. Beer fills a void inside your soul, you fill a void inside vagina.
Call it a draw.

47. Beer tends to be STD free.
One point to BEER.

48. Beer never checks out other potential partners. The same cannot be said for vagina..
One point to BEER.

49. You can always enjoy beer without a tightly wrapped piece of plastic around your penis.
One point to BEER.

Labels: All things Vagina, Drunken Adventures, Guest Appearances

The events Sunshine witnessed at 26th and Cuming one wet winter's night have quickly become legend at my workplace. It's actually not that interesting of a story unless you're into construction area masturbation...which I am. Come to think of it (Get it, cum?), I don't know anyone who wouldn't be interested in a story that includes masturbation in a construction area. I mean the details leading up to such a scenario are no doubt priceless. But I digress.

Sunshine was trucking along in her crazy Speedracer way when she was stopped at the corner of 26th and Cuming (Seriously, Cuming. I'm not making this up). Out of the corner of her eye she noticed some movement outside her passenger side window, on the street corner. Sunshine, with her keen Ninja like senses, turned her head ever so slightly and saw the shadowy figure of a young man seemingly accosting a construction area sign. She squinted. He seemed to be beating the sign wildly taking whatever young adult angst built up inside him entirely out on the unsuspecting sign. She leaned across her passenger seat and squinted harder. What was he doing? Without warning, he'd suddenly sped up his violent attacks, beating some sort of caotic rhythm into the poor tin object. Was he...no...he couldn't be...wait...YES! He was having sex with a huge, bright orange construction area sign! Oh Lord! Did it say, "Men at work?" It did!

The light turned green. She crept forward into the intersection, ignoring the angry honks of the cars behind her as she was unable to take her eyes from the trainwreck occuring on the corner of CUMING! Yes, dear friends, the gods have a sense of humour! How else could such a thing take place?

Sunshine circled around back again to "double check" what she'd seen. The poor, evidently drunk young man was still having violent sex with the sign and not even attempting to hide the fact. She hurried back to work to spread the news, cursing the fact that she didn't have a camera in her car.

And in walked Sunshine with tales of construction sign masturbation and thus, a star was born (or something equally cheesy and momentous) and the rest is history. (Ah the cliches!)

Labels: Drunken Adventures

I like this picture. I don't know why, but it makes me laugh. I'm only posting it b/c you can't see my face and I am determined to remain anonymous on this blog. I know the chances of anyone actually reading and knowing who I am are millions upon millions to one. But still. The Fates seem to have some sort of serious vendetta against me so I'm not taking chances.



PS
I'm not suffering from a fit of depression here, I'm just drunk in this photo and laughing really, really hard.

PPS
Yes. Those are drunken "Jail house tats" on my knuckles. No. They are not permanent. And yes, my left hand is swollen. I haven't the slightest idea why.

Labels: Drunken Adventures

Unlike myself, Sunshine had this entire past weekend through the 4th of July off of work. To kick off her unofficial vacation she had a little pre-Independence Day bash at her house last night.
I rustled up my posse (A bunch of guys at the party were trying to teach me how to be ghetto, I failed...miserably.) which included Sunshine's newest love interest, DC, Chris, Boyfriend and pretty much the entire crew from work.
We came.
We ate.
We drank.
We conquered the blender.
We drank some more.
I did my infamous Cartman dance. (The 1st sign that the party has officially reached its climax.)
I was introduced to Hennessey.
And then I bunked at Boyfriend's.
On a side note: Chris invited WorkBuddy and he pussed out. He did however invite her over for a little "after party" at his house but apparently that only consisted of watching Southpark until 3AM. Lame.
When I got the call at 9:30AM (Remember I work nights. Anything before 11 is like some God forsaken time I've never even heard of.) that my Mom had some how gotten food poisoning and been taken to the hospital during the night, I had only about 3 hours of sleep and was still drunk.
Fantastic.
Mom was fine. Puking. Apparently suffering from extreme diarrhea about which she described to me in great detail later. Eck. But fine all the same. Dad wanted me to come look after her "as soon as I could" so he, another night-shifter, could get some sleep.
I moaned something I hoped came out unslurred, about being on my way and then rolled over to nudge Boyfriend.
Boyfriend, the bastard that he is, has a liver of steel. He had drank about 18 beers, 1 bottle of champagne (I have no idea where he found that), helped me finish another bottle of champagne, and an unknown number of daiquiris. He had also managed to pour about half a bottle of rum into one of my daiquiri concoctions while I wasn't looking and happily handed me a straw when I started drinking it out of the blender.
I nudged. Boyfriend didn't move. I called his name. Didn't move. I punched experimentally. Didn't move. At this point I wondered briefly if he was dead and decided the only sure way to tell was to resort to extreme measures. Remember, I was still drunk.
So. I smacked his balls.
He came awake screaming violently.
I rejoiced in the brilliance of my reasoning and of course, that Boyfriend wasn't actually dead, then proceeded to make my way to the bathroom without an explanation for the cursing naked man in the fetal position in the middle of the floor. (He'd rolled off the bed.)
About half an hour, and one slightly slurred explanation about someone trying to poison my mother, Boyfriend was driving me back to Sunshine's house to pick up my car.
On another side note, when I drink too much my hangovers the next morning tend to manifest themselves as some sort of evil stomach flu. I want to puke and die and puke some more. The morning after my 21st I begged Boyfriend to kill me the entire morning. Thankfully, he didn't oblige.
So we're chugging along in Boyfriend's truck, him singing and car-dancing along to some Spanish rapper, me with my head basically out the window, my eyes as tightly shut as they can be while I focus on not vomiting. After waging a silent battle with the volume button on his stereo while slowly inching our way through the BurgerKing late breakfast drive thru, I was ready to not only smack Boyfriend's balls again but fucking deep fry the bitches.
Over the past few months of not bunking at his house, I'd forgotten that Boyfriend is one of those people. The lepers of the drinker's world...prepare yourself people, Boyfriend is a Perky.
He has never had a hangover in his entire life, and he could be running on 2 hours of sleep and still be spry as shit the next day. Singing. Dancing. Cracking really bad jokes.
I can see how some of you may confuse this DISEASE with being a “Morning Person.” But you would be so very wrong. A Morning Person is that guy at work that walks in and is all, “Good morning” with a bright-eyed smile as he passes your cubicle.
A Perky is that annoying fucker that's at work before everyone else so he has time to dance around the office whistling show tunes and waving like a crack addict as he skips on by. He’s the one that stops by your desk nearly vibrating with early morning excitement to start a fresh new day sniffing coffee grounds and jabbering in all his goddamn perkiness about the puppies perky fucking Kelly Ripa was kissing on some morning show I‘ve never even heard of.
I hate these people.
I was genetically predisposed to hate these people. I was conditioned since birth to want to smack the shit out of them whenever I see them.
And there I was. With a hangover the size of Texas, stuck in the BurgerKing drive thru surrounded by Perkies while my Perky Boyfriend orders three value meals and makes some confusing analogy about studying and the primer stage of painting.
“You know, you look so cute when you just wake up and your hair is sticking up in the front like that.”
Still slightly drunk but sobering fast in the presence of Perkies, I flipped him off. “I hate you so hard.”
He smiled like I’d said something really cute, “Aw. Well I love you too, Babe.”
“Fuck.” Oh shit. I could feel the puke. Feeeel it! No! No puke. Bad puke! “Off.”
“You’re even cute when you’re hungover and you’ve still got that slightly flushed, glazed look.”
When I reached to slap his balls again he laughed and easily escaped my groping hands. Fucking Perkies.

Labels: Completely Unrelated Rantings, Drunken Adventures, The Boyfriend (duh Duh DUH)

Apparently, Boyfriend and I's truce was not shattered as I so dramatically thought it to be.
The weekend came. I spent it mostly with a friend causing trouble in various arenas (a bar, a restaurant, a faire, my house, a clubhouse) and then swung by Boyfriend's very late Saturday night.
He'd invited over some man friends of his and none of them felt like drinking (I told you they were gay. What guy doesn't want a beer at a pokerparty on a Saturday night while watching college baseball. GAY!)...so Boyfriend decided someone had to drink atleast one of the 24-packs sitting in his fridge.
So by the time we reached the penis-fest, he had just finished his 17th beer. He was drunk. Really drunk.
In all my years of dating Boyfriend, I have never actually seen him drunk.
Pretty quickly the rest of the guys cleared out when the chicks were drinking more than them (for shame). My friend's ex was among the guys (ofcourse) so they strayed out onto the patio for a "talk." That left me sitting on the couch polishing off some of Lesbian's leftover Boonsfarm and listening to Boyfriend babble about his face hurting.
"You can still feel it?"
"No."
"Then how does it hurt?"
"Cause I got punched in the face."
"That would do it. Who punched you?"
"That guy!"
"That guy...which guy?"
"The guy in my class!"
After a few minutes of deciphering his babbles I came to the conclusion that his Sergeant had him and another guy box each other during training on Friday.
"Did he break your nose?"
"No. Fucker. I broke his though! And his eye! I broke his eye!"
"You punched him in the eye?"
"Damn right! Fucker."
"But why's the rest of your face hurt?"
"Cause that other guy hit me with his stick!"
"Say again."
"His big stick!"
"What?"
He sighed one of those DMV sighs. The one's that clearly are meant to say, 'God you're such an idiot.'
"The. Guy. Hit. Me. With. His. Big. Stick."
"His baton?"
"No. His STICK!"
"What stick?"
"The hockey stick."
"What hockey stick?"
"The one he was playing with. Duh."
Boyfriend plays hockey in a full-contact league. "Oh. You had a game today."
He nods like a bobble head.
"Did you do good?"
"That fucker hit me with his stick."
"What fucker?"
"That one," he said menacingly with his eyes all squinty and his fists shaking at the heavens.
"Oh...Did you hit him back?"
"Hells yeah, baby. Your man's a man's man."
"Wait. Don't ever say that again. So you got your face pummeled yesterday and got in a fight today."
"Yup."
"With some guy's stick."
"No. The stick started it."
"Did you hit him?"
"The stick?"
"The guy."
"Oh. Umhm. Alot."
"Did you hurt him?"
"Yup."
"How bad?"
"His fucker friends had to carry him off."
"The ice?"
He nods again while I gape at his drunkenness.
"In a stretcher?"
"Nah."
"Was he bleeding?"
Boyfriend grins. "Yup. A. Lot."
"Well aren't you a badass."
"Yup." He visibly preens forgetting about his swollen nose and cut lip for the moment.

While I have to admit guys who can take care of themselves are a huge turn on, I'm slightly worried that Boyfriend is suddenly starting fights.
As long as I've known him he's only been in one fight, with his old roommate who had it coming. (Shit, Boyfriend peeled me off the guy a few times.)
Boyfriend is one of those people that doesn't take things seriously enough to care if someone is trash talking him (I do) or someone screws you royally (I care). In fact most of the time I'm the one bitching out his friends and threatening to sever their manhood if they don't walk away.
I'm the tomcat. Not him. I'm the crazy one.

Boyfriend is supposed to be sane! What is the world coming to?!

Labels: Completely Unrelated Rantings, Drunken Adventures, The Boyfriend (duh Duh DUH)

So Sunshine and I went a-bar-hoppin' tonight afterwork.
I'm just a little tipsy, not much though, and I had a thought I wanted tp jot down before I completely sober up.
Every single time I go to a bar and have more than 2 drinks, I meet someone new in the bathroom and have my own mini adventures. Every single time.
Last time we went out, I met some 60-year-old woman in line for the toilet and was telling her all about how I work with a bunch of cops with big guns until Sunshine caught me and drug me back to our table.
That same night I met a nice young lady in a QT bathroom and had a lengthy conversation with her (while we were both relieving ourselves in our respected stalls) about sugar daddies. I believe it went something like this:
Her - "My Dad is my Mom's sugar daddy. He's twenty years older than her."
Me - "Yeah. I want one of those. Where do you find sugar daddies anyway?"
Her - "I don't know." I think I remember a thoughtful pause right about here. "But if you find one, point his brother in my direction."
Me - "Totally."
Tonight, I wasn't nearly as drunk as I was on both those occasions but I still managed to make some friends on my solo trip to the porceilein god. There was like...a gagillion scantilly clad chicks standing in line around me when this one girl with a zebra head-band said something to me about using the guy's bathroom instead. I full heartily agreed. We rationalized that not only would we probably be welcomed in the penis arena but would probably earn ourselves a few drinks as well.
The drunk chick (who was seriously fucked up) on the other side of me started talking really loudly about the people currently using the only two stalls in the restroom "taking for fucking ever." Me, I agreed but I wasn't about to start yelling about peeing like a speeding bullet like she was.
Instead I started yapping with Zebra-Headband again about how we could probably turn our Oh-God-I-Have-To-Pee squirming into the hottest new dance move and still earn more drinks for it. Then Drunk Chick behind me shoved her drink in my face.
"You have to try this."
I stared from her to it to her again.
"What is it?"
"Sex on the beach."
"Always wanted to try that." I giggled 'cause in my mind the double meaning was hilarious.
But outside of my head it apparently wasn't that funny 'cause Drunk Chick just stared at me until I carefully took a sip of her drink.
In retrospect I could have contracted about a gazillion diseases, but in my almost drunk state, I didn't really know what else to do. (Don't try this at home kids.)
"It's good."
"It's fucking awesome. I mean I like beer but this...this you know is like...I just like it more."
I nodded sage-like as if she'd just said the brightest thing I'd heard since the Tao of Pooh and very slowly turned to Zebra-headband so as not to attract DrunkChick's attention again.

Someone once told me I am flypaper for freaks. While I agree on some levels, I think amending the observation to "flypaper for bar bathroom philosophers" would be more accurate. But hey, I'm not complaining.

PS
We spotted this guy tonight that looked like that William Wong dude from American Idol. The one that butchered that Ricky Martin song so freakin' badly.
Sunshine didn't want to get our picture taken with him. But I'll get you next time William Wong. I'll get you.

Labels: Drunken Adventures

So here we are. Another beautiful morning after. No hangover in sight.
Last night, Chris and I had another of our grand adventures, which included:
1. A gay/assman bartender downtown with spiky gay hair
2. A pasta catastrophe
3. Another bartender named Carl who looked alot like the Carl from Aqua Teen Hunger Force
4. Running into some guys we apparently met a few months ago through some friends but I still don't really remember who they are or why we were talking to them.
5. A drunk dial to Boyfriend.
6. And last, but in no way the least entertaining, our drunken letters. In the back of my Hebrew Studies notebook. Written in big green marker.

I've decided to transcribe these letters b/c evidently that was what I had in mind when I wrote them...or so Chris tells me. There are two that actually have words and several more that just look like hieroglyphics drawn by toddlers. I will relate the two with actual words as is, but beware most of what is said makes little more sense to me today than actual hieroglyphics.
Enjoy.

Letter 1:
Dear me! Hello! Chris and I are writing from da bed! We had a great time! We met Tim & Silent Scott. They suck! Do Not talk to them eva again! We hate them.
(Insert scribbled heart)
Love Me

Letter 2: (Apparently scribed by Chris at my drunken bidding)
Dear me, I am really drunk. If I were a lesbian, I would not screw you. Because that is how drunk u are. Too drunk 4 a lesbian! (See Why I Stick With The Penis for the inside-lesbian joke...I AM NOT HOMOPHOBIC!)
Tell me that I got hit on by Tim la douchebag w/ chew-teeth, which is bad...Righteous FURY.
J is for Gigilo...Jiggle.
Our crossword puzzle rocked hard-ass. Our crossword puzzle is where we made up words. Women are puss in boots and men are man-childs.
My drunkenness has expanded the drunken world. Carl is my favorite, like Aqua Teen Hunger Force.
Chris is going to be my narrator.
I'm not going to touch you because I'm going to poke you in da eye! Good job. I caught the cap between the teeth. Chris is my favorite narrator.
(Insert an incredible drawing for how drunk I was of Puss in Boots from Shrek & a doodle of Meatwad from ATHF)
Puss in Boots! That's hot like a chihuawa!

Also, I vaguely remember working diligently on the aforementioned crossword puzzle I'd found at the bar. Did you know that a four-letter word for a country in Africa is "Lima?" I did.

Labels: Drunken Adventures

Saturday Night continued...
After Sunshine and I had left QT and the infamous Mopping Man to their own devices, we wandered for a time (I don’t really remember how long) until I once again felt the need to visit a ladies room…any ladies room. We’d been causing trouble in South O and had ventured west when I suddenly announced, "I have to pee. A lot." Sunshine, being the crazy badass driver that she is, whipped the car at a gagillion miles an hour into the closest gas station, effectively giving me Drunken Whiplash as I rolled across her front seat.
Now before I describe what happened next, I have to explain that I am not in any way racist or prejudice, except towards Chris. I am, apparently, being indoctrinated into the "ghetto world" through my friends down at work and have recently been obsessed with Bubba Sparx’s song, "Ms. New Booty."
With that said, we careened into the parking lot at warp speed, our windows down, hair blowing in the wind, excited for another gas station adventure, when I noticed three people exiting the establishment. I don’t mean to brag (ahem, but I kind of do) but I have encountered many a prostitute while working downtown and recognized the two voluptuous "ladies" as such, while their companion was obviously an escort of sorts. Thinking back on it, the fella didn’t seem all that menacing in his overall thinness when compared to the barely covered ladies he followed to their shiny SUV. In fact, I have to say I would have bitch-slapped his skinny ass long before I took on the large, working ladies he was standing guard over. But, in my drunkenness, none of this information seemed to penetrate the haze.
Instead, when my gaze landed on the threesome, and my brain seemed to finally catch up, I stuck my head out the window as we pulled into the stall next to theirs and started singing (as loud as possible), "Booty! Booty! Booty! Booty--" I didn’t actually get to the "Rockin’ everywhere" part because at that exact moment Sunshine rolled up all the windows, locked all the doors and was shushing me as loudly as possible while swearing that I was going to get her killed. I burst out laughing, for who knows how long, until I could not ignore the needs of my blatter any longer and fought my door to release me upon the innocent gas station patrons.
Luckily, by the time I had wrestled my drunken ass out of the car, the threesome had moved on.
Instead a new challenge presented itself, two solo Police cars pulling up alongside Sunshine's car. The first officer walked in behind me as I sauntered past the lighters, while the second seemed to be eyeballing Sunshine, who was patiently awaiting my return in her running vehicle.
When the second officer then started to look from Sunshine to me standing inside the door grinning at him, back to Sunshine, she tried signaling me to find the bathroom and stop lingering in the doorway. Unfortunately her frantic hand gestures made little more sense to me at that point than say…German or perhaps binary code. So, I decided the only thing to do in response to her signals was to wave emphatically back, just to let her know I’d atleast been trying to pay attention. I was later told I was waving so hard my head was actually bouncing on my shoulders like a bobble head.
The second officer, still standing between us and watching this exchange, shook his head and laughed as he finally entered the gas station.
Epilogue: I eventually found my way to the bathroom. Anyone standing outside the bathroom of the 42nd Street gas station right off the interstate at around 2AM on last Saturday night, would have only heard my cheerful chanting of ‘Booty, booty, booty, booty’ while I happily relieved myself. Yet another victory for all mankind.

Labels: Drunken Adventures

So there I was, it's about 1 am on a Saturday night. I'd been drinking since about 8:30 and had tried my very first Yager-bomb. (For those who haven't tried one, don't try it late in the night unless you plan on passing out, otherwise you'll be up all damn night.) I'd crammed a number of drinks into the half-hour before last call and was officially drunk off my non-ass. Since I'd broken the seal early in the night we had stopped at a conveniently placed QT for my fourth or fifth potty-break. As I pranced into the gas station alongside Sunshine, waving at everyone that met my eye, I bore witness to the most horrifying sight a drunk person can ever come across...(Insert dramatic duh-Duh-DUH!) a QT employee mopping the entire aisle that led to the bathroom. It was chaos! 'Slick When Wet' signs were everywhere! Mops lay discarded amongst the slimy tile floor! And yes, there were bright orange cones tossed amongst the disorder! Oh, the ANARCHY! It was like a drunken obstacle course! I just knew, KNEW I was going to die.
I turned to Sunshine in slow-motion like in the movies. With my eyes wide, my face pale, I starred at her over my shoulder like seeing the monster chasing you for the very first time, "Oh my GOD! I’m going to die! DIE! I can’t do this! Let’s go somewhere else."
"Where else?"
"I don’t know! Dear God, just take me somewhere without mops!"
She laughed and non-too-gently pushed me toward the wet terrain, "You’ll make it. Just don’t run."
Okay. Don’t run. Easy, right? Right. I glared at the Mopping-Man convinced he’d orchestrated the entire set-up in order to knock me off. He looked back at me with an innocent, blank face.
I picked my way slowly at first, one foot after the other on my tiptoes. Stepping over one mop, then a cone, then dodging quickly to the right a sign that seemed to be waiting for me to loose my footing and come crashing down on top of it. Each time I’d reach a stretch of tile without some foreign bright-colored obstacle, I’d sprint the few feet before returning to my slow deliberate trek across the land of the mop.
As I reached the home stretch, I heard Sunshine, still on the far side of the gas station, chuckling to the Mopping Man (TRAITOR!), "Don’t worry, I won’t flutter across like my friend."
When I once again reached dry land, I celebrated my incredible physical prowess. Hooray! I had conquered my new arch-nemesis, the QT Mopping Man, and quite possibly saved the entire world.
Epilogue: When I once again emerged from the QT potty, Mopping Man had disappeared, no doubt hiding his face from the shame. Sunshine and I thought it best to walk the long way past the QT Fountain Machine and Icees instead of braving the Slick Mop Maze again, possibly giving Mopping Man another chance to strike…

Labels: Drunken Adventures