Monday, August 31, 2009
When I Was a Little Kid #2
When I was a little kid, I didn't understand what off brands foods were. My mom often bought things like "Crisped Rice" in lieu of Rice Krispy Treats. But she would still call these things by the brand names. I have a (redundant) memory of myself staring at a box of "TOASTER PASTRIES" trying to figure out how that combination of letters spelled "POP TARTS".
The Shit Show
Disclaimer: I did not mean for any of this to happen. I am sorry to anyone who thought I outgrew partaking in shenanigans the likes of which I describe below. Keep in mind it was my birthday.
In order to understand the extent of this next story, you've had to have gone out drinking with me at least once in your life. I don't mean gone out with me. I don't mean seen me out. I don't mean drank a beer with me, and I sure as crap don't mean seen pictures of me going out drinking with other people. Cameras don't typically make it far enough into my nights to catch anything worth a damn.So don't assume you know an eighth of what goes on in my life based on some shit-eating pictures you've seen of me on some lame ass website. What I mean is, in order to understand what the hell this story even entails, you have to have GONE OUT DRINKING WITH ME. The real people I can't stand are these assbags that feel the need to tell you the next day how drunk you were the night before. What the hell is this all about? Why were you out? To watch me? This wasn't my first rodeo and it sure as shit won't be my last. So go suck on one mixed drink and move the fuck on. You suck. Don't stand around watching me make an ass of myself unless you want to join the fuck in. I know I was drunk. I don't see any other reason to drink, and wine is gay. So fuck off. Now I'll go on with my story. (I was very angry at some dude who made a comment about how drunk I was this one night even though he wasn't drinking at all when we all went out. For some reason, it got me hott. It adds nothing to the story so please ignore.)
Friday, 11:00 am Work
Our fantasy football draft was scheduled to begin at 11:30. We work half days on Fridays and figured we'd better get the show on the road. Like any other Friday, some of us typically have to work late. The plan was to leave work and meet up at 11:30 to commence drafting. The bar of choice was what we'll call F&H Pub. The deal is that if you bring 10 people to the bar, you get free pizza, wings and some beer. Perfect.
Friday, Noon F&H Pub
I end up getting there around 12. By 1, I've had 2 beers, 3 pieces of pizza and 0 wings. Fuck em. And the draft begins... This is where I'll introduce the first culprit of the night - Mr. F. He was a former coworker who had quit about 4 months prior to the draft. I can tell he's ready to get shit-canned today, and at one point I look at my friend Mr. S across the table and inform him that "today is going to be a shit show." If I only knew. By round 3, the racial slurs begin to fly. I inform one of my co-workers that it's 2009 and he needs to chill out with making assumptions based on race (there was one black guy in our draft and I don't remember what was said to instigate my comment). The sad part was, at this point I wasn't drunk. I was high on fantasy draft. Nonetheless, the draft wears on and I'm averaging somewhere around 1 beer per round. By the end of the draft, I had reached the point where outside influences are non-existent. When I'm out drinking, I don't give a shit what other people say and I don't think I can hear anything anyway. So it works out perfectly. I'm in my own world, and if you're not in it, I'm not interested. So after 16 rounds, we take a Vegas Bomb to seal the draft, treated by Mr. K (I think). Directly after this, Mr. F wants to follow suit and buy another round. He buys everyone what they want but insists to the waitress that I receive "the pussiest shot in the bar". After taking down my Buttery Nipple, I feel I must re-prove my manliness and take a shot of straight house tequila. So I do. Somewhere in the middle of this, we managed to input all the draft results and I can proudly brag that we made only one mistake (Jacob Hester in lieu of Devin Hester). At this point, Mr. S informs Mr. J and I that he has been drinking straight liquor on the rocks. Of course, we have to follow suit. At this point, the few stragglers from the draft that were oblivious to the circus that was beginning to take place decide to leave. The remaining players are Mr. K, Mr. J, myself, Mr. F and Mr. S. Following suit on the straight liquor idea, J and I begin drinking straight vodka on ice (house vodka). After a few of these, it becomes debatable the exit strategy that befell us. One thing we kept in our minds was that a few of us had to survive the day long enough to make it across town to Dave and Busters for the Bowling League Party. I'm not a part of this. Neither were S or F. But K and J had to make it to this function, and S, myself and F decided to follow them and just hang out at Dave and Busters. By this point, I'd say I've had somewhere around 16 beers, 3 shots and 2 vodka's on ice. I don't keep count but my tab would suggest something in this ballpark. Whether we were asked, were told or decided to leave on our own free will is still up in the air. The last thing I remember is talking shit to F for having what could only be described as prison tattoos all over his stomach. I was shocked. We begin to have a serious talk about all the fights we had or had not been in. This must be where the tequila begins to take hold. So this is where we stand now and this is where I'll make break in the story. (Surveys say K and J left and shortly thereafter S, F and I were told to get the hell out). It may be of importance to note that we're regulars at this bar and are here every Friday. I don't think they've even suggested that we need to leave until this day.
Friday, somewhere around 5, In a car
My next memory is S, F and I in S's car. F is laughing hysterically and I'm up front trying to put out the fire that F had become. I wish I could remember more of what was said, but just know that if I'm in this condition and am trying to calm someone down, then there must be some serious shit talking taking place. The next thing I remember is S flying into a parking lot and hitting the brakes. He demands F get out of the car and begins talking massive shit to him. I wish I could remember what was said but I believe I was mediating and/or laughing. But S was serious. S was going to kill him. F had no choice but to back down because this was going to get ugly. S calms down and we commence to drive again.
Friday, somewhere around 5:30, Dave and Busters
I vaguely remember stumbling into Dave and Busters in broad daylight. We were either too drunk to get into the bowling party or didn't feel like it, but the next the I remember is order a beer or vodka on the rocks at the bar and playing pool. The pool playing was a lost cause for me. I decide to try to meet some women. I have this image of myself walking up to these 3 women playing pool at the other part of the pool room. I walk up and can barely speak. I vaguely remember possibly standing behind someone. I was told later that I was talking to them and began leaning forward, almost falling. I don't believe this, but it is what I was told. I remember going back up to the bar and ordering another drink. This time I was told that I can't be served. I asked them if it was because I was too drunk. I was told yes. I saunter off with slumped shoulders, what at the time I'm sure I felt was a "victimized" look. It was honest though. I honestly felt sorry for myself that I could be served here. I believe that looking back, I can remember a larger manager type walking up from a different room. This is what we call in the bizz, "backup". They figured these three shlubs that hobbled their mangey asses in here may cause a problem. I'm assuming there was some physical aggression taking place between F and myself because I remember discussing fighting several times and I have a bruised sternum as I type this. Something happened. I remember again walking up to the bar. This time the muscle was here. I attempt to order a drink. They again tell me no, and I remember remembering that they had "cut me off." I slump the shoulder and walk back to my friends. I don't remember anything after this. I'm assuming the fact that they weren't serving me was an issue and that we felt we needed to go somewhere with more lax rules. I was told later that J had joined us in our next ride in S's car.
Friday, around 8, Molly's Pub
I don't know if this memory is of me walking into Molly's or out of it, but I have a memory of the entrance to the pub. My throat tasted like straight vodka the next day, so I'm pretty sure I began ordering vodka on the rocks immediately. But I'm not sure. I believe K and some others joined us at Molly's, but I'm not sure. I was told later that they cut me off at some point and F began buying beers and giving them to me. Molly's is not a large bar. Of course we got caught doing this. At first, we surmised that me crashing out of my barstool onto the ground was the cause of us getting kicked out. We later learned that F buying beer for me was the actual cause. He was apparently buying pints of Guinness so I could prove my chugging prowess. I'm sure it was a work of art, if only I could remember. Nonetheless, at some point I tumped over in my barstool and fell to the ground (this could be the actual cause of the sternum issue), and at another point we were told to leave.
Friday, around 11, Sherlock's
At this point I really have no clue. Neither does J, and he was the only guy I've talked to extensively about this particular night. I learned a few things from him based on our conversation today: we arrived at Sherlock's, we drank vodka on the rocks, we tried to mosh pit, we got told not to mosh pit by a bouncer, a cop looked at me, I looked at a cop back, I stared at a cop, I continued to stare at a cop, and I got told to leave. On the way out, it's weird, because I gained some memory. I remember asking where F was. I had no clue. I didn't remember when was the last time I had seen him. I tried to call him several times with no response. He may have been drunker than I was, but we probably don't want to take it that far. I couldn't get a hold of him and I was genuinely worried. The next thing I remember, I was lead singing while playing Rock Band.
Saturday, around 1, J's house
At this point, I think I realized it was my birthday and didn't really care. I wanted nothing more than to yell into a fake microphone the lyrics to some familiar songs. I distinctly remember doing my best Mik Jagger impersonation to Gimme Shelter and sining Foghat's Mississippi. J's roommate took K's house keys and left to go sleep at K's apartment. I had no shirt on and I continuously failed at the songs I was attempting to sing.
Saturday, around 9 am, J's house
I wake up on the couch with no shirt on. My throat tastes like vodka. I try to recall some of the shit that happened. I want no part of getting my truck from F&H. I still don't know what happened to F. I recall the text message I attempted to send the night before. I'm not a "drunk texter" by any stretch. It is very uncommon. It was just a coincidence that a few people I talk to sent me text messages and I "responded". I'm still scared to check my sent box. I know that one of the responses in my inbox was "HUH?!?!" and another one was "plz don't call me tonight". I'm not really in the mood to check what set off these responses. I have to be in San Antonio by 4 to do another Fantasy Draft and I'm 3 hours away. This drive is going to suck. I'm still concerned with the whereabouts of F. J suggests we call the police stations. I don't have the motivation. We get a ride back to our trucks at F&H from J's roommate, who returned home from spending the night at K's. K was sleeping in J's roommate's bed. S was on the floor when I awoke at 6 am. But he was gone now that I awoke again around 9. I have a headache, but it could be worse. I drive back to my house, still well above a .08. I think about some of the things that at the time I had remembered, and I begin to laugh. I get home and sleep. I wake up and drive to San Antonio, picking up a breakfast burrito and croissant from Jack in the Box. I also pick up Sprite from the neighboring convenient store. I don't know why I didn't buy it at JITB. When I arrive at San Antonio, my cousin shows me a text he received after asking me "how did you draft go?" I responded "AAAAAAaaaaaaaaah asfsd". He asked to show me my first round, and my next response was "afasdf hmqvrd". I inform him that this means "hammered" I'm sure. I pick up some Lone Star Lite and commence drinking again.
In order to understand the extent of this next story, you've had to have gone out drinking with me at least once in your life. I don't mean gone out with me. I don't mean seen me out. I don't mean drank a beer with me, and I sure as crap don't mean seen pictures of me going out drinking with other people. Cameras don't typically make it far enough into my nights to catch anything worth a damn.
Friday, 11:00 am Work
Our fantasy football draft was scheduled to begin at 11:30. We work half days on Fridays and figured we'd better get the show on the road. Like any other Friday, some of us typically have to work late. The plan was to leave work and meet up at 11:30 to commence drafting. The bar of choice was what we'll call F&H Pub. The deal is that if you bring 10 people to the bar, you get free pizza, wings and some beer. Perfect.
Friday, Noon F&H Pub
I end up getting there around 12. By 1, I've had 2 beers, 3 pieces of pizza and 0 wings. Fuck em. And the draft begins... This is where I'll introduce the first culprit of the night - Mr. F. He was a former coworker who had quit about 4 months prior to the draft. I can tell he's ready to get shit-canned today, and at one point I look at my friend Mr. S across the table and inform him that "today is going to be a shit show." If I only knew. By round 3, the racial slurs begin to fly. I inform one of my co-workers that it's 2009 and he needs to chill out with making assumptions based on race (there was one black guy in our draft and I don't remember what was said to instigate my comment). The sad part was, at this point I wasn't drunk. I was high on fantasy draft. Nonetheless, the draft wears on and I'm averaging somewhere around 1 beer per round. By the end of the draft, I had reached the point where outside influences are non-existent. When I'm out drinking, I don't give a shit what other people say and I don't think I can hear anything anyway. So it works out perfectly. I'm in my own world, and if you're not in it, I'm not interested. So after 16 rounds, we take a Vegas Bomb to seal the draft, treated by Mr. K (I think). Directly after this, Mr. F wants to follow suit and buy another round. He buys everyone what they want but insists to the waitress that I receive "the pussiest shot in the bar". After taking down my Buttery Nipple, I feel I must re-prove my manliness and take a shot of straight house tequila. So I do. Somewhere in the middle of this, we managed to input all the draft results and I can proudly brag that we made only one mistake (Jacob Hester in lieu of Devin Hester). At this point, Mr. S informs Mr. J and I that he has been drinking straight liquor on the rocks. Of course, we have to follow suit. At this point, the few stragglers from the draft that were oblivious to the circus that was beginning to take place decide to leave. The remaining players are Mr. K, Mr. J, myself, Mr. F and Mr. S. Following suit on the straight liquor idea, J and I begin drinking straight vodka on ice (house vodka). After a few of these, it becomes debatable the exit strategy that befell us. One thing we kept in our minds was that a few of us had to survive the day long enough to make it across town to Dave and Busters for the Bowling League Party. I'm not a part of this. Neither were S or F. But K and J had to make it to this function, and S, myself and F decided to follow them and just hang out at Dave and Busters. By this point, I'd say I've had somewhere around 16 beers, 3 shots and 2 vodka's on ice. I don't keep count but my tab would suggest something in this ballpark. Whether we were asked, were told or decided to leave on our own free will is still up in the air. The last thing I remember is talking shit to F for having what could only be described as prison tattoos all over his stomach. I was shocked. We begin to have a serious talk about all the fights we had or had not been in. This must be where the tequila begins to take hold. So this is where we stand now and this is where I'll make break in the story. (Surveys say K and J left and shortly thereafter S, F and I were told to get the hell out). It may be of importance to note that we're regulars at this bar and are here every Friday. I don't think they've even suggested that we need to leave until this day.
Friday, somewhere around 5, In a car
My next memory is S, F and I in S's car. F is laughing hysterically and I'm up front trying to put out the fire that F had become. I wish I could remember more of what was said, but just know that if I'm in this condition and am trying to calm someone down, then there must be some serious shit talking taking place. The next thing I remember is S flying into a parking lot and hitting the brakes. He demands F get out of the car and begins talking massive shit to him. I wish I could remember what was said but I believe I was mediating and/or laughing. But S was serious. S was going to kill him. F had no choice but to back down because this was going to get ugly. S calms down and we commence to drive again.
Friday, somewhere around 5:30, Dave and Busters
I vaguely remember stumbling into Dave and Busters in broad daylight. We were either too drunk to get into the bowling party or didn't feel like it, but the next the I remember is order a beer or vodka on the rocks at the bar and playing pool. The pool playing was a lost cause for me. I decide to try to meet some women. I have this image of myself walking up to these 3 women playing pool at the other part of the pool room. I walk up and can barely speak. I vaguely remember possibly standing behind someone. I was told later that I was talking to them and began leaning forward, almost falling. I don't believe this, but it is what I was told. I remember going back up to the bar and ordering another drink. This time I was told that I can't be served. I asked them if it was because I was too drunk. I was told yes. I saunter off with slumped shoulders, what at the time I'm sure I felt was a "victimized" look. It was honest though. I honestly felt sorry for myself that I could be served here. I believe that looking back, I can remember a larger manager type walking up from a different room. This is what we call in the bizz, "backup". They figured these three shlubs that hobbled their mangey asses in here may cause a problem. I'm assuming there was some physical aggression taking place between F and myself because I remember discussing fighting several times and I have a bruised sternum as I type this. Something happened. I remember again walking up to the bar. This time the muscle was here. I attempt to order a drink. They again tell me no, and I remember remembering that they had "cut me off." I slump the shoulder and walk back to my friends. I don't remember anything after this. I'm assuming the fact that they weren't serving me was an issue and that we felt we needed to go somewhere with more lax rules. I was told later that J had joined us in our next ride in S's car.
Friday, around 8, Molly's Pub
I don't know if this memory is of me walking into Molly's or out of it, but I have a memory of the entrance to the pub. My throat tasted like straight vodka the next day, so I'm pretty sure I began ordering vodka on the rocks immediately. But I'm not sure. I believe K and some others joined us at Molly's, but I'm not sure. I was told later that they cut me off at some point and F began buying beers and giving them to me. Molly's is not a large bar. Of course we got caught doing this. At first, we surmised that me crashing out of my barstool onto the ground was the cause of us getting kicked out. We later learned that F buying beer for me was the actual cause. He was apparently buying pints of Guinness so I could prove my chugging prowess. I'm sure it was a work of art, if only I could remember. Nonetheless, at some point I tumped over in my barstool and fell to the ground (this could be the actual cause of the sternum issue), and at another point we were told to leave.
Friday, around 11, Sherlock's
At this point I really have no clue. Neither does J, and he was the only guy I've talked to extensively about this particular night. I learned a few things from him based on our conversation today: we arrived at Sherlock's, we drank vodka on the rocks, we tried to mosh pit, we got told not to mosh pit by a bouncer, a cop looked at me, I looked at a cop back, I stared at a cop, I continued to stare at a cop, and I got told to leave. On the way out, it's weird, because I gained some memory. I remember asking where F was. I had no clue. I didn't remember when was the last time I had seen him. I tried to call him several times with no response. He may have been drunker than I was, but we probably don't want to take it that far. I couldn't get a hold of him and I was genuinely worried. The next thing I remember, I was lead singing while playing Rock Band.
Saturday, around 1, J's house
At this point, I think I realized it was my birthday and didn't really care. I wanted nothing more than to yell into a fake microphone the lyrics to some familiar songs. I distinctly remember doing my best Mik Jagger impersonation to Gimme Shelter and sining Foghat's Mississippi. J's roommate took K's house keys and left to go sleep at K's apartment. I had no shirt on and I continuously failed at the songs I was attempting to sing.
Saturday, around 9 am, J's house
I wake up on the couch with no shirt on. My throat tastes like vodka. I try to recall some of the shit that happened. I want no part of getting my truck from F&H. I still don't know what happened to F. I recall the text message I attempted to send the night before. I'm not a "drunk texter" by any stretch. It is very uncommon. It was just a coincidence that a few people I talk to sent me text messages and I "responded". I'm still scared to check my sent box. I know that one of the responses in my inbox was "HUH?!?!" and another one was "plz don't call me tonight". I'm not really in the mood to check what set off these responses. I have to be in San Antonio by 4 to do another Fantasy Draft and I'm 3 hours away. This drive is going to suck. I'm still concerned with the whereabouts of F. J suggests we call the police stations. I don't have the motivation. We get a ride back to our trucks at F&H from J's roommate, who returned home from spending the night at K's. K was sleeping in J's roommate's bed. S was on the floor when I awoke at 6 am. But he was gone now that I awoke again around 9. I have a headache, but it could be worse. I drive back to my house, still well above a .08. I think about some of the things that at the time I had remembered, and I begin to laugh. I get home and sleep. I wake up and drive to San Antonio, picking up a breakfast burrito and croissant from Jack in the Box. I also pick up Sprite from the neighboring convenient store. I don't know why I didn't buy it at JITB. When I arrive at San Antonio, my cousin shows me a text he received after asking me "how did you draft go?" I responded "AAAAAAaaaaaaaaah asfsd". He asked to show me my first round, and my next response was "afasdf hmqvrd". I inform him that this means "hammered" I'm sure. I pick up some Lone Star Lite and commence drinking again.
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