It should have been a family-friendly event.
And up until someone brought out the bottle of Fireball Whiskey, I am sure it could’ve been. But as usual, an innocent fish fry went awry.
The fish fry was being held in Nashville by the new boyfriend of my friend Shitshow. Shitshow is one of my oldest friends, and one of the few people from my hometown that has an opinion I respect (we are from rural Tennessee. You have to see it to believe it).
I had met her boyfriend before and he seemed to like me. This is probably because when he met me the first time I was accompanied by ShitShow’s other friend who was a bitch and talked about how she randomly lactated. And no, I didn’t know her either. So, he liked me by default. Plus, most of my friend’s boyfriends like me because I am usually laid back, like to party, and I don’t act like a bitch. However, boyfriends should never really like their girlfriend’s friend that likes to party. Because we are the ones encourag-ing them to do body shots and make out with randoms in public (just FYI).
I went to the fish fry with my girlfriends Bobcat and 007. The fish was good and the party was fun. It was kind of like a college party without the natty light and date rape. I remember I went inside the house with Bobcat and we had a drunken yet intellectual conversation on the political ramifications of Hurricane Katrina. When we went back outside to the party the sun was setting – but that wasn’t all that went down.
The backyard looked like war-torn Africa. There were broken tables, chairs in the bushes, trash and empty bottles everywhere. Someone was passed out on the lawn. I then see Shitshow turn up a bottle of Firefly Whiskey, finish it off and chunk it into the yard with the rest of the debris. I went up to her to tell her it was time to leave but I couldn’t tell if she was listening because even though she was standing and talking, her eyes were closed.
TCH: Hey, ShitShow. It is time to leave. Let’s go to the bars.
SHITSHOW: FUCK NO! I ain’t leaving!
TCH: But the party is over.
SHITSHOW: Why are you so mean to me?
Of course, she started to cry. Until she saw some chips.
SHITSHOW: Doritos! Hell yeah!
Bobcat comes up to me to say she got a cab.
TCH: Where is 007?
BOBCAT: She is getting high with that nerdy kid who lives in the basement.
TCH: Seriously?
BOBCAT: And he is coming with us when we leave.
TCH: Just what we need – a clinger. I can’t get Shitshow to leave.
BOBCAT: Can’t we just tempt her with food or something? You know, like a dog?
I look over at Shitshow, who is now sitting in the grass talking to her new boyfriend who is standing over her. He comes up to Bobcat and me.
BF: She should probably go with you guys. She is wasted.
TCH: She doesn’t want to. Besides, everyone is wasted here. Who cares?
BOBCAT: Look, she is probably going to stay. You just better keep and eye on her (drunkenly) because that girl is an angel.
SHITSHOW: AWWWW!!
Shitshow then proceeds to tackle Bobcat to the ground with, what looked like, an attempt of a hug.
The cab rolls up with our lovely cab driver, Mohammed, who Shitshow has on speed dial for when she is too drunk to drive home. Red-eyed and completely stoned, 007 comes over to get us to the cab.
TCH: Shitshow doesn’t want to go.
007: (completely unfazed) Peace, bitch.
She marched off to the cab with the nerdy kid from the basement. I just shrug and follow suit, leaving ShitShow on the ground. Bobcat decides to stay with her.
At the first bar, 007 tires of the nerdy kid as soon as her buzz wears off. He is clearly in love with her. She keeps looking at me to help get her out of the situation, but of course I do nothing, but snicker mercilessly. That is what she gets for using the kid for pot. After about 30 minutes he decides to leave and goes to close his tab.
TCH: How did you get rid of him?
007: I told him that you were really into him and I can never be with a guy that my friend likes so much.
TCH: Nice.
Before he leaves he comes up to me (he is about 5 inches shorter than me so I have to lean down to hear him).
NERD: Look, I am sure you are very nice. But you are not my type. Sorry, I just feel it is best to be honest.
TCH: I understand.
I love being rejected by short nerds I am not attracted to. It was clearly time for shots. About that time Bobcat shows up with Shitshow who can’t walk straight or open her eyes.
TCH: Hey! You made it!
SHITSHOW: AAHHH lalalala. Yeah.
BOBCAT: My ex-boyfriend is here! I passed him when I walked in. I hate that asshole.
TCH: Let’s go to a new bar then.
The four of us went to several bars before we decided to call Mohammed to come get us and take us to a party our guy friend, RBG, was having. As we all piled in I realized Shitshow was missing an earring.
TCH: What happened to your earring, Shitshow?
SHITSHOW: I don’t need it! I’m a pirate! UGGGHHH!
TCH: I think you mean “AARRRR!” Shitshow. Pirates don’t go “UGGGHHH!”
SHITSHOW: Don’t UGGHHH me, bitch!
MOHAMMED: You guys had some to drink, no?
SHITSHOW: No way, Mohammed. I ain’t drunk!
(pause)
SHITSHOW: Okay, guys, I’m a little drunk.
EVERYONE: noooo…
The party we go to has clearly passed its peak. People are leaving and the house looked like a tornado hit. RBG is so drunk he can’t see and he would later deny that we even showed up to the party. But, being a man, he still tried to sleep with my friends.
SHITSHOW: Can I lay down?
TCH: Why are you asking me? I don’t care what you do.
She immediately passes out on her back on RBG’s front lawn. Bobcat, who is now drunk herself, sees this and tries to get her up by sprinkling water from a garden hose on her, but this proved to be ineffective.
BOBCAT: We need something to get her up.
TCH: Yeah.
BOBCAT: Let’s get her some cocaine.
I’m shocked. I doubt Bobcat has ever seen real cocaine. I assume her Martin Scorcesse movie marathon is leaving a bad impression. Bobcat then goes around the house asking for drugs.
BOBCAT: Hey man, you got any of the hard stuff to energize my friend?
DUDE: Hard stuff?
BOBCAT: Yeah, the good shit.
DUDE: Like lasagna?
BOBCAT: You look like my ex-boyfriend. I saw him tonight. I hate him.
I realize we are probably going to get kicked out of the party fast so I promise Shitshow that if she gets up we can go to Taco Bell. Which, of course, worked like a charm. We call Mohammed again to pick us up. By the time he gets there, Bobcat is nowhere to be found.
TCH: Where is Bobcat? Where did she go?
007: Oh she called her ex-boyfriend and he came and got her. She is staying with him tonight.
Figures. Shitshow is unfortunately the only person who knows the way to her house in Nashville. So our ability to get home was up to her (later she would come up with the idea to pass out pieces of paper with her address on it in case we got lost or separated. Clutch.) The cab came to a stop on the side of the street and as I was paying Mohammed, Shitshow started yelling and banging on the door.
SHITSHOW: Mohammed! This isn’t my fucking house! I don’t even know who lives here! What the fuck, man!
007: Don’t let him go anywhere! He took us to the wrong house!
Mohammed looks as us calmly. He then takes Shitshow by the arm and walks her next door, where he couldn’t park because there were cars in front of the house.
MOHAMMED: Here is your house, miss.
SHITSHOW: Oh, thanks! Peace, man!
She gaily marched inside. I gave him an extra tip. I also wondered if his dream of coming to America involved driving around drunk white girls who forget where they live.
The next day Shitshow’s new boyfriend broke up with her for reasons that none of us understood.
SHITSHOW: What the hell did I do? I didn’t do anything. I just got a little drunk.
007: I don’t know either man. That guy was a douche anyway. If he can’t handle our drinking then he obviously can’t hang.
BOBCAT: Seriously. You are better off. I mean, if he didn’t want you and your friends to get drunk, then why were they passing around a bottle of whiskey that bears the sweet taste of cinnamon?
TCH: I am with them, Shitshow. I mean, one day I am sure we will go to another fish fry and there will be kids, and grandparents, and balloons and we will sit around sippin’ drinks with no alcohol and talk about redecorating our house and shit. But for now, I really wouldn’t have my fish fries any other way. Fuck it if people can’t have fun.
However, when I said that out loud. I couldn’t help but think of the look on the neighbors’ faces when ShitShow and her two drunk friends were trying to get inside their house at 3 a.m. But like I said, fuck it if they can’t take a joke.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
50 Reasons Being Single Is Awesome
In honor of Valentine's I distribute this. Let's be honest, everyone wants to be in a relationship at some point, but I never get the pity parties people -especially women - throw themselves because they are single. Someone the other day, had seen all the photos on my facebook profile and told me "You look like you always have a really good time." Well, yeah I do, because instead of moping about being single or, worse, dating some loser just because I don't want to be alone, I have come to embrace and downright bask in my solo lifestyle.
Why? Well one reason is because I am extremely spoiled and selfish and I don't like anything or anyone to get in the way of "me time" and the things I enjoy doing - like traveling, sleeping around, and being a drunken lush of young professional. Naturally, all those things tend to clash with having a meaningful relationship. But I don't care. I am not 40 years-old and by the time I am ready to get married most of my friends will be getting over their first divorce so I am sure I can pick up some guy then. Until then, may I roam free. And for those of you by yourself on Valentine's Day get some friends and go out. The best Valentine's Day I ever had wasn't with a guy- it was during college when my friends and I went to a strip club and got trashed. Remember that. And remember these 50 reasons you are single:
(This is targeted at women obviously, because I am a woman. But I am sure men can make their own list which you can feel free to send to me since I believe in gender equality in my married people prejudice).
1. Going to weddings. While your non-single friend who is getting married just spent her life’s savings on her dress and must stay sober and talk to all her relatives she had to invite, you will joyously consume her free alcohol, catered food and go home with a groomsman.
2. Shaving one’s legs becomes an optional daily activity.
3. “Sex and the City” marathon with no bitching.
4. Sleeping in flannel
5. After cleaning the apartment, it will stay until you mess it up yourself.
6. No snoring
7. No stroking the male ego. Or the male anything.
8. Free drinks at the bar.
9. While your non-single friends are at home having “movie night,” you are out…probably getting free drinks…at a bar.
10. The television is all yours. Oh look! Another special on the photoshoot of the male Twilight cast members partially clothed!
11. You can have male friends – even if they want to sleep with you.
12. The tampons can be in plain view
13. Less contact with testicles. (those things are so ugly)
14. You actually have best friends that you actually do stuff with.
15. The hair dryer isn’t in the third drawer from the bottom.
16. No sharing of the closet.
17. Spend your paycheck on what you want with no criticism – this especially includes wine, slutty clothes, and bath products.
18. If someone invites you to a party. You immediately say “yes” and don’t have to see if your other half feels like it or not.
19. Saving money on Valentine’s Day, birthdays, Christmas and every other excuse of a holiday where you have to buy someone an overpriced piece of crap.
20. Sex: anytime, anywhere, anyone
21. Sleeping with a married person – It doesn’t make YOU a cheater.
22. No nagging (women may take the cake on this, but men definitely do their share).
23. When you date casually or turn someone down there aren’t legal proceedings or fees. Just humiliation.
24. No pretending to like his friends or think his jokes are funny.
25. No Mothers-in-law
26. No blow jobs – because you know they suck.
27. Trip this weekend? You are free.
28. Drinking every night with no judgment. And then there is day drinking…
29. Lower chances of pregnancy. And let’s face it, kids suck.
30. Going on a blind date and pretending you have epilepsy.
31. If there is a guy with you in the morning, you can kick them out and never see them again.
32. Random bar make outs with guys hotter than your friend’s husbands.
33. No one asks, “What the hell is that suppose to mean?”
34. Shameless flirting
35. Health benefits: You still workout because you actually care if you get fat.
36. Not sounding like an idiot in Facebook posts. “Have a good day, pumpkin” or the cryptic “how can you be so cruel when I love you more than I love more than life AHHH (random song quote).”
37. Has anyone else noticed that as the women’s movement has led women to get better careers it has also led more men to become major moochers?
38. No fighting. When is the last time you had a fight with a vibrator?
39. Spending time with your own family and not someone else’s.
40. Wherever you wake up is wherever you passed out.
41. You have the most entertaining stories. Great stories never begin with “My boyfriend and I were at Bed, Bath, and Beyond looking for linens when…” however they DO begin with “So I was wasted at 2 a.m. with this French guy and a stolen poodle…”
42. Not dealing with someone else’s gross habits, but completely indulging in your own.
43. Possible affairs with Latin American men and a random cruise to the beach you took with your single friends with that money you saved not buying anyone a gift on Valentine’s Day.
44. Promotion? Single people focus more on work and work harder.
45. Men: they’re always there, especially if you live in China.
46. The smugness of single life – because you know you are better than the needy bitches out there.
47. Not having your friends take bets on when you get a divorce.
48. Answer to no one.
49. Finding out what you are really like and the things you really want without any testicular influences.
50. How many happy married couples do you know anyway? Half of marriages…all I’m saying.
Why? Well one reason is because I am extremely spoiled and selfish and I don't like anything or anyone to get in the way of "me time" and the things I enjoy doing - like traveling, sleeping around, and being a drunken lush of young professional. Naturally, all those things tend to clash with having a meaningful relationship. But I don't care. I am not 40 years-old and by the time I am ready to get married most of my friends will be getting over their first divorce so I am sure I can pick up some guy then. Until then, may I roam free. And for those of you by yourself on Valentine's Day get some friends and go out. The best Valentine's Day I ever had wasn't with a guy- it was during college when my friends and I went to a strip club and got trashed. Remember that. And remember these 50 reasons you are single:
(This is targeted at women obviously, because I am a woman. But I am sure men can make their own list which you can feel free to send to me since I believe in gender equality in my married people prejudice).
1. Going to weddings. While your non-single friend who is getting married just spent her life’s savings on her dress and must stay sober and talk to all her relatives she had to invite, you will joyously consume her free alcohol, catered food and go home with a groomsman.
2. Shaving one’s legs becomes an optional daily activity.
3. “Sex and the City” marathon with no bitching.
4. Sleeping in flannel
5. After cleaning the apartment, it will stay until you mess it up yourself.
6. No snoring
7. No stroking the male ego. Or the male anything.
8. Free drinks at the bar.
9. While your non-single friends are at home having “movie night,” you are out…probably getting free drinks…at a bar.
10. The television is all yours. Oh look! Another special on the photoshoot of the male Twilight cast members partially clothed!
11. You can have male friends – even if they want to sleep with you.
12. The tampons can be in plain view
13. Less contact with testicles. (those things are so ugly)
14. You actually have best friends that you actually do stuff with.
15. The hair dryer isn’t in the third drawer from the bottom.
16. No sharing of the closet.
17. Spend your paycheck on what you want with no criticism – this especially includes wine, slutty clothes, and bath products.
18. If someone invites you to a party. You immediately say “yes” and don’t have to see if your other half feels like it or not.
19. Saving money on Valentine’s Day, birthdays, Christmas and every other excuse of a holiday where you have to buy someone an overpriced piece of crap.
20. Sex: anytime, anywhere, anyone
21. Sleeping with a married person – It doesn’t make YOU a cheater.
22. No nagging (women may take the cake on this, but men definitely do their share).
23. When you date casually or turn someone down there aren’t legal proceedings or fees. Just humiliation.
24. No pretending to like his friends or think his jokes are funny.
25. No Mothers-in-law
26. No blow jobs – because you know they suck.
27. Trip this weekend? You are free.
28. Drinking every night with no judgment. And then there is day drinking…
29. Lower chances of pregnancy. And let’s face it, kids suck.
30. Going on a blind date and pretending you have epilepsy.
31. If there is a guy with you in the morning, you can kick them out and never see them again.
32. Random bar make outs with guys hotter than your friend’s husbands.
33. No one asks, “What the hell is that suppose to mean?”
34. Shameless flirting
35. Health benefits: You still workout because you actually care if you get fat.
36. Not sounding like an idiot in Facebook posts. “Have a good day, pumpkin” or the cryptic “how can you be so cruel when I love you more than I love more than life AHHH (random song quote).”
37. Has anyone else noticed that as the women’s movement has led women to get better careers it has also led more men to become major moochers?
38. No fighting. When is the last time you had a fight with a vibrator?
39. Spending time with your own family and not someone else’s.
40. Wherever you wake up is wherever you passed out.
41. You have the most entertaining stories. Great stories never begin with “My boyfriend and I were at Bed, Bath, and Beyond looking for linens when…” however they DO begin with “So I was wasted at 2 a.m. with this French guy and a stolen poodle…”
42. Not dealing with someone else’s gross habits, but completely indulging in your own.
43. Possible affairs with Latin American men and a random cruise to the beach you took with your single friends with that money you saved not buying anyone a gift on Valentine’s Day.
44. Promotion? Single people focus more on work and work harder.
45. Men: they’re always there, especially if you live in China.
46. The smugness of single life – because you know you are better than the needy bitches out there.
47. Not having your friends take bets on when you get a divorce.
48. Answer to no one.
49. Finding out what you are really like and the things you really want without any testicular influences.
50. How many happy married couples do you know anyway? Half of marriages…all I’m saying.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Christmas with Marvin the Hobo
Everyone loves Christmas. I enjoy it as well, in spite of the fact that I am such a hater. However, after spending so much time with my family I am ready to drink, and drink heavily. My parents abhor alcohol abuse and I was raised in not only a dry household, but a puritanical one that condemns gambling, sexual promiscuity, and alcohol in any form. And yet, look at me now – let this be a lesson to helicopter parents who instill their draconian principles on their offspring. Your children could one day have a blog entailing all the immoral things they do.
This Christmas I went out in Midtown in Memphis, the area of the city notorious for indie bands and men in tight jeans. All the bars were packed. One even had a sign that said, “Sick of your family? No cover tonight til 12.” Obviously, I wasn’t the only one who wanted out of the house.
I was going to meet some of my friends at this place called Hi-Tone featuring an event titled, “Snowglobe Christmas Party with the Pirates.” I had no idea what this meant and still don’t. I think it was a reference to the band.
Immediately upon entering I was engulfed into the hipster scene. Skinny pants with tennis shoes, hair that hadn’t been combed in months and horn rimmed glasses were everywhere. If there is a woman in the city of Memphis who needed motivation for a New Year’s resolution to be celibate, this was the place. However, several of the guys had their own girls with them complete with dyke haircuts, facial piercings and hippie purses. I knew I stuck out. I think I even had on a blazer.
My friends that came were Shit Show (a girl) and RBG and Bob. It was RBG’s idea to go to the band, which is amusing since he was so drunk the entire time he was there I don’t think he remembered a damn thing they sang.
Unlike the rest of the bar, RBG and Bob had shown up in glorious Christmas sweaters. RBG’s had a Christmas tree on it with little white balls hanging off of its limbs. The balls were 3D and very fun to play with. It was a very advanced Christmas shirt. However, this allowed him to go up to every woman at the bar and ask her to play with his Christmas balls. Oh, who am I kidding? That never got old.
Bob, one of the craziest friends I have ever had, wore a sweater with a giant Santa head on it mouthing the word “ho” presumably as in “ho ho ho.” Presumably. He was drunk the entire time as well and continuously went to the bar to get two beers. One for himself, the other, he always told me, was for Santa.
The high light of this traditional Christmas evening came when Bob decided to get some pot. After he grew a beard, Bob smoked pot a lot. He decided to procure this illegal substance with a plan of “going outside and finding the first bum within earshot and asking him for some green.”
And that is just what he did. There was this lovely hobo named Marvin out by the side of the road calling all of us fascists. So Bob started talking to him. I was just an innocent bystander when Bob waved me to come over to where he was. Because I was drunk and I just typically exercise poor judgment on a regular basis, I went to see what he wanted.
Marvin the hobo gave me his “Obama for President” hat and said he would take Bob to get some marijuana if I rode in the car with them, because Marvin didn’t trust this “crazy white boy” by himself. Marvin the Hobo was scared of Bob. The bum was questioning the sanity of my friend. Probably a good call on Marvin’s part.
TCH: There is no way I am going anywhere with the two of you.
MARVIN THE HOBO: I get yo’ friend a good deal. We gonna go to Orange Mound.
If there are two words to utter in the City of Memphis that has white suburbanites disgusted and afraid, they are the words Orange and Mound put together. I avoid the Orange Mound location in the daytime. And there was no way I was going on a joy ride to one of the most dangerous areas of Memphis at 2 a.m., even if it was Christmas. I don’t think gangs and drug dealers get together for the holidays (even if they did, can’t you picture it? All the hood rats sitting around a big table with their colors on eating turkey?).
After I made it obvious I wasn’t going, Bob left in his car with Marvin the Hobo, probably on their way to a crack house. At first, I was afraid I might never see my friend again, but Bob has done much crazier shit and gotten out of it. He might even come back with friends.
Two hours later, RBG was incredibly drunk and throwing snowballs at people in the parking lot with no jacket on. He spent the better part of the evening talking about how he was going to nail some girl in the corner of the bar. I am pretty sure the girl heard him saying it too. Neither of them cared. This bitch was so wasted I am sure she would have thought RBG was the kindest gentleman in the world if he promised to buy her the most expensive Plan B at Walgreens the next day.
In the middle of this I got a text from Bob saying, “LOL. What the hell am I doing? You wouldn’t believe who I just met.”
Bob was Shit Show’s ride home. I told her I was sorry, our friend Bob was probably dead, and I would have to take her home. But he did come back and took my newly acquired Obama hat and wore it around for the rest of the night.
None of us remember saying goodbye to each other and I have no idea how anyone got home that night, including myself. Two days later I talked to Shit Show to make sure she was alive. She told me this.
SHIT SHOW: On the way home, I was so drunk I kept falling asleep in the car. I just remember Bob and I went to some gas station in the ghetto and he bought a blunt or something and there were all these bums outside the car laughing at me. THEY were laughing at ME. I think Bob told them I was this crackhead prostitute passed out in his car. I don’t know. Then when we finally got home I went inside and he sat in front of my house smoking the rest of his weed. I found my bar tab the next day, though, and I only spent like $10 because I was drinking PBR tall boys all night. What a great way to spend Christmas.
What a great Christmas, indeed.
This Christmas I went out in Midtown in Memphis, the area of the city notorious for indie bands and men in tight jeans. All the bars were packed. One even had a sign that said, “Sick of your family? No cover tonight til 12.” Obviously, I wasn’t the only one who wanted out of the house.
I was going to meet some of my friends at this place called Hi-Tone featuring an event titled, “Snowglobe Christmas Party with the Pirates.” I had no idea what this meant and still don’t. I think it was a reference to the band.
Immediately upon entering I was engulfed into the hipster scene. Skinny pants with tennis shoes, hair that hadn’t been combed in months and horn rimmed glasses were everywhere. If there is a woman in the city of Memphis who needed motivation for a New Year’s resolution to be celibate, this was the place. However, several of the guys had their own girls with them complete with dyke haircuts, facial piercings and hippie purses. I knew I stuck out. I think I even had on a blazer.
My friends that came were Shit Show (a girl) and RBG and Bob. It was RBG’s idea to go to the band, which is amusing since he was so drunk the entire time he was there I don’t think he remembered a damn thing they sang.
Unlike the rest of the bar, RBG and Bob had shown up in glorious Christmas sweaters. RBG’s had a Christmas tree on it with little white balls hanging off of its limbs. The balls were 3D and very fun to play with. It was a very advanced Christmas shirt. However, this allowed him to go up to every woman at the bar and ask her to play with his Christmas balls. Oh, who am I kidding? That never got old.
Bob, one of the craziest friends I have ever had, wore a sweater with a giant Santa head on it mouthing the word “ho” presumably as in “ho ho ho.” Presumably. He was drunk the entire time as well and continuously went to the bar to get two beers. One for himself, the other, he always told me, was for Santa.
The high light of this traditional Christmas evening came when Bob decided to get some pot. After he grew a beard, Bob smoked pot a lot. He decided to procure this illegal substance with a plan of “going outside and finding the first bum within earshot and asking him for some green.”
And that is just what he did. There was this lovely hobo named Marvin out by the side of the road calling all of us fascists. So Bob started talking to him. I was just an innocent bystander when Bob waved me to come over to where he was. Because I was drunk and I just typically exercise poor judgment on a regular basis, I went to see what he wanted.
Marvin the hobo gave me his “Obama for President” hat and said he would take Bob to get some marijuana if I rode in the car with them, because Marvin didn’t trust this “crazy white boy” by himself. Marvin the Hobo was scared of Bob. The bum was questioning the sanity of my friend. Probably a good call on Marvin’s part.
TCH: There is no way I am going anywhere with the two of you.
MARVIN THE HOBO: I get yo’ friend a good deal. We gonna go to Orange Mound.
If there are two words to utter in the City of Memphis that has white suburbanites disgusted and afraid, they are the words Orange and Mound put together. I avoid the Orange Mound location in the daytime. And there was no way I was going on a joy ride to one of the most dangerous areas of Memphis at 2 a.m., even if it was Christmas. I don’t think gangs and drug dealers get together for the holidays (even if they did, can’t you picture it? All the hood rats sitting around a big table with their colors on eating turkey?).
After I made it obvious I wasn’t going, Bob left in his car with Marvin the Hobo, probably on their way to a crack house. At first, I was afraid I might never see my friend again, but Bob has done much crazier shit and gotten out of it. He might even come back with friends.
Two hours later, RBG was incredibly drunk and throwing snowballs at people in the parking lot with no jacket on. He spent the better part of the evening talking about how he was going to nail some girl in the corner of the bar. I am pretty sure the girl heard him saying it too. Neither of them cared. This bitch was so wasted I am sure she would have thought RBG was the kindest gentleman in the world if he promised to buy her the most expensive Plan B at Walgreens the next day.
In the middle of this I got a text from Bob saying, “LOL. What the hell am I doing? You wouldn’t believe who I just met.”
Bob was Shit Show’s ride home. I told her I was sorry, our friend Bob was probably dead, and I would have to take her home. But he did come back and took my newly acquired Obama hat and wore it around for the rest of the night.
None of us remember saying goodbye to each other and I have no idea how anyone got home that night, including myself. Two days later I talked to Shit Show to make sure she was alive. She told me this.
SHIT SHOW: On the way home, I was so drunk I kept falling asleep in the car. I just remember Bob and I went to some gas station in the ghetto and he bought a blunt or something and there were all these bums outside the car laughing at me. THEY were laughing at ME. I think Bob told them I was this crackhead prostitute passed out in his car. I don’t know. Then when we finally got home I went inside and he sat in front of my house smoking the rest of his weed. I found my bar tab the next day, though, and I only spent like $10 because I was drinking PBR tall boys all night. What a great way to spend Christmas.
What a great Christmas, indeed.
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