Fish Fry Fiasco

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.