Disclaimer: The places are real, but the names of my friends...okay, I was going to ask permission to use their names, but then The Skirt had her biggest flash of brilliance since she decided to date me- "Just make up names for them. So-and-so can be Captain Unicorn or something." The names I made up are either descriptive of their personas, or just something I thought was funny.
This is one of those lessons I learn over and over and never quite catch on to. I'm 33 years old. On a typical night out, I can drink a few martinis or six or seven beers and still stagger home. If I manage to stay awake long enough and drink some water, I can even get out of bed the next day. Once in a while I forget my limits and stay out until what I estimate was 4 a.m.
On Saturday Night, The Skirt and I and four of our friends had our monthly "grown-ups night" where we go to a nice restaurant and enjoy the hell out of fine dining and good conversation. We have achieved possibly the perfect balance in the group- there is not one person who says or does stuff to ruin it for everyone else, and we all get along very well, having much in common and whatnot.
It's pretty obvious that I say that because I'm the one that everybody makes fun of afterward. Whatever, jerks.
We started out at Sotto Sotto for dinner, or as professional drinkers call it, a "foundation"- a food-based substrate upon which to pour alcohol for the rest of the evening and hope it keeps you under control. We all ate delicious food that none of us could pronounce, and we let Jamiroquai order the wine because he is the only one who knows anything about wine.
Me- "As the French would say- Damn, that's some good wine. Is it...um...(knowing that whatever I say is going to be wrong and sound stupid)...red?"
Jamiroquai - "Yes, Dusty. Now can you tell us what color my jacket is?"
Me- "Black?"
Everyone- "Yaaaayyy. Good job, Dusty!" (I'm getting really good at my colors)
* Jamiroquai throws me an olive, which I catch in my mouth, run to the corner and devour*
Jamiroquai - (holding glass up to the light, swirling it around like that guy who gets all of the chicks in the movies) "Actually, it is a Cafe Bourgionnese Min-Cwah. The grapes are harvested late in the fall from a region of Indochina known only to three Shirpa. They pack the harvest out on angora goats, and the musk from these animals actually gives the wine its rustic texture.
Me - (Topical yet wildly inappropriate joke about goat musk and Lonely Shirpa involving a play on Brokeback Mountain)
Everyone- (not laughing very much because Brokeback Mountain jokes weren't even funny when everybody thought they were)
Later in Dinner, Zoltar and Shortcake (husband and wife crime fighting team) told us a story about having bought a car earlier that day. Zoltar is a salesguy the likes of which you will not see very often. He actually goes into car dealerships to wheel and deal with the salespeople for drill. I can't think of a less enjoyable hobby, but this guy has been banned from several dealerships for making their salespeople cry. True story: He has walked into a dealership and had the manager come out onto the floor, saying "Not today, Zoltar."
I don't remember the details, but they left the dealership with whatever car they wanted and a check for 30% of the ticket price. They just roll that way.
These are the conversations you remember. Well, the conversations I remember, anyway. My last few ventures to the dealership have ended with my threatening the lives of several people and leaving without a car. Next time I go, Zoltar is going to be my wingman.
After we finished, the battle for the check ensued. As this is only the second or third time we have done this, the fight is still pretty civil, but by summertime I expect there will be bottles smashed over heads, piledrivers, flying elbows and guillotine choke holds.
As a group we are only smart in theory, so we went to another club afterward to drink and talk more. I'll do my best to recount the events of this fragmented evening.
Order first round of drinks, start talking about work and jobs and stuff, somehow quickly spiraling into a conversation in which someone said, "Yeah, I guess if you're buying anal beads, you don't want the floor model."
Zoltar then told the most disturbing story I have ever heard that involved one of the illustrious 45 year-old strippers at the Clermont lounge and some guy he was there with physically touching her. With his tongue. If there is one thing you don't do at the Clermont Lounge, it's touch anything with exposed skin. I used the bathroom there once and left my shoes in the parking lot when I went home.
By now we were all comfortably chatting, and Zoltar showed wisdom beyond his years by switching to water and winding down. He and Shortcake left an hour or so later because they are far smarter than the rest of us. I knew I could stumble 2 blocks and be at my front door, so what the hell? 'Nother round.
And another.
Here are some things I remember being said, in no particular order-
"See the chick in the wedding dress? A thousand bucks if you can get her to go home with you."
"I'll double it."
"Dude, you could totally make out with Jack Bauer and not be gay. He's Jack fucking Bauer."
"Latex fist"
"I've tried to teach Dusty to play poker. It's like teaching a hamster to play hopscotch- those synapses don't exist."
Then I remember something about a sidewalk, jelly, an omelet, and my shoes being too close to my face. And I think The Skirt and I made plans to take Jamiroquai and his lovely wife Q-bert to Hawaii with us this year. Hope so- I need to do something about this functioning liver.
Sweet shaken baby Jesus, Sunday was a painful day. For the record, I can fit 87 Advil in my mouth at one time, and I drank a gallon of water in ten minutes. One day I'll learn.
Unitl then, I'll keep making fragmented memories.
 Dusty
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5 Comments:
Why did I just get joy out of that?
Sniffable
another good one dusty...
dunderfunk.
Alasdair
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