September 19th, 2011
Listomania: Drinking on Empty, We’ve All Been There
For whatever reason, we’ve skipped lunch and probably dinner. Maybe we slept through it? Maybe we were knockin’ out errands at Lowes. Maybe we’re dieting and by dieting, we mean bread strudel and nutella once a day. Hey, to each their own. Finding time to eat when the evening’s plans are coming at us fast and furious is as difficult as driving North on Durham. Whether it’s cocktails, fancy beers, go-to brews, or the wine, chances are we’re in over heads. That being said, here some of our experiences, dug up from a memory haze long gone.
That Dude/Chick is Not Making Eyes at You
Four margaritas in and you’re the life of the party, no doubt. Nobody can keep their eyes off you, let alone their hands. Not so fast, my friend. Those aren’t good looks you’re getting from around the bar. You’ve either turned off every potential suitor or become the beacon for any creeper in this joint. When you walk up to that guy/girl that you think is cute and is definitely groovin’ on you, it’s a trap. You’re either the punchline or the prey. Take your pick.
Drinking While Dieting
My “friend” was in the middle of one of her epic dieting marathons and decided to forgo eating lunch and dinner in anticipation of the 250-calorie-a-pop vodka concoctions we swilled on Friday nights in them days. But after stumbling home early that night, she decided that the day of fasting hadn’t been enough to counterbalance all those alcoholic carbs that were sure to start congealing on her thighs at any moment. So feeling miraculously strong and so very, very good, she headed off to the gym a little after midnight. Around mile four of her run, she performed the inevitable evacuation of her stomach contents and sent pomegranate syrup and grain alcohol straight down onto the belt of the treadmill. The predictable slip followed and she ended flat on a bruised ass behind the treadmill, watching all that lovely puke just go round and round and round. She was and is still not welcome back at 24-hour fitness.
That Potted Plant isn’t a Toilet
Sure it’s convenient. It’s eight steps further to the bathroom. Nobody wants to stumble that far. But whipping it out/squatting ain’t gonna make you any friends tonight. Yep, that sure is the bouncer coming over to throw your face on the sidewalk. Totally worth it.
Your Co-Workers Won’t Get It
Unless you’re out on a work happy hour, those you share a cubicle with will not appreciate you in the morning. No matter how cool you think you’re stories will be (note: the details will be forgotten anyway), you’ll be the most hated man in the office in the morning. It doesn’t help that you slipped into that pile of trash bags on your way out the door. Take a shower, chump.
Your Girlfriend/Boyfriend Isn’t Really Hitting on that Dude/Chick
Yeah, she/he is. No! They’re not. Well, maybe… You know what? Just go punch the unwanted newcomer in the neck and find out later if they’re a threat. That’s diplomacy, people: The diplomacy of Dubya, but nonetheless a viable approach. Mission Accomplished! Even better, just go up to your significant other, grab their wrist and yank them out of the bar. Extraction! Actually, you probably just want to ignore the perceived threat.
Last Call for Alky-hol
About six months ago I went to a company winter party. This company loves a good cocktail, so I was pretty sure the night wasn’t going to be really tame, but I didn’t think it was going to be a scene out of When a Man Loves a Woman. Let’s see…
- 9:02 pm: Accidentally drop two-week-old new cell phone into toilet of seedy pre-party bar. Fish out. Friend and I dry off with a cocktail napkin that has been wrapped around the bottom of a martini and is already soaked with condensation.
- 9:15 pm: Realize phone is not going to come back on. Decide to let it “dry,” whatever that means.
- 9:30 pm: Arrive at party.
- 10:30 pm: Really nice, big-time executive who does not drink asks how everything is going. I say, “Everything’s great. It’s very great.” (Make mental note: Sign up for ESL classes on Monday).
- 11:30 pm: Leave for after-party at a D-bag bar.
- 2:15 a.m.: Leave bar. Go get mass amounts of greasy food. Realize that dead phone is gone.
- 6:20 a.m.: Wake up on couch in party dress, holding a bottle of Gatorade.
- 9:30 a.m.: Look in purse to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Am not. Call cell phone people, tell them I lost my phone, they ask me to fill out a police report and to call back.
- 9:32 a.m.: I call back and say I dropped my phone in a lake. Woman says, “a lake?” I say “yes” like she has just asked me if I like breathing oxygen. I pay them a small mortgage and am on my way to getting a new phone sent to me.
And I Become the Flash
Also, one time after a huge party, a bunch of people passed out in the living room of a house. One of them who was on the floor woke up in the middle of the night and realized he needed to use the restroom. He was still drunk and it was dark, so he thought he could navigate from memory. He could not, which is how he ended up standing at the arm of a couch. The arm of a couch that was occupied by one of his friends. He was too drunk to realize that his friend’s face looked nothing like a toilet bowl. He proceeded to unzip and then his friend became The Flash. Apparently, hearing a fly zipper near one’s head is a trigger to not only wake up, but to fly across the room at supersonic speed while yelling, “What the F—!?!?!” Dude’s response? “Oh, sorry.” *walks to the bathroom, fly still down, and takes care of business*