Sunday, April 26, 2009

Girls (and Boys) Gone Wild



I, author of this blog, do affirm that everything spoken here is filled with truthiness. Although I may embellish a bit at times, that in no way suggests that the core materials that I cover in this moving collection of blog entries is a false representation of the realities that are very realistic to me and all other parties invovled. Really.

For example, I am man enough to share details about the darkest night I've ever spent in San Francisco. If you haven't read this, I encourage you to do so because it is hands down one of the best social posts that I have ever written. Second only, maybe, to mystery panties. But, per usual, I digress.

With that said, I am once more prepared to allow readers to take a deep dive into my life. Another trip to SF, with more stories than I could possibly share in one post. I'll give you the 30,000 ft view and you can be the judge of the evening:

At 4:00 PM, I'm walking through the mall after having just completed a transaction for a pair of 88 cent shoes (I would later be so excited about these cheap shoes that I would decide to wear them and ruin them during my night out on the town). My phone rings. One of my favorite bros is on the line ready to strategize our approach for the evening. Meet at his spot in about an hour and begin our trek up to the city.

I race home and plan out my outfit. Fancy jeans, check. Fancy shirt, check. 88 cent shoes, YESSIR. I was good to go.

We race up the 101 to join a group of friends for dinner. There was a crisp chill in the night air (read: it was cold as fuck). I wanted to waste no time given the enormity of the night. As soon as we were seated at the quaint Italian trattoria selected for our dinner party, I asked the waiter to bring me his finest glass of $9 Riesling. I'm a classy guy, but not classy enough for the $15 glass listed on the menu.

The Riesling was a nice entree into the evening's alcohol-related activities. A few sips in I was already feeling the effects. Dinner was lovely and I was giggling uncontrollably throughout. We paid the bill and embarked upon our next journey: the trip to get liquor. After hitting the ATM to get our paper right, we stumbled across a bootleg liquor store somewhere near the classiness that is Union Street in the Marina-ish area. I wasn't really sure why this store was there. And I'm pretty sure that the guy working at the register wasn't sure why he was there either.

After getting to the counter to pay for my Red Bull and cheap vodka, he kept mumbling things to me. Being the asshole that I am, I did not seek clarification. I just continued to laugh and say "yeah, I feel you."

During this mumble fest, he apparently told me about some new strand of weed that his friend hooked him up with. "I had to double wrap this shit," he says. "Yeah, I feel you," I said. He pulls out the bag of weed and then I suddenly realize that he was talking about weed and I grow uncomfortable. For some reason I thought he was talking about a recently released brand of alcohol that he had for sale. EPIC COMMUNICATION FAIL.

Then we're off! One of my co-workers grabbed a bottle of Cuervo and was hitting me up to take shots with some weird salt and some unlimey limes. I was a team player.

Another co-worker was popping champagne and chugging straight from the bottle. I joined her.

A newer bro in our crew was holding a handle of Jager. We were planning on knocking back a few Jager Bombs. But instead, we just kept sipping that from the bottle, too.

And apparently my main drink was Red Bull and Vanilla Vodka. I had about 3 iterations of those, but never quite got the mix right.

As we loaded onto the bus - yes, I was taking my old ass onto a party bus - I realized that i was pretty drunk. And it is a universally known fact that the first thing you do after realizing you're drunk is making it clear to yourself and your friends that you have to piss.

"Man, I hope this first club is close, I really need to piss."

Other drunkards agreed. So we filed off the bus and started a conga line to the bathroom. After my mind and bladder were settled, I soon came to see that we were at some sort of ghetto Asian club. Similar to a club called Etiquette that I attended a few months back and exited to see pools on blood from rumbling Asian guys on the sidewalk. Gross.

I was afraid that the guys in our group would be sucked into one of these rumbles. Namely because everyone in the club was short and Asian. Everyone in our group - with a few exceptions - was big and not Asian. It started to look like cultures were starting to clash.

Just before we reach the tipping point, I see the event's organizer being carried away. Apparently the bottle of Grey Goose that I saw her holding on the bus had done a number on her. She was down for the count. We were leaving that club.

As we made our way over to the second location, weird stuff kept happening. People were talking about stripper poles. Folks were trying to make me drink Johnny Walker. I realized that I had to piss again. Boys and Girls alike were going wild.

Given that even in my drunken state people generally find me to be pretty helpful, a girl at the rear of the bus asked me to go retrieve water. Another girl was done. I was officially one drunk girl away from my buzz being completely blown. Had to hit the next club and go hard.

The next North Beach stop was only slightly better than the dangerous Asian club. Music was so-so. Club was populated with a large number of unattractive women. Never a good sign when you bring all of the sand to the beach. My sense was that only extreme drunkenness could make up for the glaring absence of beauty at the club. So I start knocking back shots.

I dance casually with co-workers and flirty casually with a very uninteresting girl from Phoenix. She was 26, fresh out of a 3-year relationship and felt washed up. I took pity on her and bought her a drink.

Another girl tells me: "Before we make out or anything, I want to tell you that I have a boyfriend. I don't want that to happen."

I think to myself, that's it - my night is officially done - can we leave already? After realizing that I was stuck, I started to lean against a pillar on the dance floor in hopes of catching a quick standing nap and then maybe getting kicked out to go back to the bus so I could rest. But I quickly caught wind of the fact that the guy who gave me a ride had already beat me to the punch. I tried to catch him outside, but by the time I arrived on the scene he had already vanished. Abducted by the KGB.

Our crew finally began to file back onto the bus. The party chaperone was freaking out because less than 50% of the people that started the night on the bus were finishing the night on the bus. We consoled the guy and explained that he was doing a great job. We shared four huge boxes of people amongst a group of 15 people and then we were back where it all stated.

I walked to my buddy's car and forced myself to be sober enough to drive the two drunk people I had in tow home. I hit the sheets around 4 am. My phone started buzzing right around 7 am. I answered the call and shortly thereafter I was back on th road to SF, retrieving him after an event that kept him occupied for the duration on the night. This same story told through his eyes would likely be a lot wilder and would warrant a NSFW rating.

Nevertheless, this was my crazy Saturday night. No two nights in the city are ever the same. Therefore, this night will stand alone in infamy until the next time we venture up to SF to go crazy again.

1 comment:

Zainep said...

Best bedtime story ever!!!! LOLLL