Partying at Paddock

I need to find myself a job that allows me to hit the bar on weeknights. Going from Saturday to Friday with a BAC of less than .5 is just excruciating. They say, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder”; I say, “Abstinence makes the liver grow overconfident.”

It’s story-time again. Here’s another quick one from the 2003 Ocean City Trip:

On the fifth night of the vacation, ten of us saddled up and headed to a nightclub called “Paddock,” which is part of a larger complex called “The Party Block.” I’ve had dreams similar to the scene we walked into: It was dark, with loud music pumping over the speakers; all of the waitresses and bartenders were hot and dressed in black lingerie; there may have been a fog machine making it hazy—but, in all honesty, the fog could have just been in my alcohol-addled mind by that point in the week. One tall, brunette waitress walked up to us with a tray of colored liquids and said, “Shots are $4 each; bodyshots are $7.” My buddy, “Uncle Paulie,” and I walked up to the bar. It was $3.75 for a beer, but $5 for a mixed drink. Call me a mathematician, but… As we were having our Jack & Cokes mixed, I pointed out one bartender who was rather unique. She seemed to be of rubenesque proportions, yet the bra, panty, garter, and thigh-high arrangement she had on was still working for her.

U.P.: “That’s the hottest fat chick I’ve ever seen!”
Me: “Yeah, if she wasn’t half-naked she’d be TERRIBLE.”

We took over a section of the dancefloor with our intoxicated movements. At one point, U.P. spotted a hot blonde in the crowd. He tried to dance with her, but she quickly shot him down. She and her chubby friend danced away laughing, and went up onto the stage, which was being used as an extension of the dancefloor. Dupa and "BlahBlahBlah" (BBB) decided to avenge their friend’s humiliation. They went up to the stage, and approached the two girls. Standard logic would lead one to say, “Here are two young ladies, and here are two young men. They will pair up, each young man accompanying a young lady in a friendly dance.” There’s nothing “standard” about the drunken machinations of my friends, though. Dupa got behind Chubby Friend, and BBB jumped between her and Hot Blonde—facing Chubby Friend. He then boxed out Hot Blonde, so that suddenly Chubby Friend was alone on a sweaty island, being double-teamed by the two guys who probably smelled like beer, gyros, and chicken wings. The look of “What the f…” on Hot Blonde’s face was priceless.

We partied at the club all night, thanks largely to a bikini contest being covered by E!’s “Wild On”. After close, our entire crew was waiting at the bus stop when U.P. decided that we were a couple of blocks away from a 7-Eleven that we had visited a few nights earlier, and that he needed pizza sticks. Dupa, BBB, and I bravely joined him in the quest. We were 5 minutes down the street before we realized that, in actuality, we were about 21 blocks away from where U.P. thought we were. In the span of about the next 10 seconds, five things happened: (1) we managed to stop U.P., who was willing to walk to Georgia if he had to; (2) collectively, we decided to get on a bus and go home; (3) we noticed that the next stop was two city blocks away; (4) we began walking towards said stop; and (5) we turned to look back up the street, just as a bus blew past us towards the stop. “Motherf…”

We took off running for the bus stop, each of us a very large individual who had been drinking for the last 15 hours. Luckily there was a crowd of people waiting at the bus stop, and the bus was stationary while we caught up to it. When we got near the stop, it was U.P. in the lead, followed closely by me. BBB was a little further behind, with Dupa trailing. Near the back of the bus, however, BBB tripped. An object of his size, put into a high rate of speed, carries a lot of momentum (thank you, 12th grade physics). That momentum caused him to roll his ankle and briefly fly forward through the air; but, he tucked into a roll as he hit the ground. He came out of the roll near the rear doors of the bus, where a girl was exiting. Still in motion, he rose to his feet, grabbed her by the arm, and yanked her off the bus steps. This gave him leverage, and propelled him up the bus steps and right into a seat. When U.P. walked up the front steps and onto the bus, he stopped in his tracks, astonished to see BBB sitting in a seat up ahead of him, cold chillin’.

Go hard or go home, that’s what I always say.