Greetings, dear readers. You may remember me – I'm one of the two guys who started this blog a while back. However, the bulk of the load has been carried by the homie Defi lately, and for one very good reason: My beer money has become diaper money.
The arrival of a son has severely curtailed my social time, and not regrettably so. I love my boy dearly. However, when I looked at the calendar recently and realized it had been a solid month since I had had a drop of liquor, my self-respect kicked in.
Thus, with Mini-Me lounging with his grandparents for the weekend, I reunited with Defi and the boys for a couple days of testosterone-filled trash talking, crude jokes and copious amounts of drinking. Fittingly, it was Valentine's weekend.
With me chomping at the bit, Defi informed me that pregaming on a 30-degree Friday night would be at a crib on Mount Washington. I arrived at about 7:45 p.m. with a fifth of Parrot Bay in hand, raring to go. The fact that there was absolutely no one at the house didn't even faze me. I called Defi – who was still at home - to make sure I was at the right place:
Defi: Yeah, Ashhad ran out to get some mixers. He should be back pretty soon.
Me: That's cool. I got a bottle of PBay, so he can take his time.
Defi: You're drinking on the front stoop?
Me: Hell yeah.
Defi: *laughing* Please tell me it's in a brown paper bag.
Me: How we roll, baby. *swig*
Ashhad arrived minutes later and we carried supplies into the apartment he was housesitting. We caught up as we waited for others to arrive.
First up was Dupa, who promptly noticed the two African spears mounted on the wall and furiously began contemplating jokes aimed at Defi. (Speaking of jokes, this situation is the perfect setup for one, isn't it? “So a Pakistani, a Polack and a Jew are having drinks ...”)
Defi appeared soon after, and the night shifted into high gear, particularly when he cracked open the handle of Sailor Jerry's. At one point, we heard a female voice in the house. Dupa, Defi and I turned to see a blonde chick hugging Ashhad. She was a neighbor who was contemplating joining us for the evening, although, to quote Vin Diesel from "Pitch Black," she did NOT know who she was f***ing with.
She the test in about 30 seconds after we discovered she's dating a police officer. She denied she was “dating” him, so Dupa clarified it to “f***ing a police officer.” She denied “effing a police officer,” as well. Any girl that can't drop an F-bomb around us just isn't going to survive.
After another buddy and his lady made it to the house – and after Dupa threatened to give some girl we were talking about “the most uncomfortable three pumps of her life” - we decided it was time to hit the South Side. Defi called a cab that we waited 30 minutes for before deciding to hoof it and meet the still-sober couple down there.
We had walked about two blocks when Ashhad spotted a random girl walking out of a CoGo's and asked her if she'd give us a ride to Carson City Saloon. Why would a girl in her 20s allow four men she'd never seen before – three of whom easily clear 200 lbs. and a fourth whose own mother thinks he looks mean – into her SUV on a Friday night? I don't know; you'd have to ask this chick Emma, because she happily said yes.
We gave her about a month's worth of stories during the seven-minute trip, which included us getting her number in order to get a ride back at bar close, Dupa asking her to be his valentine and noting that her six-foot height meant she was “a lot of lovin',” my legs getting numb because I was riding bitch in the back seat between Dupa and Defi with an armrest jamming into my shins, and my compadres pounding some of the beers we'd pocketed for the expected walk while she was cruising the city streets.
After being dropped off, Ashhad staged a puking rally in a nearby alley. At 11 p.m.
We made it into the Saloon easily, mostly cuz it was half-empty and wack that night. However, about 10 seconds after we walked in, two girls walked by a with a trayful of free SoCo Lime shots. Us? Shots? Free? Why, you shouldn't have, ladies.
As we stood around trying to figure out what the plan was, the girls walked past again with one last shot on the tray. “Would you like to finish it?” one of them asked me. Me? Shot? Free? Why, you shouldn't have, ladies.
The crew decides we want to head upstairs. Just before we hit the stairs at the back of the bar, we ran into a waitress with Jell-O shots in oversized syringes. Ashhad, who's never met a round of shots he wouldn't buy, set us up, and down went the Jell-O. That would make it three shots in five minutes for your hero after I killed half the fifth of PBay pregaming. When I get back in the saddle, I giddy the f*** up.
The bar wasn't all that exciting, although Ashhad was feeling it. The Jell-O waitress realized she'd found a mark and quickly zeroed in on us with a tray full of Jager bombs. I called her the “angel of death” even as we downed the shots. She wandered off with a twinkle in her eye. I turned to Defi and told him that she could show up with Drano and Ashhad would buy a round.
Defi was toast – not long after that round he was slumped in a chair nodding off. Yeah, he was that guy. Meanwhile, Ashhad was doing things like bear-hugging me from behind and head-butting me. Dupa was the most chill guy in the crew, which is nearly unheard of.
I still had enough intellectual capacity to realize that carrying Defi out of there was a task to be avoided at all costs, so I rounded up the boys and told them it was time to call it a night. Ashhad was hesitant, but once we mentioned gyros from Mike and Tony's, he was in.
However, Ashhad was hammered, and when Ashhad is hammered around me, he becomes extremely appreciative of my Marine service and thanks me profusely. He also begins announcing it to anyone in earshot and demanding that they also thank me. At 1 a.m. in a bar district, some people find this rather belligerent, and the occasional cocky a**hole will take this as an invitation to test his manhood against a leatherneck.
Thus I found myself with a gyro in one hand while using the other to push Ashhad toward a cab Dupa and Defi had flagged as a growing crowd of people behind us decided taunting the drunk guy would be entertaining.
To bookend the evening, the cabbie dropped us off at the same CoGo's where we'd finagled a ride from crazy Emma earlier. Ashhad went inside to buy something to drink while Dupa and I committed unspeakable acts on our gyros in the parking lot. Now, I wasn't entirely sure what was going on in the next episode, but here's what I saw from my perspective:
Ashhad inside saying something loudly as he grabbed a jug of iced tea. Defi standing outside looking in and gesturing at Ashhad while saying something. The diminutive female cop/security guard inside looking at Defi and saying something to him through the window. Defi getting a look of genuine surprise and hurt on his face and saying, “Why are you going to Tase ME?”
The postscript to the evening occurred as we walked back to the apartment from CoGo's to save Defi from electrocution. A woman approached us from across the street, saying “Excuse me” several times while a guy in the shadows trailed behind her by about 100 feet.
We kept walking, although we did pause for uncontrollable laughter after Ashhad tripped and fell full-length on the sidewalk. He responded by lying there facedown for at least a minute. At no point were we at all concerned for his wellbeing, which shows you just how well we all get along.
The black woman wouldn't be refused. She kept walking toward us from across the street, saying “Excuse me” louder and louder. Finally, we stop to see what her problem is; maybe the guy's trying to hurt her. Maybe we can be heroes.
She says very clearly and very loudly, “Do you guys have any weed that I can buy?”