Here we are again: Year Six for the DSTDT write up.
As I have each of the past five years, I hereby present you with a series of drunken addendums and cloudy-brained contemplations by my blotto friends and me. It’s a magical time of year, indeed.
Yet again I’ve had to trim the fat and only use the best of the best quotes. I may not capture every single funny utterance by my friends and me in my notes, but the fact that I get as much as I do speaks volumes about the volumes we speak. And drink. As always, each of these comments is as real as the person that thought it prudent to give voice to it. Most are from this past year, but some are older; how they escaped my net before now is a mystery…though I’m guessing I forgot because I was drunk.
- As we watched last year’s Super Bowl, those of us gathered at Armo’s house worked to polish off every bottle of beer and liquor on hand. And Alex, as usual, was doing her share of the heavy lifting. By halftime, she was in the zone. She stared through the TV, entranced by Destiny Child’s performance. From my right I heard her say, “I lo__ __c.” Between my attention being elsewhere and the music from the show overpowering her voice, I suspected I didn’t quite hear her correctly.
Me: “…What?”
Alex: “I love TLC!”
- Armo’s residence is a popular site for misguided commentary, since the amount of alcohol you’ll inevitably consume during your visit is going to mercilessly twist you. One random night last spring, as he and I discussed criticisms of The Hangover Part II, I eloquently and emphatically drove my point home by saying, “…You know? Don’t break what’s fixin’…”
- One morning in the spring of 2012, Belle had a blackout night. The kind of blackout night my friends and I have, where you last remember talking to a former coworker at a bar and then wakeup butt naked in Swag’s house. You know, normal stuff.
On a Saturday night last June, a few of us sat on Swag’s back porch drinking and politicking, and the topic of that night came up. And when one of us asked just what had happened between her and that former coworker, Belle took the floor: “I wasn’t sore the next day, so I figured nothing happened. But then I found a condom on the floor, soooo…” As all of us doubled over in laughter, she added, “…and that’s not a good sign!”
- A wise man once said, “Steel sharpen steel.” And when a crazy bastard like Pakistanimal—who’s accustomed to being louder and more audacious than anyone else in the bar—is wowed by an astonishing quip, some serious steel has been sharpened.
One night in July he and I toured a few of Shadyside’s drinkeries, eventually finding ourselves at our beloved Shady Grove. One of my favorite bartenders, “Spice,” was behind the bar; she’s easy on the eyes, good with conversation, and packed with the energy of a Sisqo backup dancer. It was Pak’s first time meeting her, and she quickly left an impression. He had put a couple of bucks worth of songs on the jukebox, and when “Call Me, Maybe” came on I quickly cursed at him. [There’s a history to this particular song that’s really only known to my close friends and I; trust me, he did it to be a dick, not because he likes the song.] Spice, however, began, dancing to the beat, exclaiming as she mixed a drink, “Ooh! He’s making my vagina move with this song!”
- Late one night last spring, I got a phone call from Hollywood, whom I hadn’t heard from in about a year. As we caught up on the happenings in each other’s lives, our conversation drifted to a crazy chick he’d recently met. I asked about her age, but he seemed to know as much as I did. "You can't really tell how old she is, because her face is weathered. …She could be 35, she could be 25."
My Lil Sis From Anotha Motha (TD) is a fan of the ladies. Especially when they’re hot, and especially when she’s drunk (it runs in the family). So getting her really drunk and taking her to a strip club is a formula for entertainment success. Earlier this month, that formula was put to use, as a night of drinking in the South Side somehow found TD and others downtown at Blush. Not long after they got there, a beautiful blonde dancer caught her eye. TD decided to ask for a lap dance, and was allll charm. “I want you,” she told the dancer. “I want you…privately.”
- Dupa is shocking. He prides himself on it. But he’s even more so for those who don’t know him, because they underestimate his attention to detail. The guy can spot a penny on a bar floor and formulate a comment about you picking it up with your butt cheeks while you’re still a mile down the road from said bar.
One night in early 2010 we were partying at Hofbrauhaus with a large group of friends, including Yum, who was in a short denim miniskirt and looking, well…yum. She was sitting on a bench in the entryway at the end of the night, as we awaited a cab to take us back to the hotel. Dupa, lit like a rocket, walked through said entryway with his eyes on the door, when he stopped, pointed in Yum’s direction and said, “What’s up, leopard?” The immediate change of her face to flush red told me what my homie already knew: she was wearing leopard-print panties.
- Sometimes you don’t need to be blessed with hawklike vision. Sometimes you just have to look straight ahead. At Swag’s birthday party this past August, I was having a one-on-one convo with T.C. when he momentarily lost all train of thought mid-sentence.
T.C.: “So then I, I…*staring off* Jesus.”
Me: “What? What’s wrong?”
T.C.: “Nah, it’s just…I never noticed how big TD’s rack is before.”
From our early days in college until he got locked down by the gal who would eventually wear his ring and have his children, my homie BBB joyfully carried the reputation of being an unabashed coozehound. And there was zero shame to his game. He was the perfect wingman, because half the time he’d go after the big ugly ones even when he wasn’t wingmanning. Just because.
One Friday night in early 2002, we found ourselves at Bar Pittsburgh drinking and carousing, as per usual. Our buddy Firewater eventually met a random gal of atrocious morality, and BBB dutifully swooped in to occupy her friend. The ladies invited them back to their apartment at the end of the night, and—being the odd man out—I drove BBB’s car to my mom’s house, where I was living at the time. The next day I had somewhere to be, and Mom had to leave for a hair appointment, so she put BBB’s keys in an envelope taped to the front door of the house. Upon opening up the envelope, he also found a handwritten note from my sainted mother: “How fat was she?”
- Dupa took a trip to China to start 2014, beginning with an NYE party overlooking Victoria Harbor in Hong Kong. Most people faced with a 20-hour flight would have paced their alcoholic intake, realizing the difference between a marathon and a sprint. But not Dupa. He was three sheets to the wind before boarding started. I’m not sure that the flight crew knew what they were in for when they got out of bed that morning.
Hot Flight Attendant: “Drink before we take off?”
Dupa: “You're delicious.”
Hot Flight Attendant: *doesn't break stare*
Dupa: “So... Coke Zero and Bourbon then?”
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