Happy 21rst

disclaimer: Some of the details in this particular tale had to be filled in by others because my memory failed me. I will denote the parts that were told to me in italics.

Twenty One. It's a big one. My close friend Stinky offers to get everyone together to celebrate this milestone and also plan an evening for the ages. You wouldn't think of Stinky as being someone you'd want to plan a night out, but damn if he didn't come through.

Pregame: Of course we drank before we ever left, but I'm talking about the real pregame. Stink did his research. Literally. He researched books, websites, elders in the community; all in an effort to find the most obnoxious shot you can think of. To this day the smell of artificial cinnamon makes me nauseous. Now understand what S was up to here. He was looking for #1 shots that were actually 3 or more shots (example: 454 Big Block; 4 different shots of whiskey back to back) and #2 shit that no one had ever heard of. It doesn't stop here though, he combines 21 (theme of the evening) of the foulest shots you don't want to hear about onto a list. Done? Not Stinky. He prints list onto iron on paper and makes a t-shirt for me to wear on my special night. I guess in looking at the shirt he's realizing all that he already has invested and sets his mind to finding a way to offset the price of the evening. In true Stink fashion, he prints raffle tickets. There was no explanation on the previously mentioned shirt, just a fictitious website and $1,000 written huge across the top. Simple idea: Buy a shot for the birthday boy, buy a chance at a thousand buckaroos.

Game Time: I feel like an asshole wearing this t-shirt. I'm certain that someone will see right through Stinky's scam. (Mind you this could never be pulled off again. Fucking Blackberries!) I quickly overcome my nerves with booze. T-shirt on, 6-pack in, entourage of interchangeable assholes assembled; Let's do it.

First Quarter: Local tittie bar. Seems a likely place to start being that in the interchangeable assholes there are exactly zero women. Stink claims they will hold us back. Pay $5 cover for shithole where the girls wear stickers over there nipples (not kidding). I think we had been there for precisely two beers. Stink starts grabbing at my arm like a needy toddler and pointing at the stage like I'm missing something.

Stinky: You know who that is don't you?
Me: Some whore. Who cares? You like her? Go talk to her.
S: Dude, look closely. It's Genie from band.
(Public Service Announcement: If you're going to get hooked on drugs and work in a dive bikini bar, have some respect and go for one further than 10 miles from the high school you went to. I'm just saying.)
Me: This is too good.
Whole entourage of assholes charges the stage with $5 bills in hand. Sticker clad whore grabs Stink's $5 bill which he refuses to relinquish until she looks at his face. Blood rushes from whore's face as she looks at all of ours and realizes what has become of her life.
Entourage in Unison: Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha...................(this goes on for a while)
Whore leaves stage in tears.

Entourage is asked to leave. This may have proved to be the most expensive quarter. Given the five dollar cover charge it came out to more than a dollar a minute. Fuck that hole anyway. Nobody's going to buy me shots with naked women around anyway.

Second Quarter: Head to favorite country bar. Actually converted warehouse. For country bar, very cool. Dj booth is riddled with hanging bras. This is my kind of place. Even though it was a band girl she WAS naked and it reminds me that there are no women here. This is not the most approachable crew of assholes you've ever seen either. Thinking on my feet I call an audible, and one of my favorite whores, Stormy. Stormy has some of the most beautiful natural tits you've ever seen in your life and knows it. Not in a bad way though. She knows what she has on her hands and can't wait to share it with the world.

Now the shots are coming in at a pace that would kill even the most seasoned drinker. I danced with some women. The problem: The women weren't interested in dancing. Turns out they were only waiting in the beer line. Not sitting well with boyfriends. I'm relocated to the other side of the bar, it was a warehouse after all. Great! This side has a mechanical bull. Stormy and I ride the bull, together. I rode bitch. (I saw the pictures. Riding behind a girl with phenomenal tits. What did they expect me to hold on to?) Asked to leave. Apparently its okay to throw bra to Dj, but then you're supposed to put your shirt back on. Dammit Stormy. Whatever. At this point Stink was getting nervous that someone may have used an office computer to check drink lottery website.

I'm back. It was a good half an hour to get downtown (I took a sobering power nap).

Third Quarter: Downtown.

Stinky to Entourage: We can park in this garage and the casino right here will validate our parking just for coming in. (underlying theme of evening: Stinky is cheap & not above exploiting people with good intentions.)

Unfortunately I was not able to hold it together well enough to get past the door security. I went to shake hands with security only to realize that he in fact wasn't friendly, but had his hand extended in an effort to accept my id. Don't get me wrong. He was friendly. He could've just let me fall down. He caught me though.

I sit third quarter out. Assembly of assholes proceeds to go inside and enjoy my birthday. It's okay, I was probably due for another break.

Fourth Quarter: Assholes come back, parking and themselves validated and we continue to what would be the final bar. Just some shit hole, but it's in a college town and someone knows a bouncer. There are no shots left on the checklist so stink lets me do whatever people will buy (there are still more raffle tickets). It doesn't take long before a scene is made. The pack had been growing and shrinking as the night wore on, but all of the sudden it dawned on me that Stormy was no longer with us. Now this was a huge disappointment. I was all but guaranteed birthday sex. This doesn't sit well with me. Scene ensues. Known bouncer offers to take me outside to smoke a cigarette. It wasn't a store bought cigarette. This guy apparently likes to roll his own. Memory break ensues.

Bouncer to Stinky- We smoked a cigarette (wink wink) and D took off like a shot across a gravel parking lot.

It's unclear how much time had passed since the cigarette. What is clear is that someone is kicking my foot. This gentleman with a Bob Marley hairdo wants some money. This seems like a reasonable request, but I know that I only started the evening with a twenty dollar bill and I'm sure if I even still have it. What can I do? I ran. Again. He may or may not have been chasing me (entourage found this part hard to believe), but since I was the only one there.....I'm going with BM haircut chased me yelling: Give me $20.

I was able to lose guy and find a parking garage. The liquor is starting to wear off. I discover that in the wee hours of this March morning my only covering is a t-shirt with shots checked off and signatures. I'm cold. Like I said though, I located a parking garage. Certainly there's only one parking garage in a downtown and I will find Stink, right? No such luck. I did however find a radiator to curl up next to for another power nap. Again, unclear for how long. I decide being homeless isn't for me and that I would be more comfortable in a bed.

I venture out of the garage (after I was certain there was no other life around) and find a hotel. I try the door unsuccessfully, twice. This angers me. I decide the only way to go here is through the glass doors. Security guard (police officer earning over time) is not happy with this at all. Informs me that I in fact cannot stay in the hotel for the twenty bucks I have in my pocket. So this snobby bastard offers to make a single phone call on my behalf. My options were for that phone call to be to a taxi or to his buddies with the paddy wagon. The cab will be approximately 20 minutes. He allows me to wait inside on the promise that I do not pee on anything. My pants were evidence that I was no longer concerning myself with finding the proper facilities.

Cabbie wants cash upfront. I make the decision that the girl I'm seeing is the nearest safehouse that I can get to. The atm fee actually overdraws my account. I give the cabbie both twenties that I had and prayed that I could get to my destination.

The ride home: Again the entourage questions my memory of the next series of events, but I was there, so fuck'em.
Cabbie: Drinking will destroy your organs. Crack is much safer. (All the while driving 40 on a freeway posted for 65. Due to construction there are a total of two lanes and I'm certain I will not survive the ride home.)
D: I will keep that in mind next time, but I already gave you all the cash I have.
Crackhead: These fucking assholes drive too fast!
silence. another power nap? NO. CH is feeling chatty.
CH: Where's your coat? It's cold out here. (this is asked facing me)
D: I really don't want to die.

I'll be damned if some how I didn't survive this evening despite all odds. Cab fair came out to $39.70. Though I'm not religious, I'm certain someone was looking out for me this evening.

Post Game: Girlfriend (later to be named Mrs. & the Ex D) not impressed. Doesn't say (pause) anything. Just strips me, showers me, and puts me to bed. Just happy to have a bed I don't even try for sex.

Myself and assholes were all sworn, by Mrs. Ex D never to speak of this evening EVER! I'm not going to say it was comfortable immediately, but she got over it. Later the assholes and I did enjoy reliving the story, but never even in earshot of Mrs. Ex D.