 | 12 Hours of Drinking
Current mood:  drunk That's right. You read that correctly. I'm going to tell you about the day that I almost died. Ok. That's an exaggeration, surely. But I don't know that I've ever been through a day that felt longer.
Let me first tell you about my wingman in this endeavor. Derek is a good soul. He's a decent sort of person. He's also single by circumstance and therefore an excellent addition to any drunken outing. When I pick him up at about 1:30 on Saturday, I tell him that we're not only going to play Pub Golf for Alli's birthday, but that we need to keep ourselves coherent and awake enough to make it to Bubble Lounge for Katie Buckstein's birthday afterwards. We agree that this will require food at various points, water and a healthy amount of shit talking each other to stay on track.
We begin at 2. I earn the nickname Dust for being swept in 5 straight games of Beirut by Derek (let's not forget, he owns a table!)...Those beers help, as I'm still reeling from the night before and the mind erasers that totalled me then. By the time we make it to the first bar, Bar None, I'm starting to feel my normal self again.
For those of you who don't know about golf, it goes like this....you pick a certain number of bars and create a par drink amount for each. On this particular course, 2 drinks was par for every bar. You mark on your scorecard the number of drinks you have at each place, and if you have more than 2, that's worth a stroke, more than 3 another stroke, etc. The person who ends with the most drinks dies. Er, wins.
When we cruise in, you can tell who's golfing. You've never seen so many people wearing hats, plaid, knee socks and putting gloves in your entire life. Actually, I'm full of lies today...how about saying that you've never seen so much of the above when not on an actual golf course? Pitchers of beer are on the order, and imagine my surprise when I'm confronted by two guys who know me as "Adam, Kelsey's brother from Half Moon Bay." Definitely not what I'm expecting to hear in the marina. Now, we got there late, which means that we have only a certain amount of time to catch up before the referree blows the whistle and it's time to move on. I start chugging beer. For those of you that know my predicament, and the fact that I still don't physically know how to make myself burp, this can become a problem. But the whistle blows and on the walk to the door, I kill the second beer for the hole, walk outside into the light of day (even when you know it's day time, walking out of a bar and being hit with sunlight is still a bit disconcerting) and spend the next two blocks fighting the need to throw up.
Derek tries to talk to me. Sean tries to talk to me. Julian tries to talk to me. The most I get out is a grimace, a very pained expression, and I manage to spit bile onto the sidewalk. I do this for three blocks, and then, amazingly, and thankfully, the feeling passes. I bounce up and down for a minute in celebration, and find myself dumped with the rest of the golfers into City Tavern.
It's bad when bartenders know you. It's even worse when they take it upon themselves to make you more drunk. This is what happens to us throughout the USC v. Cal game. Mind erasers, beer, shots, they keep coming, and our group grows steadily less manageable. The game's on and the dichotomy between the SC and the Cal fans in the bar grows. Derek feeds me water. It's time to eat, but I can't leave the football game, so I stand outside and do only the second dumbest thing I could do, right there behind drinking more....I smoke a joint. Sure, it tastes good, and almost rights the ship for me, and then I realize that it's made me fucking high and I'm in a lot of trouble because there's no way I can finish golfing now.
Derek returns from KFC/Taco Bell and hands me some sort of chicken wrap. I don't bother to go back in the bar, instead opting for the always popular street eat. At this point, the game ends with SC asserting their rightful place at the top of the Pac10 food chain, the whistle blows and it's time to go to KTs.
We make it across the street where the atmosphere is much more dancy. The group, hearing the music and sensing new blood, gets rowdy. It's at this point that we lose Julian....in a bid to make him the undisputed golf champion, he takes several shots to cement his victory. He earns the medal and wears it around his neck for the rest of the evening, which for him, ends up being short. He takes us to some place called Andole's, which I couldn't find right now if you dropped me off in the Marina with an address and a map, to meet up with Brigid and Christina.
We're drunk, we've been smoking, and Brigid and Christina immediately hate all three of us. I decide a long island would be a great idea, and then have a hard time understanding why a guy standing in front of a full bar says that they can't make long islands. I'm a little confused, so Derek gets us Coronas to go with the steak quesadillas. Julian gets watermelon juice, which he doesn't really get the chance to enjoy because he's in the bathroom throwing up the victory shots he put down at KTs.
Brigid and Christina leave us without a goodbye. I guess at that point we either don't deserve it or they figure it's a waste of their time cause we won't remember it anyways. And now, comes the push. At this point, we're working up to about 9 o'clock and it's gut check time. Either we come up with the final move to Bubble Lounge, or we end the night as dead weight on the couch. We get to Julian's, and he's in bed and asleep before I make it to the bathroom. At this point, Derek and I rally. It's amazing. We get a game of Beirut going and by the time Charles picks us up, the second wind is upon us and we're ready.
We get to Bubble Lounge as by far the drunkest people in the room. I don't remember a whole lot other than smoking a joint on their smoking patio, talking to many people (I remember the people, but not the conversations), and being flirted with by Katie's mom. I'm told the next day by Charles that I pretty much sat down in Jess Goldman's lap, continued telling people, "fuck you, pay me," and that the only consolation prize for me was that Derek was more drunk than I was. Honestly, Bubble Lounge is like Andole's for me...I couldn't find it again if you paid me. By the time Charles drops me back off at Julian's, it's all I can do to get back on the couch, and it's been just shy of 12 hours since Derek and I started the first game of Beirut.
Waking up on Sunday, drinking water was the best feeling ever, simply because it was a beverage that didn't have any alcohol content. Now to prepare for Thanksgiving weekend and a football game. Cheers all. |
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