Go 11 - Round Deux
The next logical step after a beer binge drink up (resulting in a 48 hour hangover) is to progress to hard liquor. Namely, my BFF tequila. On the rocks. With salt.
For such an occurrence to come to fruition, I selected El Rio as the follow up date locale with Jack the original. Midtown is my least favorite sector on the grid, alas nothing says let’s get sloshed and black out like Tex-Mex style boozin’. Plus it’s my charitable contribution to train others to drink at my level and even I have difficulty not blacking out on Rio margs. (Note: I have pretty solid grounds to write off margaritas as tax deductible).
As an added bonus, I was just rolling in from another bar so I already had that requisite lining of vodka in my system necessary to meet up with a semi-stranger that has seen me topless.
Since Jack has never been to El Rio, I got us right down to business with the margs. True to form, five minutes in I was working the desperate last sip straw slurp as he was nursing the top third of his drink. There was some schnitzel déjà vu, as when the waiter approached I opted to go round two and “really focus on my beverage” while Jack opted for food upon my assurance I would want whatever he ordered more than I could ever like anything I ordered.
As I was ready for my third drink and Jack couldn’t quite finish his first he was all, “you are business.” When it comes to drinking, I am in fact business. As Jack attempted to catch up on drinking, I attempted to eat off Jack’s plate without spilling (rice is tricky and two margs hinder aim and focus).
We attempted to piece together our prior evening of frolics, alas two minds do not work better than one post Zum Schneider beer binge. I remain baffled as to how we got from the bar back to my place. I am even more so clueless as to how we didn’t consume any Milano cookies that evening.
Time expended: 2 hours / Alcohol units consumed: 3 (me) 2 (Jack)
As we closed the bar down at midnight, another watering hole was necessary - across the street we went for a round of beers. Jack is a PDAer. I am not. As he was trying to kiss me in the bar I had to give him the spiel on how bars are for games and drinking not for saliva exchanging.
Time expended: 1 hour / Alcohol units consumed: <1 (me) 1 (Jack). Beer is tricky.
At this point the tequila was starting to get to me. Perhaps in an attempt to solve the PDA problem, we opted to leave the bar and hookup on the corner of what I believe to be 35th and 3rd. Nothing says class like my actions while all percentaged up.
It was getting kind of late and I was well bombed so after an hour of this it was time to go home. Unfortunately I have a distinctive tendency towards belligerence, where I like to irrationally return statements made (e.g. the time my roommate told my drunk self to go to bed as my eyes were red – “NO, YOU ARE RED!”) Jack wanted to see me into a cab. “NO, I will see YOU into a cab!”
This went on for awhile. Never underestimate the potential for five-year-old behavior in a twenty-something drunk chic.
To acquiesce the situation Jack and I both ended up in a cab so he could drop me off then go his own way. Until it was suggested we have just one more drink and then maybe go have that one drink on the roof top at my place. This worked as the original problem of my apartment being a train wreck hadn’t cleared up yet. This didn’t work as it had rained and no one wants to disrobe on dampened lawn décor.
Needless to say we ended up in my bed where I played a little game I like to call mixed signal central. Then I passed out. Good stuff. Noteworthy: I still made it into work in the morning. Like a champ! Jack did not. I hope he is using his free time to work on bettering his binge drinking ability.
Cumulative time expended: 11 hours / Cumulative alcohol units consumed: 4.5 (me) 3.5 (Jack)
