… add vodka and shake.
Patti at ilovethiscityalways has adorned this blog with some sweet lemonade.
Hence, part 1 of the title. But since all the blogs I read seem to have been tagged with something lately, or asked not to be, I will just say “thank you,” smile widely and nudge you along to part 2 of the title.
That’s the vodka part.
The vodka part reminded me I’ve never told a drinking story on this blog. At least not one where I play the moron. So, this is an alcohol-induced story. Not that I’m drinking now, this late, before work. Because I’d never admit things I insist are lies. But without the spirits, this tale would have no soul.
And how do all good drunken memories come back to you? That’s right: backwards. You scramble pieces together, like each is a little wrinkle in time,* until you can remember the first decision you made that triggered it all. You know the one: it seemed so innocuous at its conception, started to crawl, learned to walk and then steered you into disaster.
Anyway, a glimpse at public failure #103:
He’s asleep. *moans* ”Mmm. A little less… A little less tong-”
His plea goes unanswered. He wakes; sits straight up on a sofa he knows is not his own, and wipes his mouth frantically. It’s a dog, not a princess.
He tries to stand. His leg hurts. His shoulder hurts. He shrugs it off. The shrug makes his elbow hurt.
He realizes it’s her place and asks if she’s awake. From behind a door she says, Yes. He asks about the pain. She’s unsure.
He finds his jacket, his shoes. There’s a tear in the shoulder and a rip in his shoe.
“?” he asks towards her. Dunno, she sends back. He frowns, brow tightened. He pauses. It’s jumbled. Then a clearing; light cracks.
“I fell down a flight of concrete steps?!”
She agrees. The door opens. She’s surprised she can remember.
“And I’m alive? How the balls did that happen?”
Uhdunnu.
“No, me neither. The steps and the cab and the bar and the people… Did I fall at the bar? Dude I think some guys caught me. I remember me laughing then this spot on the ceiling…”
Yeah. You just quit, or your legs did. They caught you. So drunk.
“I danced with that lady. Where the hell were we?”
Third Edition.
“Third Edition. Damnit. Jane’s birthday? How the balls did that happen?”
The birthday?
“The falling. I’m never that drunk. We just had a few shots and some beers, nothing special. I count 7, maybe 8. Over how many hours?”
He stops.
He remembers the first words he said to the bartender, when he walked in the door not long after 10: ‘Cuervo, twice, and that bourbon.’
“Make that 10 or 11″ he tells her, distraught. Because everyone there was from school, he was sure.
No that’s 12, right? The Heineken?
*sighs* ”I should transfer.”
——
*Totally unrelated, but I loved that book – A Wrinkle in Time – as a kid.
Concrete steps? Yikes.
Although, in college I often woke up with various bumps and bruises…some of which I never did figure out the origin.
Oh the [lack of] memories…
Agreed. The things I don’t know I’ve done.
A Wrinkle in Time was always, and may very well STILL be, my absolute favorite book.
I might agree. The movie let me down, though; hard.
You forgot the part where you swear you will never do it again. That is always my favorite part because everyone knows it’s not true.
I didn’t swear. I think that’s the only reason it never actually happened again.
I love the tags you used on this entry.
You can’t mess around with Cuervo, man. It’s a death wish.
Or…drunk…wish.
Cuervo and I, at one point, were really close. But then I cheated on it, with Patrón.
[...] If you are in DC, or plan on ever being here in the near future, we’re going to find these ladies and see for ourselves just how disastrous this train wreck can be. One of their favorite places is Third Edition and hey: I’ve already been there. [...]