Bent Titties, Prism and Cheetos
The dreaded 12 hours later has arrived, and I am now recovering at work. Last night's adventures were deemed by yours truly as lj-postworthy, and even though I am in no mood to open my eyes ... let alone type, I figure it must be done. And it will be done now.
After having left my place of employment last night at 11, I changed into some jeans and wandered down the street to the Bent Mast where Arlin was waiting. The walk down there was somewhat dreamlike: very dark, the wind whipping everything around me, no cars, and it was raining. Raining leaves. As my taxi driver later called it "A November wind, but in October". Oh the hidden virtues of taxi drivers. Once at the Bent Mast our team of two wasted no time getting wasted, and accrued a host of drinks... from pitchers to irish whiskey and beyond! Braving the gale force winds as we sat outside, I showed my drinking friends how one of my fingers had lost all colour and sensation and turned entirely white. "I have Reynaud's Syndrome" I boasted. We continued to drink, and after conversations on all variety of topics, we began to debate the value of the statement "no sex in the champagne room". This led to the calling of a cab, and soon after "Arlad" - as the taxi call center had interpreted his name - and I were jetting off toward titty town, Monty's.
Upon arrival, I was persuaded by the bartenders to shotgun a cold shot at the bar. We grabbed a few more drinks and sat down. Alas, we chose a seat behind a rather large pole ...not the one on the stage... and didn't really end up seeing anything worthy of noting. In fact, I spent more time trying to contact one Jeremiah than watching the show, occasionally hollering out loud in response to Arlin's nudges: "Katie, you have to be more active here! Wowowowowo holla!" The shows all came to an end, and we filtered outside amidst a herd of horny, mostly male, drunkards. Arlin had the bright idea of punching the TEST YOUR STRENGTH punching bag in the foyer. He put a few coins in and gave it a shot: 812 out of 900. Believing myself to be the buff customer which the photo in a previous post had suggested, I decided to also give the bag a beating. I pulled my unsuspecting arm back and launched myself drunkenly towards the bag. 400! "Owwwww" I hollered in pain, "I think I've broken my elbow, or at least pulled my elbow muscle." "Yeah," Arlin replied as he wound up to try again, "you over-extended your arm. You should punch with a crooked arm." Good thing it wasn't an actual fist fight, I would have knocked myself out.
We stood in the freezing cold for the next 15 minutes watching the enterprises of a young camo-clad-crew-cutted lad who was attempting to stir up a fight as the police watched on. They cuffed him just as Jeremiah arrived, and we trekked over to Prism, where I knew my friend Alex was partying the night away. We saw him as soon as we entered, grabbed drinks, dragged Arlin inside, and hit the dance floor for the final hour of the night. We proceeded to rip it up, dancing and throwing ourselves about in what must have resembled semi-epileptic fits with hints of drunken rage: all of this to the hypnotizing beat of the bass. At one point Alex and I jumped into the little cave/podium type thing in the wall and began to boogie. I vaguely recall being the pole for his strip tease... 'nuff said. I also remember my elation at finding a hole in the ceiling directly above my head. I shoved my hands into it awkwardly as I danced and tried to hoist my body up. Much to my chagrin, the hole was not as sturdy as I had assumed, being made of loose drywall, and plaster came tumbling down onto my head in chunks both fine and hefty. Not having learned my lesson, I tried again a few minutes later with similar results. And again once more.
We left Prism, listening to Arlin cussing about how guys had been trying to pick him up all night. He bought a hot dog and was subdued. We left Alex and marched toward the J Bot. Along the way I made several lewd suggestions to my fellow walkers. It appears I was trying to convince them to make out with one another, for reasons unbeknownst to my sober self. We stopped at the ground of the Legislature for some spinning, and then headed for Mac's. There, the male members of our party purchased cancer sticks while I settled for some Cheetos. In retrospect, the cancer sticks would have been more beneficial to my health. Shudder. We proceeded to Arlin's tiny closet/apartment where we listened to, and attempted to rap along with, Notorious BIG. We also participated in several vicious cheeto throwing battles. I was disadvantaged due to my broken elbow bone. Jeremiah eventually walked me home around 4 in the morning, and Arlin (as I found out today at work) continued drinking until the lovely hour of 9AM. Once home, I decided to call the love of my life, Boston Cream Pie, in New York. Thank the cheeto gods he did not answer his phone. But then again, who would?
This brings me to today. Waking up still fairly sloshed at 8AM, the cheetos which had been festering in my stomach for the past 4 hours decided that they would seek new residence and jumped out of my mouth. I felt better, however, and slept until 2.15 when I got up and came to work. Arlin is also working today, and is STILL drunk. I am struggling to perform the tasks assigned to me, my efforts being hampered by my clouded mind, throbbing elbow, and new set of random bruises.
And I'm doing it all again tonight.