What a fucking nutsy weekend. I’m exhausted. I haven’t done this much activity in a long ass time. I haven’t existed like I did this weekend. On one hand, I was really happy to be doing so much. On the other hand, I’m really depressed because this is what I’ve been missing. A large portion of my Friday or Saturday nights the past year have been spent tucked in between sheets and covers. It didn’t catch up with me until I just sat down to reflect on it.
Thursday night I went to a bar called Zipps with Ryan. The place was alright. Definitely not very hopping because it was a Thursday night. I got carded really hard. The waitess told me that she didn’t know if she could serve me, even though it was after midnight. I told her I think she should ask her manager because that sounds like a great opportunity for an equal rights lawsuit. Then I quickly noted how I wouldn’t sue her because she was at least nice about it. It was after this that she decided to confide in Ryan and myself that when she first looked at us she thought she was going to have to kick us out for being under age. My knee jerk thought was at least I’ll know where to serve the bitch papers for my lawsuit. (Do you serve papers if you’re not getting divorced? No idea.)
They had my favorite pale ale on tap, “Blue Moon”. That was pretty awesome because it’s kind of elusive, and to have it on tap is a great stroke of luck. I drank it so proudly, and openly. It was kind of nice to drink a beer without worrying about whether my William Bush Hiller Jr. ID Card from Minnesota is going to get me nailed. I finished that rather handily, if I do say so myself. I’m not a champion drinker by any stretch of the imagination, but I was proud. Then I decided that I wanted a Bud light, which I finished just a little less handily.
Proud, and satisfied in my beer drinking endeavors, I was ready to go home. Ryan suggested we drink another beer; I was not terribly keen on the idea. Then the waitress came over, and Ryan ordered another one. She asked me if I would like another one, and Ryan said yes for me. I said, no thanks I’m fine. Â Then, with a look of disgust she said, “You’re only going to drink two beers on your 21st birthday?” I told her I was a man of great discipline and exceedingly poor alcohol tolerance. I’m able to admit my faults… but I don’t handle competition well. She retorted; “C’mon, Do you leave the tags on your mattresses too? Even my skinny self had 4 beers on my 21st.” And so the bargaining began.
I started down that woeful path of rationalization. I know in the past I’ve drank at least 6 beers without issue. I know in the past I’ve drank a number of margaritas with no ill effects. So, like the jews ask on passover, I asked myself, “Why is this night different from all others?” I didn’t come up with an answer. But about half way through the third beer, I mentioned to Ryan I was about ready to go. He didnt seem to understand the dire tone in my voice, perhaps a result of his Bud Light consumption. Then about two minutes later, I mentioned it was time to go once again. At this point, I started to panic. My saliva was thickening along with a sense of urgency in the air. I figured that maybe I needed to pee really badly. I kind of did. So I went to the bathroom. With each vein swallow, I believed I could win. It was while I was standing at the Urinal in the mens room that I knew the battle was lost. Some of that fabulous, minty mens room air permeated my nasal cavity. I casually, shook, zipped, and went right into the stall, which, Thank god in retrospect was unoccupied. There was no delay, or coughing. The Bud Light came back up about as smoothly as it went down. It was bitter defeat. It reminded me of being called half pint. It reminded me why weed should be legalized. It reminded me of being in the basement of “Fish” in NYC way drunker debating whether or not I was going to puke.
So, my only recourse was to go out and finish that last half of beer. Ryan already knew what had transcended when I returned, and didnt say a word about it. That’s what real friends are about: secret vomiting.
And that was only Thursday night.
Joshua Ziering