It's like Mardi Gras meets the bombing of Dresden...
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Apple Martinis
Since I'm leaving in a month to go home for Christmas and then back to school, one of our cooler members took Carolyn (a co-worker) and I out to dinner last night. The restaurant du jour was the Bonefish Grill, which is a lot like Lenin's Sexual Utopia, only real.

Waiter! Excuse me, but can I have some more red squiggle?

Besides making disparaging comments about the proletariat between mouthfuls of shrimp and Ahi Tuna Sashimi (which is actually the bottom plate in the picture) , we took the time to run up a three hundred dollar tab, which included 23+ martinis (they gave us a few free ones), four beers, and numerous shots of Patron. A short list of the martinis I can remember:

Sour Apple
Hypnotic
Floridian
Melonballer
Key Lime
Mohito
Insomniac (I think it contained gasoline and Redbull, only without the Redbull)
Lemon Drop
Bonefish
Aphrodisiac
and a tequila one, which kicked me in the face, and then the stomach, and I'm assuming later today, the colon.

Sensing that somebody would have to drive, I cut out about halfway through to sober up a bit. This turned out to be a better decision than crossing the Rubicon, the Louisiana Purchase, and evacuating before Katrina- combined. Rather than argue about stopping, I pulled the "Holy crap! Is that (insert name)?" and then dumped my drink into theirs before quaffing (yes, quaffing) the last little bit. This worked for an hour and a half, if you need an overall indicator of the level of inebriation at our table. We finally paid our tab and left, and Carolyn and I had to carry our host out to my truck. To make matters worse, I don't know where he lives or how to get there.

Finally, after about an hour of driving around in circles on worthless directions and stopping every few minutes for some pukage, I just drive back to my house and let him pass out on our couch. He sleeps for about an hour and sobers up enough to give me directions back to his house (finally!). We pull up to his garage-

"Harry, are you sure this is the right one?"
"Yeah, listen, as soon as I get out you gotta drive as fast as you can away, my wife is going to fucking kill me."

He opens the door, steps out, and just collapses in the yard. I have to half carry him up to the door before I jump back in my truck, and take off to go home and sleep before being back at work at seven this morning.

Anyway, I still think my last post is totally sweet.

3 Comments:

Blogger RJ said...

so did you ever get with that chick?

1:08 AM  
Blogger Hans-Georg Gadamer said...

I think this post was better, but then I haven't seen the incredibles. But being totally wasted sounds like a blast...

5:10 PM  
Blogger Justin said...

If you can't tell, while writing this story I found out that it doesn't end well, or at least end interestingly. That's why it starts off ok before turning into crap, which is why I cut it off prematurely.

12:54 AM  

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