It Was My Birthday And I Sang... Cause I Wanted To

Last Friday was a momentous day for me, my dear readers! If you didn't already know, last Fri was my birthday, and I decided to do something exceptionally rare for me. I threw a birthday party! Now, I know what you're thinking: Me? Party? But, I swear to you, it 's true! A friend of mine (let's call her Ms. Party Planner) was able to find a venue that was close by, available on my birthday, AND free! It's called "El Taller" (pronounced tah-yer) and it's a chill place where you can get some good food, some drinks and be creative. It's a really great place and will most likely become my chill spot in Lawrence.

Company Christmas Party and My Last Drinking Binge...

So my company is having a Christmas party tonight with an open bar. I'm not one to drink wantonly, but I was thinking about going all out and getting completely trashed at the party, and participating in what most of the people in the world consider to be "having a good time". Since what I normally do: playing video games, reading books, and watching tv/movies, don't seem to be "good time" activities.

I usually don't get drunk because alcohol is a super extreme depressant for me and knocks me out rapidly. One time, I made it a point to get trashed, it was for one of my birthdays... possibly my 27th birthday... I went (read: was dragged) to this bar near the Greenwich Village area of Manhattan, NYC called Jekyll & Hydes. It's a cool place, going for the horror movie/evil scientist laboratory vibe. If you get a chance, check it out.

I made the mistake of telling the bartender that it was my birthday, so all my drinks/shots were filled with more than would normally be the case. Right around midnight, I told the bartender that my birthday was over. He looks at me and says, "Look at my computer screen. It still says the 27th. It's still your birthday. Now have another!" It was shortly after this exchange that  I started the new drinking policy of drink whatever's put in front of me (at the behest of my so-called friends).

Anyone who has EVER been on a drinking binge knows that "Drink Whatever's In Front Of Me" is NEVER a good policy. I was, of course, a neophyte to drinking so I thought it was a good idea. That thinking ended when my bartender decided to pour me a shot of something that was pitch black. I mean PITCH BLACK, like I had trouble seeing the glass around the drink it was so dark.

"Drink this," says my bartender. And I say "my" bartender, because it seemed to me, buzzed as I was, the he was pouring drinks just for me. Everyone else's drinks just materialized in front of them, but mine were slow poured. I looked at the shot glass and asked, "What is it?"

"Just drink it!" So I did.

Now, I thought the drinks I had before were hitting me hard, but THAT drink felt like Mike Tyson had put on one of those Predator invisibility suits, stood in front of me, and PUNCHED ME DEAD IN THE FACE. I was shocked as hell to see that I was still standing after drinking that. "So what was that?"

"It's called Liquid Cocaine." I made a vow, after my bartender said that to NEVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVEREVEREVER drink that shot again. By this point, my friends and I had acquired some bar friends and we were swapping drinking stories and they were all making fun of me for being a newbie drinker. We had a flaming drink appropriately called, "Flaming Moe"s. At which point, I noticed that one of our bar friends was the drop dead gorgeous Italian woman I had been checking out earlier in the evening when I was still sober. And she was dressed in form-fitting black leather. And what a form she had! So, in my drunken stupor, I decided to walk up to this beautiful woman and say, "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

I said this without slurring a single word, in crystal clear English, despite being dead drunk. I know this because, if it had been drunk speak, her 9 foot tall, muscle-bound, Italian Mobster looking boyfriend would not have taken issue with my statement and stood up with the intent of splattering my face along the bar. At which point, my friends and I thought it would be very wise to vacate the premises.

Yes, that's right. I ran like a little girl. You know why? Cause running allowed me to survive and not be hunted down and killed for hitting on the wrong girl! You know how the Mafia are... vindictive! Then, while waiting for the Path train, which would take me back home to Newark, I started feeling sick. A tidal wave of nausea rose up through my body and I ran and started puking my internal organs out onto the tracks. During this completely involuntary action, my mind as a way of punishing me for my sins, decided to re-surface the memory of an article I had read earlier that way of some poor schmuck who had died in this same situation when a train came down the tunnel and decapitated him while he was puking over the rail.

Needless to say, I was scared out of my mind as I couldn't stop myself and I prayed devoutly for the train NOT to come on time. After all, what's ten minutes late between friends?? Thankfully, I finished emptying my stomach before the next train arrived. And I made it home safe & sound.

Now with an experience like that the last time I got trashed, why WOULDN'T I want to get trashed again???


Yes, I know. I need my head examined.