2004-11-17
If you ask myself or Leigh - or any irresponsible person for that matter - your 21st birthday must be marked by so much of the drink that you're about thisfar from alcohol poisoning. This conversation, taken from an earlier entry of mine, sums up my monumental 21st:SPIKE: "So how was it?"
DREW: "Well, I woke up with 'NO FATTIES' written on my chest."
That was Tuesday night, I think.
TOPHER: "So how was it?"
DREW: "Well, I woke up with 'NO FATTIES' still written on my chest but this time my car was gone."
Wednesday night.
That said, Char had a mighty bar to surpass this week. A wine bar to be exact, the very same that kicked us all out when 19 year old Char was the only one at our table to not produce a valid form of ID, nor even a fake one. Two years later, vindication came in the form of a $40 bottle of Syrah. Really, vindication wasn't all that hard for Char to come by. All she had to do was stay alive for two years. Still, given Char's propensity for falling over her own words, flat on her ass, and down public staircases, making it those two years was apparently a victory hard won.
So as drunk on revelry as we were on wine, the birthday celebration stumbled back to our birthday apartment where we indulged in a big birthday no-no: mixing our birthday booze. Six of us consumed a bottle of Ketel One, followed by a bottle of Jim Beam. Birthday girl bore the brunt of the bottle, and soon found herself beligerantly blasted, and barfing after - um, a 'B' word for passing out on Leigh's bed.
Now, you all know that I love the drink as much as the next guy - perhaps more - and I saw the inebriated mayhem on the horizon. So when I'm the guy standing next to you saying, "No Char, don't do it, this next shot will be the death of you," wouldn't you kinda listen? It's like Neils Bohr is standing next to Char who is dilligently tinkering away at her nuclear reactor and Bohr's going, "No Char, splicing that particular molicule will wipe out half of northwest Missouri." I'd find it hard to believe that one would have the grapes to say, "Fuck you, Neils Bohr, IIIIII'm twunny-one!" But I guess drunkenness and rationality never really have gone hand in hand, have they?
So after Char yakked, we deposited her in the bathroom where she fell asleep literally cheek to rim with the toilet. All continued without incident until Alaina, the runner-up lush of the evening, decided to pee in the bathroom that Char was in, rather than use my own vacant one. Alaina, summoning some superhuman strength that no girl her size has surely ever demonstrated, actually lifted Char halfway off the ground and deposited her like a big pile of wet towels into the bathtub before proceeding to drop trou' and do her business.
That situation, incidentally, was the answer to "The Mystery of How Char Woke Up The Next Morning In The Tub." We solved that one. The other mystery is "The Mystery of the Pink Vomit Outside My Apartment Door." Alaina had brought Char a pink birthday cake which was enjoyed by all, but apparently some less than others. So if the pink vomit belongs to you, please come and claim it. I made sure to take a picture for reference.
Ah, 21.
Ryan Adams at the Pagaent tomorrow night. Be there.
-Andy