It was a random Saturday, and in all honesty, I usually don't go out on the weekends. It's too crowded, prices are jacked up, the lines are ridiculous and I don't care as much for the snobby pretention like I once used to. I usually reserve my weekends for lounging around the house in my underwear, watching movies, or catching up on the never ending inbox of work that I bring home with me from the hospital everyday.. instead, I assault my liver on nights when it least expects it, like on a random Tuesday when the streets are empty and the barstools sit unclaimed...
But this is story that takes place on a Saturday.
I had been diligent in doing work all day (and now my research publications are potentially 5!) and had gone to the local Gristedes (my neighbor calls it 'Greasy Titties' and now I have to repress the urge to say that every single time) and picked up some chicken quarters for dinner with friends. This was the extent of my plans. Work, cook, eat, and stay home watching a movie... dinner was delicious (I made roasted chicken quarters in a homemade asian BBQ marinade, and noodles with veggies in a peanut sauce).
The turning point of the night was when the movie we settled on was "I hope they serve beer in hell".
Anyone who knows me, knows that I love Tucker Max. The self-proclaimed asshole and womanizer and threat to anything with wheels or legs (either 2 or 4), is the most outrageously uncensored person I've ever heard of and reading his books and blog has reduced me to tears from laughing so hard. I'm saving up some of his best insults in my mental rolodex under 'fucked up things to say to people' and just waiting for that day that someone fat, stupid, ugly (or any combination of the three) to piss me off in public. Men want to be him and woman want to fuck him. I want to do both...
But the movie was less than inspiring. I think back on some of my more interesting nights and think that we could've had Tucker Max, (and maybe his female equivalent Chelsea Handler after reading ''My Horizontal Life") in our entourage, my interesting nights would have been much more interesting and I'd probably had lost all rights to ever pursue a medical license in the US ever again... so on that note, probably a good thing that they are not real people in my life... although my version of the movie would have been a lot more entertaining.
But as an after effect of the movie, I suddenly wanted to drink.
A lot.
After stating that, I wish I could say that I'm about to write about one of the most epic nights of my life, involving midgets, hookers and a tiger in Vegas, but disappointingly, that is not the case...
It is a sad and sobering realization that after months of not bartending, and being broke and not going out, my knack for getting in and out of trouble has disappeared and my tolerance has all but left me.
The girls and I dressed up and went to our local watering hole, but four drinks in, I was buzzed and bored. Irritated by the bar full of 20-somethings, all young and cocksure, and by 2:30am, I was ready to go home.
Disappointed? Yeah, me too...
Perhaps this is a good sign. A sign of maturity, a sign of settling, a sign of growing up... but I miss my old self sometimes. She was my favorite muse... and then I realized...
She's probably only sleeping off her last hangover. She'll be back Tuesday.
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