03/19/2006 - 4:00 p.m. | nice fuckin' hat, you blowjob

This is entry number 1111. Yes, I am impressed by the same number four times in a row.

I was getting pretty worried Friday night. I couldn�t get a hold of anyone � they were all asleep or missing � and it seemed as though my big crazy St. Patrick�s Day was going to be me trashed on the couch fucking up Parappa. Luckily, Gautam came home, saw that I was hopeless, and offered me passage with him to Boltini. Ah, classy place. Martini bar. Better get ready� by which I mean get loaded on Bubble Tap and rum.

We were meeting some of his friends along the way. I figured it would be the same old loud-as-hell annoying laugh Indian people he usually brings around, so imagine my surprise when two fairly attractive young Asian women get on the bus to meet us. Makes me wish I�d all changed shirts or something. But whatever, I�d be too far gone to be worrying about that for long.

See, I am sort of bad at new social situations (Why is there no shock registering on each of your faces?). Usually I have something of a safety net, a Shelly or a Spritz I can fall back on to talk to when I get a bit nervous. I don�t know Gautam that well, though, and I just met these two broads, so obviously I am just going to have to step up and get completely fucked out of my head to make this navigable. Like I said, though, martini bar. We do not attend grown up places like that enough to know one�s limit in terms of small strong expensive drinks. I order an appletini and then some key lime thing, but the latter is awful, so I trade it to Gautam for his cosmopolitan, and it is equally awful, but at least there it is awful because it is strong and not because it is made entirely of animal dung.

Spritz calls at some point, and I try to covertly leak it to him that there are hot Asian bitties here, without said bitties finding out what I am saying. Gautam notices this and laughs at my slyness. For a while, I am almost OK, making decent small talk with the two girls (who I am sure I know at least 80% of the names of). Gautam doesn�t say much � how does he get these people to like him so much then? � but Spritz eventually arrives and takes some of the pressure off of me, which is good, because at this point I am now well-fucked and beyond.

This whole portion of the evening eludes me, but I have been asking around, and maybe I wasn�t as hopelessly embarrassing as I had feared. I mean, Spritz recognized immediately, but he knows me, and my drunken tells, from years of experience. Gautam didn�t think I was far gone at all, but I don�t know if that speaks well for my self-control under the influence or poorly for how I act in general. Anyway, I was apparently one verbose motherfucker, just blathering on and on without really saying much at all. So that�s cool. And it turns on I full on licked a dollar. I don�t know if this was to prove a point or what, but that is pretty cool, even with the syphilis I am no doubt incubating as we speak. I stumbled to the bathroom and tried to puke, I�m told, except I really do not remember that at all. I remember going to the bathroom, going into a stall, sitting on the toilet, chilling for a long time, and then coming back to concerned questions. Nothing about being on my knees, though, so I remain skeptical. I also apparently told Spritz a story about the crazy long nosehair I had plucked out earlier in the day, it being like over an inch long and coarse and bristly like electrical wire. I can only hope I had the social awareness remaining to have not spoken of this too loudly amongst others. Probably not, though. I remember Spritz coercing me with a dollar to go over to some couple to try and bum a cigarette from them. It worked, and I did not even have to spend the dollar, but I think I may have offered to be the godparent of their first baby. That is a weird thing to say to people, Nathan.

We finished our drinks, and Spritz had pretty much been selling C-Street big time to the girls, so we walked over there to check it out. I was gone gone gone at this point, probably as close to zombie drunk as I have ever been, so luckily my savior came not long after. I puked in another urinal. yaaaaaaaay But! But! Maybe you just think it is for comedy value - and admittedly I was sort of laughing as I went at it, full of questions (Why is it red??? How did I got some on the top of the urinal???) - but I had my reasons. The weird little half-bathroom I was in didn�t have a door on the stall (for obvious reasons), and I somehow felt that leaning my head into the urinal would provide me enough privacy to go unnoticed. I am a superhero.

I came out feeling much, much better � still pleasantly fucked but at least not stumbling around grasping for human flesh - but I was also suddenly sober enough to worry about my breath. Chili, a whole fruit salad of flavored liquors, and stomach acid. Must have smelled like god damn Roseanne prolly, and nobody had any gum.

Whatever, I was still charming enough. OK, that�s probably just not true. One of the girls � the kind of pinched-up face one � was a self-confessed fag hag, I was to find out later in the course of the evening, and she had jumped to certain conclusions about me. So, when we hit the pretty much deserted dance floor (I guess the gay population tend to stay indoors when the drunken Irish run the streets), she was grinding all nasty-like, thinking my dong wouldn�t give a fuck, and I was just gone enough to go ahead and return the favor, hoping it might. She would occasionally switch in her Becca Liu-lookin� friend, who was much nicer and far more timid. I did not try and put the nasty on her. That would just have been wrong.

We eventually went back to our table, and I believe it eventually came to light that I am a straight person. I just smiled and ate some ice as we let the full ramifications of that surface for pinched-face. Surprisingly, we did not return to the dance floor.

I guess we left when the damn place closed and trudged our way to the bus stop for our ride home. We have 15 minutes to kill, though, and Spritz decides to assert his masculinity in front of the ladies by challenging me to a wrestle. People are always trying to assert their masculinity through me. Pick a better target, people! Whatever, though, I am forced into this thing and am quickly thrown to the ground. I know I will never be able to pin this man, so as quick as I can, I get an arm around his throat and just try to squeeze, drunkenly reassuring myself that if I kill him, I probably won�t have to do this any more. It nearly works, as he was apparently the much worse for wear than I was the day after, sore everything and all, but as we spin around on the ground doing the Three Stooges dance for a while, I decided that this was stupid. We were pretty much destined for a stalemate. While Spritz was too strong for me to ever get the advantage on him, I was too squirmy for him to ever really pin me right either. So in the end, I just gave up. The girls were not impressed, but I�m not really sure what the intended end result of this whole endeavor was after all. Were they to rip their clothes off right there at the bus terminal, their passions so inflamed by our homoerotic fumblings? I don�t get girls. Or guys either, really.

We took separate buses home, a clear signal of anything ever was, ours looping around insanely right up until the point it took us to our front door. Oh, that makes sense. I deemed myself sober enough to drive to the Taco Bell. Gautam came along to listen to Celtic music and piss on a tree at the drive thru. While we waited decades for the cretins to mash horse meat onto tortillas, some nasty fat thing stumbled out of the car in front of us to discuss my stickers. I gave her a high-five, a very good deed on my part. That brief physical contact there with a human being not entirely deformed will give that poor girl months and months of masturbatory material. Did she have a lisp, or did I just will it be so?

The tacos� were not great.