The highlight of any evening spent indulging in Bud Light is invariably the point when you stop drinking it, grow a sac, and order a beer.
For me, this was the beginning of the night. I ordered Heinekens for some time until my friends arrived. Take a knee…
DATELINE:
My fucking job.
DATETIME:
Fucking time.
DATE?:
No…fuck.
Everyone is going downtown. I live in Miramar. This is like one of those math problems: If Fway goes to Miramar, B.F.E., 25 miles from downtown, and everyone else is going to Ft. Lauderdale at 8 o’clock from various locations, at what time does Fway have to leave to arrive one half the time after the median arrival time of the people who arrive? Secondary problem: How much does one consume before departing to be amply intoxicated upon arrival without attaining a level noticeable by mobile officers of the law?
Right. I can go home and not come out, or go out and wait.
“We’re going now,” a pair of co-workers chime.
This is great. Now I can go dowtown without stopping at home first.
The story is starting to suck. Fast forward…
Of course they don’t show. I call everybody I’m so bored. I called my mom for fuck’s sake. From a bar. I went to Fat Cat’s and left a deuce and a tab.
Weird sidebar: I walked into Tarpon Bend, caught the eye of a nice blonde dancing. I maintained eye contact as I walked up the stairs. I sat down, ordered my beer, watched the news and pretended to give a fuck about the scrolling feed along the bottom of the screen.
Somebody grabbed my hair (it’s luxurious), pulled my head back and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I looked left then right and saw the blonde heading back down the stairs looking at me and smiling. Awesome. This was the total ass I would get for the evening because I slept at someone’s house and I wasn’t comfortable masturbating on the couch in front of a foreigner. That’s the kind of thing you only do in front of citizens, you know?
The rest of the night I switched to Bud Lights in order to maintain a steady head. I think I drink too much. It can’t be good for my health. I smoke more when I do it. On a couple occasions I’ve blown chances with girls due to heavy imbibing. On more than one outing I’ve not recalled stupid things I’ve done said.
Fuck that.
You know what happened? I stayed up all goddamned night and got nowhere with anyone. It could just be that I can’t dance. But that never seems to matter to them or me when I’m shitfaced. Bud Light does not do that.
What it does do, however, is make you feel as though you just chugged a bottle of Cascade™. Less filling my ass. I nearly barfed from volume more than once. Plus I wasn’t even remotely buzzed, so I sat and stared for a good portion of the night.
We moved on to another bar. I moved on to real booze.
Now we’re getting somewhere! I called out a girl/friend of mine and it was on. She’s always down to booze it. And in true fwasted fashion, can’t remember much after that.
Oh, I did have an altercation with a co-worker’s foreign douche of a guest.
She was complaining that he was continually hitting on her, making things uncomfortable. What could I do to help? I volunteered to talk to him. Nothing blocking, nothing untoward. Simply have a conversation so that he would not be talking to her for a minute.
I tapped his shoulder and said, “Hey man. You’re lucky. You’re French, you could get any bitch in this place.” Not. Fucker had a tan that he must have poured on. How do you say Orange Julius in French? Also on display: sickest Jersey-blowout-do I’ve ever seen, dawg.
“I cen talk to HUE-ever I want,” said Le Monsieur.
“Right. That’s what I said. You can mack it.”
“I’ll talk to her,” pointing to the object of his scorned attentions, “if I want.”
“Ok. Just saying. You can get any chick in here.”
Again he claimed his right to the French National Treasure. My friend put it pretty accurately when I relayed the story to him: “Dude was here…from another country…hitting on his friend who lives here…who in turn is originally from his country?”
“Yes,” I confirmed.
“He shoulda left his dick in France.”
Indeed.
—
The girl that had been invited out to hang with me left, as I was apparently hitting on my girl/friend. So it goes.
We went to a pizza place or some shit and I was ordered to get my car, then drive us all back to g/f’s house. Suh-weet.
No such luck. I returned and found that the entirety of downtown was barren. Due to miscommunication and impatience, all female companions had left to their respective homes and I was left to troll US1 by myself, calling people who did not pick up.
This story sucks. But that’s OK because I’m done.
