This past Thursday and Friday had been nothing but a hedonistic alcohol fused tornado of awesome.
Thursday started off long and boring but ended with... um? some kinda bang we'll call it. I went downtown during lunch to get Joe's Pizza and check out some record shops (I have a feeling I'm gonna be doing this until I get either the Cobra or the Chrysler back on the road. Chances of the Cobra getting fixed any time soon are slim to none... to the fact I might just push it off a cliff fairly soon. But yea, I finally got that "spoken word" album that is just this 12" vinyl record that compiles Paul Bearer's best rants from over the years of touring with Sheer Terror and heckling the crowd between songs. I think it's called No Really, Go Fuck Yourself. I haven't had a chance to sit down and listen to this masterpiece of trash talking, but I'm sure it's hilarious. I also got my hands on an original, 1st pressing, of Dead Kennedys' EP "In God We Trust, Inc." good shit.
But yea, nothing too crazy happened in the city besides some weirdo who kept kicking a pay phone trying to get it to work and only stoppded doing so to tell me he thought Danzig was the shit (he said this cause I was wearing my Danzig hoodie).
Anyway, I was feeling exhausted by the time I finally got on the highway back home. For some reason instead of taking a nap or something a normal person would do when they're tired, I just sat around watching tv and eventually making myself dinner. Did I mention that the only way worse way for your eye to tear up from chopping onions is to actually get a piece of onion flung into your eye? Yea, not fun. I made ghetto tacos. Not only that, I cooked for 2 or 3 people... but those 2 or 3 people just happened to be me, me and me. I ate as much as I could and put the leftovers away. I hopped in the shower, then proceeded to get a nice amount of shampoo in my eye like a jackass, and got dressed to go out (by that, I mean the usual t-shirt, jeans, hoodie and glob of pomade in my hair combo).
By the time I got to Scott's house, I was doing my usual old man complaints. My stomache is bothering me (obviously cause I had a taco feast unto myself), I'm tired, I'm thirsty, bla bla bla. We then headed off to the city, but made a quick pit stop before we hit the highway. I made Scott go to the bodega in town and get me something that'd wake me up. He came back with 2 double shot expressos in a can and another can of monster energy drink. Not only that, but he was on the phone with who we thought was Dan (but when I asked Dan the next day, he started laughing and said he wished he pranked Scott saying the shit this mongo was telling him). I dunno. The guy called doing a bad southern accent and saying stupid shit and also mentioned he was recording the call to show the cops he's threatening to murder him or somethign retarded (come to think of it, I think I know who it is now... whatever).
Anyway, we got down to Turtle Bay where Jeff was bartending that night. We walked in and went away from the guy working the door. We weren't sure if he was collecting money at the door or what, so I just bought a round of drinks and we walked past him without looking at him just in case he did want money from us. We then decided to go upstairs to A) see what it looked like up there and B) to see if Jeff was up there. He was and what happened for the rest of the night was drunken fiascos. Well, more like a normal night out for me and Scott.
First of all, may I let it be known that I want to murder every bartender in there? (well, besides jeff). Thursday night was the starting point and when I had to deal with them again last night (I'll get to that later), I just wanted to come back with a mini gun and mow the entire place down. I dunno who to hate more froM Thursday night more though. The douchebag with the frosted tips, taking girls cameras and doing these gay myspace poses, or the other douche and a half. Why is the other guy a bigger douche by half a douche? Because later in the night, when Pac met us up, Jeff asked me "you guys want shots?" (side note: Jeff never charges us for shit and on top of that, our drinks are usually doubles or tripples or just straight whatever liquor we ordered). So yea, shots are of the high end variety and don't cost a thing cause it's Jeff. Anyway, I tell Jeff to get us rumple minz and he asks one of the 2 bartenders where the bottle of that was cause he couldn't find it. The douche and a half and the frosted tips fag (seriously, who in the fuck frosts their tips? people who took a time machine and went back to 1995 to live a dull, fruity and menial life?) tell Jeff they don't have it. Douchey-Halfy rushes over to me and tells me they don't have it and then tells me they have Blackhaus instead. I tell him I am not drinking that shit. He asks me what I want instead. I tell him "I told him just to get me whiskey if you guys didn't have it." Douche and half asks "what kind?" I said "i don't know, he'll surprise me." The guy runs away and comes back going "you wanted 4, right?" I go "uh, sure, whatever," figuring Jeff would take care of it and I wouldn't pay (or well, I was gonna hand Jeff some loot for him for the rest of the night as a tip). Turns out the guy decided to take the order as his own and then hands me 4 mini plastic piece of shit cups that were the poorest excuses for shots and goes "that'll be 32 dollars." I look at him and go "what?" He goes "yea, 4 shots of this is 32 dollars." Me and Pac threw a 20 in each figuring the change of that is more than enough for 4 shots. The guy comes back and gives me the change and says "it was red label by the way." I threw the money back down on the table (maybe me and pac took it back, i don't remember) and when I told Pac and Scott what the guy said to me we all started going off on how red label is nothing to write home about and that guy being, indeed, a douche and a half.
The night only got worse in douchebaggery from there. The people in there were of the frat boy mentality. WE were probably the oldest people in there, save for the guy who looked like ernest hemmingway's slightly younger brother and the token africans bathroom attendant who I automatically hate, cause seriously sitting outside a bathroom and cornering you to take a paper towel and pay him a dollar for doing something you could have easily done yourself, then asking if you shit like if you want a stick of gum or to douse yourself in jacour noir and smell like trash.
highlights include me and scott laughing at some kid who looked like he just came from his own bar mitzvah, some dude wearing combat boots, ripped to shit levis, a flannel shirt with matching bow tie and a suit vest hitting on some girl, losers line dancing to Santeria by Sublime and the worlds worst DJ. I acutally started yelling at him that he sucks and I hope he goes to hell. Seriously, he was playing What's my Age Again by Blink-182 (strike one) and then started blairing that siren sample every Dj and their half-retarded mother has over and over again like it was late night on Hot 97 with Funk Master Flex (strike two through eleven). One guy said to me "hey, I don't see you up there doing what he's doing." I went off on the guy saying something about how I don't consider some fat kid with his ipod of shitty music he listened to at some state college and a sample box of sound effects downloaded off some my first dj gig website hooked up to a pa system as a dj.
Eventually Scott and I just couldn't take anymore reasons to hate humanity and we left. Scott was a blithering mess and a half. Why? Um, I don't know where to start off. A) He lost his cell phone at the bar. B) he fell backwards on an escalator going up. C) when I stopped to ask a cop for directions to the nearest E line subway, he ran screaming that he didn't want to talk to a cop, then as I was talking to the cop, Scott slipped in the soaking wet rain, in the middle of the street and was laying there. The cop said to me "are you kidding me? is your friend drunk?" I said "no...." and ran to grab Scott before the cop could get to him, carrying (more like dragging) Scott down the street yelling "move your legs if you don't want a ticket for public drunkenenss!" D) when we finally got onto the E and were maybe 2 stops away from the transfer to the A, Scott gets up and runs off the train screaming we're going in the wrong direction and to get off the train. After realizing I wasn't gonna win that argument, I ran off the train after him to drag him back onto the train, but it was too late. What happened next? E) We had to wander up and down the west side highway looking for a cab to take us up to Inwood. 3 guys let us in and then told us they refused to drive us up there, probably thinking we wanted the bad part of teh bronx (which is just about every part of the bronx). I'd have to drag scott out of these cabs cause he refused to get out not understanding anything going on. I finally got some guy and as things went on realized more and more this guy was a crook. First of all, I realized he started taking us the long way and started cursing him out going "I swear to God, if your dumb ass brings us to brooklyn I will murder you" and other variations of that threat. Also, his meter would jump 4 bucks every 30 seconds to a minute. Also, I eventually noticed he didn't have a taxi license in the window to prove he's legit til he saw me staring at all the info he actually did have and slipped something in there thinking I was too drunk to realize.
What pissed me off was a mixture of that whole BS with the cabbie, Scott repeatedly opening the window and letting rain in as he layed there half alive in the back seat and the fact I had to pay this piece of shit 35 dollars (which he kept insisting cash only as I siad to go fuck himself cause I see a credit card machine in the back). Yea. I asked Scott to give me money but he just kept mumbling no as I literally kicked him to get out of the car.
We finally got to Dennis' garage in Inwood, where we parked. His immigrant worker who speaks no English kept yelling at me thinking I had to pay kept yelling in Spanish for me to stop and I just told him to shut up leave me alone and got in the car and took off.
2 seconds after we leave the garage and Scott musters up enough energy to yell at me to stop at the Hess station right before the highway to get food and drinks. I said fine cause I was starving. I gave him 7 bucks to get me chips and a drink. I shoulda went myself cause Scott couldn't get it in his mind that the reason the door wasn't opening the 12 or so times he tried ripping it open was cause you have to order through one of those drive thru-like windows to get what you want. I kept yelling at him from the car to just go to the window but he just kept sitting there yanking on the door and punching it til I said to get back in the car cause the guy was screaming he was gonna call the cops. Here's a photo of Scott trying to finally crawl through the drive-thru slot to get the guy, not to tell him waht we wanted, but to open the door as the guy kept yelling at him:
Eventually I dropped him off and got 2 hours of sleep before having to wake back up. I'm glad I didn't have to do the whole "you're gonna kill me" bit with him that he usuially does when he gets that drunk and thinks i'm going to kill him and dump him in the woods for some fucking reason.
But yea, Friday morning rolled around. I went to my mom's job in the Bronx and passed out in her office for a few hours. Hopped the train to Queens to meet up Romil and try and see the US Open. What ended up happening instead was we got bombed starting at 11am til 5pm there. We were in this expensive restaurant til about 2:30pm drinking and eating, then from then til 5 we wandered the stadium realizing the game was never gonna happen. You meet some weirdos at the US Open it seems. Well, ok, most are of the usual snobish persuasion (especially since we had those expensive court side seats that snobs are usually the only ones to buy up). But then there was this one guy wearing a miami dolphins hat and shirt with a cooperstown windbreaker. As he wouldn't leave the two of us alone more and more, it dawned upon me that he was some beyond crazy sports nut. Was he a Dolphins fan? No. Why was he wearing Dolphins hat and shirt? Cause the Williams sisters live in Florida and I'm pretty sure Serena has some stakes in the Dolphins franchise. Yea, he's one of those people that'll hear oh, so and so likes such and such. Lemme do something to get their attention with said thing they like. You know? like hot girl likes a band. you wear a shirt with that band's logo on it next time you know you're gonna see her, stupid conversaion pops up, bla bla bla. Did I mention not only did this guy (his name was Jeff something or other) live in Pittsburg, but he frequented to Dallas to catch Cowboys home games, he was a Canadians fan (who the fuck like the Canadians besides the damn idiots from that part of Canada that like hockey?), he claims to have been to over 1,000 Bob Dylan concerts all across America and he claims to hold the most innings pitched at some fucking special game held at cooperstown once a year between old farts and retired baseball hall of famers. Good for him and his weird ass.
Yea, whatever. We texted Dan and met him up at Union Bar for drinks. after ordering a basket of french fries to fill my stomache and get some patron cafe to wake me up, we ordered another round, that turned into the hot bartender we like giving us round after round of free shots. We became filled with more booze and a wild streak. It started on the subway. Me and Dan just kept yelling "PAY YO FARE!" over and over ala this one scene from Mo Money. Hilarity took it a step up when we realized 3 times we missed the stop we needed. The last time we got off the right train stop, Dan just goes and slaps some random dude right on the ass and then gave him a thumbs up, scaring the crap out of the guy.
We got to the bar and just started shouting. We grabbed a back table and kept yelling at the dykey waitress to give us drinks and to tell the dj to "play some fucking 80s music." haaa. Booze kept flying. My tab went from 30 bucks to 80 bucks after ordering rounds of shots left and right in an order or two. I kept mocking some dude with a giant dookie chain that was the stereotypical "yea, i grunt while i get my swell on at the gym" kinda douche.a midget walked in and gave me a high five later on (I guess he didn't see me laughing my ass off watching him just shove people out of the way on the dance floor to get to the bar). I don't even remember why. I think he said I was hilarious or something. I Can't blame him, right?
Romil eventually left us cause A) He had to catch the last ferry back to Jersey before it was too late and B)Cause by that point, me and Dan were being the biggest assholes to anything that would give us the time of day. I wish I could remember the shit said to girls in that place. It probably wasn't as epic as those nights us 2 and Scott would just go to the bar and be sloppy messes screaming at people, cursing them out for no reason, but whatever.
We ended up back at Dan's place and I got a ride home from there somehow. My mom had to put up with a very drunk me and lord only knows the shit spewing out of my mouth at that point in the night.
Anywya, yesterday was a stupid street fair outside my office. I hated it. It was raining. I stayed in the office and ignored as much as I could. Tried going back to Turtle Bay to get Scott's phone for him while he was at work. This is why I want to burn that place down (besides all the lowlifes that go there now). First person I dealt with; fat slob bartender who spent about 10 mintues talking to her friends sitting there than serving anyone or even noticing me standing there, making rude sounds at her to get her attention. Then her not knowing shit and rushing me asking her for Scott's phone so she could go back to ignoring everyone but her friends. I left, got pizza and came back. This time I made another girl look for the manager (i was told by fatty the manager would be in by 7 so I came back after 7). This girl was clueless and said it was her 2nd day on the job. Eventually some asshole working there comes up to me asking what I want to drink and I said "I want the cell phone I came here for." He started talking down to me so I started just getting really brash with what I said to him. The whole time this is going down, that fat pig was sitting at the bar, not doing her job at this point, and just shoving chicken fingers in her mouth and not chewing them as she talked to some old drunk guy.
I told Scott that if we get his phone before the Face to Face concert this Thursday, I am calling her a fat pig to her face and then, depending on how enraged/drunk I am, will probably throw a drink or something, thus banning us from ever being allowed back in there (but come to think of it, I've done a lot worse at other bars and am still not banned, so who knows... and did I mention I pissed all over the wall in the bathroom the Thursday night we were there?).
so yea. that's fun had this past weekend for me in a nutshell. I don't know when the next time I'll write in here is since I'm taking a creative writing class (dude wants me to try and publish a 10 to 15 page story for an instant A in his class) and I am also taking a writing for social sciences class with some neo hippie feminist bitch who assigned us to think about writing about a social enviorment. Of course I'm gonna do it on a bar. We're supposed to write about gender roles. i might just post it here if it's funny cause it'll probably end up being "shot girls are the bigest trash in the world and the fact they dress like skanks only further proves my theory that they should be treated like the human garbage they are."
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