I'm quickly realising that I may in fact never accomplish a night more legendary than my obama/thieving latina stripper story, but I am unafraid of trying to. I think it was either Buzz Aldrin or my grandmother that said "if you shoot for the moon, you can still fall amongst the stars." Yeah, ANYWAYS.
6 PM
It was exactly a week to the second after my night of glory when I had just finished my last day as an intern doing online marketing for this group that owns a bunch of websites. My boss wanted to take me out for several after work drinks as a way of saying thanks. We wound up on Embarcadero right underneath the Bay Bridge at the Hi Dive bar. Shitty from the outside, GOLD MINE on the inside. I end up telling her the story which she is shocked/surprised/dying laughing after I told her. We were soon joined by some other co-workers and I was (forced) to re-tell the story once more. Not that I got a problem doing that, it just takes a while to tell.
7:30 PM Richard the Lionheart Arrives aka the Cavalry
Although I am enjoying the company of my co-workers buying me rounds, I am greeted by the one and only Richard the Lionheart. The king of the SOMA Jungle, he strode into the bar with a swagger that only those of the blessed town/warzone of Haverhill, MA have. He has just finished being top boss in his sales group and is now content to drink some brews with another SAC expatriate.
Before long Richard the Lionheart is conversing and downing brews with the rest of us. All is well, yet I am sensing my co-workers are going to bounce and leave Butch and Sundance to their own devices. Confirming this would be the shot of Fernet that my co-worker Dip-set made me do.
This shot is like the most foul of any shot I have ever taken. I've only had it once or twice before, as it is a company tradition, but seriously this thing sucks. Imagine a shot that combined the taste of dirt, vinegar and dog shit. This is what Fernet tastes like. If you ever want to make somebody immediately forget where they are/who they are/any other desire than to get rid of the taste in said mouth. This is the shot for them.
8:30 PM Richard the Lionheart and I take to the streets
After some confusion, my boss drops me and the Lionheart at least 2 blocks towards our destination with like, 8 blocks to go. I am still reeling from the fernet shot and bud heavies but I am still good. In fact I have the comfort of Jim Beam to get me to the next bar with the King of SOMA. He declines participation in the weird juice as he has to work the next day. We continue our journey.
9:20 We arrive
We arrive at the Red Jack Saloon, a Boston bar complete with a mock up fenway park in the back area. We enjoy the comforts of watching the ALCS game as other Massholes in the bar look on in disgust at the Yankee victory.
However the most important person in the bar in my mind at this point is that of 83 year old, former Alcatraz inmate, man with only 8 fingers, Darwin Coons:
Darwin, a local legend, is one of the last surviving inmates of The Rock. He also is a regular at the Red Jack. A few sundays earlier, Richard the Lionheart was elbowed by Darwin for entering his zone, while trying to get a beer. Being the peacemaker that I am, I demanded that I buy Darwin and Richar the Lionheart their next rounds...and announced it to a very uninterested bar crowd.
10:30ish Jim Beam is kicking in and I am turning into this:
I've been frequenting the bathroom to take more shots of Jim Beam and the weirdness is flowing through my body. I play several very uncalled for songs on the digital jukebox that also helps empty out the bar. It is as this point that Darwin, enamored by my gratuity and search for peace, offers me some of his cookies that he made. I am quite taken aback as I don't realize/believe that they are in fact weed cookies. I eat one thinking nothing of it. Within another five minutes I eat the other.
11ish Richard the Lionheart leaves and the Crusade for USF begins.
I don't quite remember leaving the Red Jack Saloon, but I knew I had to take a muni car to the campus where my good buddy lives. I planned on taking a MUNI but was too drunk and took a very expensive cab.
11:01
Blackout wackout
11:45 or so
I find myself in a cab headed towards USF. I watch as my cab driver is at a red light connecting my iPod to the stereo system. I am too/high drunk to ask what he's doing. He puts this remix/mashup on:
"Party in the USA ft. BIGGIE SMALLS," which immediately sort of wakes me up and I proceed to pay him extra to play it on repeat till we get there.
After the 4th time repeated my cabbie turns angry and drops me off a block before my buddies place.
I have arrived.
12 MIDNIGHT
I stumble into the party, recognizing absolutely no one. Finally, I see my boy Mompoint who immediately bursts out laughing at how out of it I am. I didn't tell him I was coming nor Allen and Jay seemed to forget as well. So their surprises were pretty priceless, like utter confusion on many levels.
12:30 I think?
I am making great first impressions left and right, the room is spinning and the Miley remix is just jamming in my head. I am quite high now as opposed to being drunk and am making I'm guessing horrible first impressions. Whatever, Biggie is laying down tracks in my head.
1 AM or so
I've re-entered the blackout, this time for good.
8:30 AM
Jay wakes me up and consciously I still feel like I just got there. I cannot find my wallet, shoes, phone, bag anything. I passed out in a chair, surprisingly not getting written on.
We look around for several minutes finding just my phone and wallet, nothing else and I am forced to wear a pair of slippers on the bus ride back through San Fran and eventually the train ride home.
You may have won this round San Francisco, but the score is now tied 1-1...and halloween is this Saturday. Hold on to your dick, because I'll be back.
I'm impressed!
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