The Drunken Blog

I was in DC recently for Lisa’s birthday party. The plan initially was to start at Rumor’s and barhop. I had a feeling the barhopping wouldn’t happen because it’s hard to coordinate a large group of people leaving one bar and going to another bar.

We stayed at Rumor’s the entire night, and through the process I become somewhat intoxicated, so much so, in fact, that I decided to lower my standards. I spotted two girls that weren’t ugly by any means, but they weren’t exactly Perfect 10s, and they might have been a bit on the “meatier” side, although I wouldn’t go so far as to call them fat, despite the fact that I called one of them “Fat Tina Fey.”

I got Will to come with me, since there were two of them and we started dancing. The one girl didn’t want anything to do with Will, which was odd, since Will was out of her league. But I continued dancing with my girl, who I quickly dubbed Fat Tina Fey. Tina Fey, of course, was one of the lead writers for SNL, she also did the Daily Update, and most recently she is on the show 30 Rock, which happens to be one of my favorites.
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An interesting side effect to going out drinking at veritable hole in the wall establishments is that it’s often slow and the servers can be pretty bored. And just like anybody when they are bored, they turn to TV to fill the void, unless of course you are a girl server in a place that only has sports on the TVs; they have to become more creative to overcome their boredness.

It’s been my experience that they will typically try to talk in order to spice things up a bit. Sometimes they do it because they are bored, other times they do it because they are trying to extract as large a tip as possible from you. You can usually tell when the conversation is genuine, however, when what they say is not exactly what you want to hear.
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Going out to DC is a big deal. It’s too far away to effectively drive, parking is inconvenient, cabs are too pricey, and the metro closes at 2am. And yet, for some reason, I love going out to DC. It’s not something I do every weekend, and I have to be in the right mood for it, but DC is usually a good time.

My last visit to DC was an exception, however. Maybe it’s because I had imbibed heavily the two previous nights in a row and I was just plane pooped out. Maybe it’s because being in the presence of attractive girls makes me act sober. Maybe it’s because I picked up an unlucky penny. Mayhap it’s because after having had so much alcohol in such a period of time, the alcohol had taken the place of the inhibitory neurotransmitter gamma-aminobutyric acid and as a result of which my brain compensated by reducing the natural creation of GABA meaning that I would have to drink copious amounts of alcohol just to feel “normal.”

Obviously I don’t drink that much if I am able to remember that lesson from biology class.

It was most likely that I was predisposed to have a bad time. I wasn’t in the mood for going out, really. I mean, I would have been fine with a chill evening of drinking, but I never would have suggested going out to DC in my condition. However, I was coaxed out by Mary. To her defense, she didn’t have to coax that hard, pretty much the mention of Nancy and Ricky coming out was enough to get me to go out.

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