Monday, February 9, 2009

Middletown Nightlife - or - My Car is an Alcoholic

I was very productive last night. I got completely smashed. I have no idea how I got home, but I didn’t drive and that’s all that matters. I even ate yesterday. More often than not, I forget to eat before I drink, unless I am drinking with my best friend who force-feeds me before, during, and after the festivities. He was out of town last night.

I started out the evening at a local hole in the wall called ‘Hillbilly Heaven’. They have good bluegrass on the jukebox, something I occasionally get a hankering to hear. The bartender there looked more depressed than the patrons did. There was a couple next to me, a guy with green teeth and a girl with no teeth. They made a great pair. I eventually heard them asking the bartender about hotels and they decided on the Ramada by the highway because the guy’s wife would never think to look for him there. I wanted to knock them both out after hearing that, but I hadn’t had enough to drink to make fist fighting at the bar seem like a good idea.

After my selections had played, I headed to the ‘Lakeside’, which is nowhere near a lake, or any body of water for that matter. I sat at the end of the bar away from everyone else. I must have looked lonely because some guy who was old enough to be my father and had decided to take a whore bath in Cool Water cologne came in and immediately sat next to me. I nearly jumped for joy. He decided to start telling me about how he knew Harry Finkelman, who was a big name in our city many years ago. I wanted to tell him that I didn’t give a fuck, but just politely held my nose instead. I eventually turned my chair away and feigned interest in the Grammy Awards. I started to feel bad for being so unfriendly and let him buy me a drink. After all, he was wearing some pretty tacky diamond jewelry. He left shortly thereafter.

I had planned on going to the ‘Madison Inn’ after a few drinks, but was having such a good time I decided to stay. There was a group of people sitting in a booth behind me. A young couple and an older man. The girl, who was very obviously pregnant, came up to the bar and ordered another beer. She nearly burnt me with her cigarette. I gathered that the older man was her father because he kept telling the guy she was with that he needed to do the right thing and marry his daughter. The kid looked genuinely scared. (and drunk)

By this time I was drunk enough to tear up the phone number of the guy I like and flush it down the toilet. I am a notorious drunk dialer/texter, and when I’m drinking with friends they actually take my phone away. Since I was there by myself, I had to take matters into my own hands. I figured I was doing everyone a favour.

The night wasn’t a total loss, though. The last thing I remember was trading classic rock trivia facts with a guy named Putter. He had some really good stuff and I wish I could remember it. I vaguely remember discussing NHRA vs.NASCAR. I pick NHRA. There’s nothing like 0-300 in a quarter mile. Speaking of cars, my step dad is here to take me to get mine. It got drunk last night and stayed at the bar.

No comments:

Post a Comment