My Memorial Day was completely out of control. I woke up around 3pm and had a huge fucking headache from doing Edward 40 Hands the night before. I took six aspirin tablets, masturbated in the shower, and then worked on my websites for a little while. I had been planning on getting stoned and listening to reggae all day, but I smoked weed for the first time in probably six months on Saturday night, which reminded me of why I don’t smoke weed. Thus, I was kind of over the whole get stoned and listen to reggae gameplan and was content with having a productive day.

To my surprise, my phone rang with a call from a good friend. She was going to happy hour and was looking for Fat Dick to roll with her. Of course I threw on a shirt and ran out the door. I actually literally did run out of the door. Happy hour was two for one drink specials and your boy was planning on getting wasted.

When a guy named Messy Marv is driving and you are meeting a guy named Diamond Dave at the bar, you know some crazy shit is about to go down. I was about six Sol’s deep on an empty stomach by 6pm and already starting to feel a buzz. Why? Most people would probably say the empty stomach contributed to the buzz. I would disagree and say that Los Angeles’ dumbest bartender serving me had something to do with it. Seriously, I literally had Los Angeles’ dumbest bartender serving me. I would order a beer, actually two beers because they were two for one, and he would give me a really blank look.

Some pretty strange shit went down at the bar. First, we rolled to the jukebox with like three dollars and were somehow credited with like seventy plays. We were really overwhelmed by the task of choosing seventy songs, but we did our best. I don’t think that any of our songs played except for ‘Footloose’ by Kenny Loggins. My pick.

I overheard some dude talking about how he fucked a fat chick, so obviously I started heckling him pretty heavily. We somehow determined that this bitch was like a deuce and a half, but the guy was quick to assure me that ’she was a nice girl.’ Whatever, big guy. I started yelling about how the guy fucked a fatty, but I realized that the guy was getting pretty fucking upset. I thought he was going to throw a barstool at me or something and I started getting a little nervous, but the next thing I knew this guy was buying me shots. This fucker literally bought me like three shots. I was really confused.

Other activities at the bar included hitting on old chicks, hollering at some sorority bitches wearing cowboy hats (that style isn’t played out), having Messy Marv pull up my blog on his Blackberry, and doing some sweet dance moves that everyone was loving. Good times. Happy hour was over at 8pm, and you better believe we were out.

The next thing I knew, it was like 9pm and I was at someone’s apartment in Beverly Hills. I was pretty disoriented and still really drunk. I was about fifteen drinks deep at this point thanks to the shots of Patron I pounded before leaving the bar. I left the apartment and had no idea where the fuck I was, but I was really hungry. Staggering around on the streets of Beverly Hills, I finally reached a Whole Foods. I copped about $30 worth of random food products. How random are we talking? I bought six deviled eggs. Fucking deviled eggs. Who the fuck eats deviled eggs?

I wonder what I looked like being drunk as hell staggering down Fairfax Ave popping deviled eggs in my mouth with one hand while holding my Kettle Chips in my other hand. I probably looked pretty sexy. All I know is I ate a shitload of food but still had room in my stomach for booze, so I negotiated my way back to my place but copped a twelve pack of Red Stripe on the way.

I met back up with the friend I originally rolled out with and we cracked open the Red Stripes. They went down pretty easily, but I think I passed out a couple times while drinking my third one.

I got my second wind when I looked at the clock and realized that it was only 11pm, and we rolled out to a couple bars to pound some more beers. All I could think about was how completely wasted I was. It was only 11pm, but I was definitely at least eighteen beers deep.

Finally, I got back to my place and had a bunch of drunken Instant Messenger conversations. I checked out my conversation logs this afternoon for shits and giggles, and it was bad news last night.

So how did my Memorial Day Weekend end up? Well, between bar tabs, cab rides, forties, drugs, and meals, the weekend set me back about a grand. Was it worth it? Of course, silly! Any weekend beginning with someone trying to kill you and ending with a drunk shuffle around the streets of Beverly Hills is pretty fucking successful in my book.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, May 30th, 2006 at 6:38 pm and is filed under Crazy Party Stories. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.