mercredi 15 mars 2006

So, you wanted a drinking/boy story, did you now?

Can you even tell what this picture is of? Saying "alcohol" doesn't cut it; obviously it's booze.
Bonus points if you are specific!

The problem with my drinking/boy stories is that regretably, I can't remember half of them, generally due to the fact that I've been... well, uh, drinking. But I do what I can in terms of remembrance, and have my friends fill in the holes for me (as I do for them).

Anyway, on Friday night, we were back at my favourite bar, where finally the cute waiter and the owner have started to recognise and greet me. It's about time, I've only been handing over tons of my money to them since they opened. (I, however, have yet to eat there - or eat anything besides french fries. Someday. Someday, when I'm not too busy tossing back dirty martinis as if they were water.)

Because this world is infintisimally small, as I've said many a time, perhaps it shouldn't have come as such a shock when we ran into people from college. People, who, quite frankly, I hadn't even really thought about since I graduated (aside from a passing joke about them). Or perhaps even before graduation.

But you know how it is when you run into past acquaintances. There are the obligatory kiss-kisses and hugs, along with "Oh, and how are you doing!?"s in overly swooping tones, as if widely varying speech cadences can mask indifference or disinterest. Because didn't you know, since you share a college, it's like you share part of yourselves. And then, if they're with people that you didn't know from you alma mater, well, it's already like you're the Best Of Friends because obviously you are, even if you didn't know it.

So aside from the couple of guys that I knew - guys, who, when you mention their names to me, I immediately respond with a sound that falls somewhere in between a gag and a hack - there were those new people I had to meet and fell into drunken conversation with, one being from my alma mater (whom we shall dub The Writer for purposes of this post) and a guy who apparently - well, I don't think I remember how he knew everyone, but he shall be dubbed The Lawyer (ah yes, another one. I'm like a magnet, y'all).

Quite obviously, their pseudonyms refer to their professions. I'm too lazy to come up with other nicknames.

The Writer was your typical Hollywood Writer, full of angst and mild depression, having been dragged out from his cave which he calls home, practically kicking and screaming, to socialize with the outside world. Okay, actually, he was quite nice to talk to, even if trying to draw conversation out of him was akin to pulling teeth sometimes. Originally from New York, he had that blasé attitude that bespoke of a nice UES prep school background which naturally segued into a nice Ivy League college - and then like so many people I know, he moved out to LA, but never quite lost that love for all things New York or that general New York aura, although dulled now from being out in LA for the past 6 years. Rather ironic, then, that we were all at a bar with such a New York name, wasn't it.

My burning question about The Lawyer - unfortunately left unanswered, because my friend, who was beyond drunk at this time, up and decided that she wanted to go home and didn't even let me argue with her - was this: gay, just Canadian, or plain ol' drunk? Or some combination of the three. No insult to any readers who are and (or all) of the three, but really. It was so hard for me to figure out. He was originally from Toronto, so we've got the Canadian part down. But the other two? I don't know. I suppose it speaks of something in me (and him) when he introduced himself as "Marshall, as in Marshall Mathers" and I responded, "You mean like the Marshall Plan?" You might be able to take the drunk out of the school, but you can never take the school out of the drunk. I wish I could tell you all that we talked about, but by this point, it was somewhere around 1:30AM, and we'd been drinking since 6pm. Throw a couple of drinking games in between before going out, and you're lucky that I remember this much. I do remember freaking out slightly because in my drunken haze, I thought he was another guy that I had blown off who had figured out where I like to hang out and he had come by to fuck with my mind. But no, this was a new guy, phew. Also, I do recall asking him if he was happy (a question I find myself asking many people now - perhaps that's the topic for another post), and he said a kiss on the cheek from me would make him the happiest person ever. So I obliged. Because I'm nice like that.

That night ended with the happy discovery that Jack in the Box serves breakfast ALL DAY AND ALL NIGHT LONG. Do you KNOW how happy that makes me? While they might not have my beloved Egg McMuffins, they do have a sourdough breakfast sandwich that virtually serves the same tasty purpose of attempting to soak up whatever extra alcohol's in my system. Because over the weekend? There is always a lot of it around.