While we were still at the wine bar, I weighed my options: Go home (the option that a normal, well-adjusted person would have chosen), or just drink until MW was tolerable (there aren't enough fruits and roots in the world to produce that amount of alcohol). Of course, I chose the second option, because, let's be real, drinking is not only fun, it is also always the answer when the answer is not crack-cocaine.
So, after making the well thought through decision to drink myself stupid (er), I buckled down and got to work. Wine is for people who want a good nights sleep. Jameson is for people who are committed to the blackout cause.
Which I certainly was.
We went to the dive bar mentioned in my previous MW post. Things I remember from this segment of our date:
A) Talking to two men with a tiny doggy thinking they were gay only to discover that one of them was married and had a daughter.
B) Deciding that the married man was "gay undercover" and giving him knowing looks and winks.
C) Thinking that I really ought to be writing down some of the nonsense that MW was spouting, but then deciding against it, overestimating my "memory skills."
We eventually left that bar and went on to HIS bar. And yes, the name of the bar DOES have an apostrophe, and no, it is neither cool nor fun. Much like Mr. Wonderful.
So there we were. MW was having a really great time showing off his "connections" at this second rate old man bar. He was "in" with the bartenders, the owner "loved" him, and the other patrons were his "best friends." Before entering this bar, he prepped me:
"The guys are probably going to be mad at me."
"Why?" I foolishly inquired.
"Well, last time I drank here, they handed me the bill and I yelled at them."
"Why?" Yes, I have an IQ of 20.
"Because the bill was too small. I threw it back at them."
"Oh...I...see. You wanted to pay more money?"
"Well, you know." He then took out his wallet and started COUNTING DOLLAR BILLS.
This is not a lie.
We walked into the establishment.
Yes. The bartenders knew him.
Yes. He seemed to know quite a few people.
Yes. The owner came over and said hello.
Yes. He ordered Buttery Nipple shots. For the whole bar.
Apparently, he really loves buttery nipple shots.
Now, I am not one to refuse alcohol. But a Buttery Nipple shot? I drank those when I was 20 and a virgin. (That’s a different story…)
These days, I drink Jameson’s on the rocks like all good grown-up whores. So, I politely refused the Buttery Nipple and passed it on to an older lady sitting at the bar. I then ordered myself the drink I wanted and took a healthy swig.
What MW did next inspired in me both shock and awe. He grabbed the shot I had passed onto the lady and then dumped the whole shot, glass and all into my Jameson’s.
I was stunned. He was pissed. I decided it was time for me to leave.
I did my signature “storm out” of the bar move, that, p.s., I’m actually thinking about patenting.
He of course followed me, and by the time we were halfway down the block I forgot why I was mad.
But then he did something that inspired me to run like I’ve never run before.
He tried to kiss me.
Cut to me running into the street and practically jumping through the window of a cab.
And those of you who know me know that if I’m drunk enough, I’ll pretty much make out with anything.
And I was drunk enough. That’s pretty bad.
And it’s not over! Stay tuned for MW V…THE SAGA CONTINUES!!!