Thursday, April 14, 2011

A Tale for Your Enjoyment

It's this long and not nearly as good



In honor of one of my friends, I thought I would entice you with a tale of past mishaps once again.

It was a Friday night in the city, and my friend and I were planning a night of epic enjoyment. Knowing that it's much cheaper to pregame before heading to the Power & Light district in Kansas City, we engaged in an assortment (mistake #1) of heavy liquors and mixed drinks. We were drinking at his apartment and after emptying the Grey Goose we responsibly called for a cab to drive us downtown. We proceeded to continue with some bourbon, patiently waiting for the taxi.

Half an hour later without so much as a word from the taxi company, we called them back. I proceeded to be asked where we lived, and when I told them, they replied that they didn't have us listed. They took our address again, so we kept drinking.

Wash.Rinse.Repeat. We went through this process of calling and reordering a cab, followed by downing more drinks about 3 more times before after an hour and a half, a taxi finally pulled up outside. As you can imagine, we were fuuuuuuuucked up.

At this point in the story I need to inject some details into the reader's mind. It was a fall night I believe, and I had gotten into the habit of wearing a puffy vest when I went out. It looked a lot like this:


Yeah I don't know what the fuck I was thinking either.


The taxi delivered us promptly downtown to Kansas City's Power & Light district where we made our ways upstairs to our favorite place "The Shark Bar". As soon as we got there we started to pound some shots. Everyone around us was clearly more drunk than we were, which amazed us apparently to the point that we decided to try to catch up to them.

About 2 drinks the story starts to differ from your standard night out, as I started to get a little bit loose in the hips. The feet were tapping, the whole body was swaying and I began to have a pretty damn good time dancing with myself at the bar. Dancing so well mind you, that a girl came over to me and asked me if we wanted to hang out with her and her friends because I seemed funny. Funny.



Off to a great start.

Naturally we went over and I tried my hardest to literally charm this girl's pants off. Conversation in a bar, however, can be frankly impossible when you can't hear each other shout over the music, so I decided to go back to the dancing that got me in the situation in the first place.

For those who don't know this already, dancing vigorously while wearing a polyester casing of goose down can get pretty fucking hot pretty quickly. So I decide to take "the epicness" off mid-dance move. Shit didn't go so well. I get one arm out and the other is waving over my head and gets stuck. Next thing I know I'm starting to struggle and my free hand lands in my buddy's drink and knocks it all over him and myself.

*Brilliant idea!* I'll take my puffy vest to coat check! (In hindsight this was, in fact, not a brilliant idea.)

By the time I got back from coat check it was obviously that the ladies thought I was the suavest son of a bitch they'd ever met. 5 or 10 minutes later the lights came on and the bar was shutting down. I'm like, "Hey, I'm gonna go grab my vest from coat check." Which when said to attractive women sounds like, "Hey I'm gonna go call my mom and make sure I can stay out later" or "Hey, you should check out my sock collection."

They were gone. They were fucking Navy-SEAL-snuck-right-the-fuck-out-of-there gone.

To be fair, I expected as much. I was anything but coordinated and any sense of being funny probably went out the door when I decided to make it rain booze.

However, when I turned to look for my friend, he was no where in sight. Where the fuck do you suppose he went.

Well I haven't lost anyone since I was 12 at Six Flags when I lost my parents for 30 seconds. Long story short I wasn't keen on what to do when someone who was standing right next to you disappears. So I yelled his name for a couple of moments, realized I looked like a freak, then proceeded to call him. No answer. I'll go wait out in the main patio area.

A minute goes by, I call him again, still no answer. At this point I'm beginning to worry about how I can get home with my keys and car at his place and him not anywhere to be found.

I call him again, 23 times. No answer.

About 20 minutes have gone by, I'm obviously drunk to the point where I'm half-way laying down when I'm sitting. I'm trying to stare at the bricks in the courtyard to keep them from moving so damn much and my phone finally rings with my buddy on the other end.

I answer. He sounds chipper. Why the fuck does he sound so chipper...

"Hey, buddy, what's up?" he asks...

"Uh, I... Where are you?"

"I'm at home, I thought you were go to go with those girls."

Mother fucker

"Dude even if I were good to go with one of them, where the fuck was I going to go? My keys and car are at your place..."

Well after a few minutes more of arguing over whether or not I was capable of getting laid in my shanty of an apartment after breaking into it, we came to the conclusion that I should have been a part of the cab ride that took him to his place.

I was frustrated. I was drunk. I was disappointed. I was definitely not getting laid. I was ready to go back to his place and curl up on the couch and wait for morning's ass-raping of a hangover to arrive. Now it was going to cost me $30 just to get back to his place and achieve that goal.

I walked out of Power & Light and hailed the first cab I saw. I climbed in defeated. "North Kansas City, please."

"I like your vest, man," the cabbie announced happily.

Mother fucker

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