Beware Accidental Nights Out…

[Originally posted July 13, 2006 - edited only slightly to remove blatant grammatical oversights and the occasional outdated pop-culture reference, i.e. "Limewire it." If you somehow ended up on this page, you should likely be reading the intro written to accompany it four years later. I'm sorry to all who read this, yet, happy to offer a glimpse at how the spirit behind this blog was born.]

Thus far, I have experienced three nights out that can be defined as truly accidental. I know this sounds like the prelude to an elaborate excuse for why I get belligerently intoxicated, but bear with me, it will all make sense.

Yes, we all have those Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights out where it’s decided that drinks will be had, clubs will be hit and pizza corner will be visited. ‘The Dome’ regulars may add Wednesdays and Sundays to this list. If Mondays or Tuesdays are involved, you are both my hero and sick. The rest are all regular, healthy nights out. We all have ‘em, love ‘em and no one gets hurt.

ACCIDENTAL nights out, are completely unplanned, usually stem from perfectly innocent coffee plans and ruin at least the following day, if not the next two or three. These nights are extremely dangerous for all participants yet still manage to put even the most carefully-planned night of clubbing to shame. For me, warnings signs of an accidental night out are working too much, agreeing to hang out with a friend after work without definite plans, missing supper but assuming that I can handle one drink, or going out for one drink with certain bad-influence friends.

Here is the latest and best example of a true accidental night out and the damage that they can cause. Names have been removed to protect participants from any further consequences from this epic adventure.

9:10pm: I meet Mr. Army in the courtyard of my building and we proceed to shimmy like idiots to absolutely no music, without speaking. I’m still not sure why, and yes, we were sober at this point.

9:30pm: We arrive at Maxwell’s Plum in search of what Mr. Army called a “Meter of Beer”, which I don’t completely understand and have chalked up to myth. We get the bitchiest waitress ever who tells us off each time she checks in. She tells us that the 60 ouncer is as big as they come, so obviously we order it. My evening of casual drinks is beginning to look interesting. The 60 ouncer comes in what looks like a giant blender, with its own tap for our convenience. She brings three glasses since she’s not supposed to serve it to less than 3 people. We start to like her more.

10:30pm: We head to the Split Crow to meet up with five army buddies of my partner-in-crime. On the way, he explains that although they are cool, I may want to keep the gay to the inside a little bit. I say something along the lines of: “Eff that, I’m making you the gay one tonight”. I thought I’d have to convince him of this idea, but he almost immediately popped out a limp wrist and went all “Mmmmmmmmok honey…” on me. The night is looking good.

11:00pm: I buy Mr. Army and I a pitcher, he buys us Jack Daniels shots. For bringing Mr. Army’s sexuality into question so many times, another army dude buys me a tequila shot. I’m not positive but I think Mr. Army bought another pitcher too. His girlfriend shows up and I hit on her to the point where if I were straight, I probably would’ve been destroyed. I haven’t gotten exact details but I remember insisting she sit on my lap…I may have grabbed her ass and gyrated in my chair…While hitting on his girlfriend, I continue to chip away at Mr. Army’s repuation with the army dudes.

11:30pm: One of my longest-running friend (and witness to the only night other than this one that I can’t remember), Ms. Sex Kitten (haha!) and her man show up, I remember having a drink in my hand…no idea what. I ditch the army table to talk to them by the bar until Mr. Army comes stumbling down from the back saying that we’re moving to Tribeca. On the walk up, I remember laughing and yelling a lot and being half-carried by a variety of people…yes…at only 11:30. Also, at this point I realize that one of the army boys is hot. I won’t lie, there is a distinct possibility that the alcohol had something to do with this late realization or sudden drop in standards. I remember a conversation with him being something along the lines of “So…I hear you pick up all the time. I can see why…” or something along those lines. Super.

Midnight: We have a section of lounge couches off of the dance floor at Tribeca. I don’t remember drinking at all here, but witnesses have said otherwise. The last thing I specifically remember is my trip to the washroom, where on my way out, Mr. Army was coming in. I believe I tried to strike an excited-to-see-him pose and completely wiped out backwards. He tried to catch me but also fell, effectively crushing me even harder into the floor of the bathroom. My head smashed on the garbage can, I can only assume the cuts happened here, and his weight I believe is what bruised my rib since he fell pretty hard. It still hurts to breath a week later.

12:30-1:30am: I haven’t a clue what happened here. I guess I sat down at the couches some more, with my shirt off on numerous occasions, just looking at the army boys like what? (gangsta…you know how we do). I can’t stress how wildly out of character it is for me to remove my shirt under any conditions, let alone in a public place. Not to mention how Tribeca is NOT the place to remove one’s shirt…Mrs. Army (the lovely girlfriend) kept trying to get my shirt back on since I couldn’t do it myself. Thank you for that. We all went dancing “like our asses were on fire”, according to one witness. I imagine I bumped into just about everyone in the club so I am pleased to have not started any fights. I’ve been told that I was dancing with some PR girl and her friend…humping their legs in my usual drunken-straight boy style. I hope one day to find these girls and apologize.

1:45am: After causing one too many scenes, we decide to leave before being removed. Mr. Army carried me out of the bar and I am only now vaguely remembering this as I type it, only because I can picture the stairs. They hail a cab and Mr. Army tries to wrestle me into it, I’m refusing because I knew my newf was going to pick me up, however I didn’t voice this so I just looked drunk and difficult. Have I mentioned that I’m amazing? Now, my opponent works out a lot and therefore had the upper hand, despite possibly being intimidated by my shirtless physique. Supposedly, he had his arms wrapped around me, sitting half in the cab trying to drag me into it. I squirmed away while cursing for what seemed to be no apparent reason which was enough for the cab driver to take off with all of them in the car. They watched me as they drove away, standing in the middle of the street by myself…topless.

1:54am: First call to my newf, no answer

1:58am: Second call to my newf, no answer

2:02am: Third call to my newf where out of an entire sentence, he manages to decode “Tribeca…..come get me…” Within the 5 minutes it took him to get to the downtown core, I call three more times. See? Why wouldn’t you want to hang out with me? When he’s coming around the corner by Reflections, he says he can’t see me at Tribeca but then…“Wait…are you the TOPLESS one?!?” My ever-patient newf opens the car door, I collapse into it and he lifts my legs in. On the drive home, I repeatedly try to explain how much I love him, amidst many slurs, only to tell him off when he says “I love you too” by saying “Don’t say it because you feel you HAVE to!!!!”. I don’t know why I’m not single right now and for the rest of my life. I continue to refuse to put my shirt on until he physically forces me to so I’m in a good condition to walk through his building, and by walk, I obviously mean be carried.

If you wish to have any respect left for me at all, please stop reading here.

2:20am: “I’m going to be sick” – I am thrown into the bathroom and left on my knees by the toilet. Minutes later, I am heard peeing, which is odd since I can’t even stand on my own. I didn’t get sick but he opens the door to check on me and I’m on my knees still, yet managing to manouvre as to be able to pee from this position. The newf remains impressed to this day. As soon as I’m finished, I collapse backwards and slam my head again on the wall behind me. He throws me in bed and the night is over. The hangover did not fully hit until 2 p.m….Thankfully, out of the three accidental nights, this was the one time that I didn’t have to go to work drunk the folowing morning.

Although this is an extreme example, the accidental nights out are the worst…I don’t know how I’m still in a relationship or have any friends at all. I am never going back to Tribeca again, nor am I allowed out without responsible supervision any later than 10 p.m.

This is not a theory made up to take blame off of us for drinking irresponsibly. It has been scientifically proven. You have all been officially warned.

[Photo Credit: Steve Wampler]