Double Whiskey Foxtrot Tango

***** · Post by ***** » Mon Jul 03, 2006 12:59 pm

A friend of mine was in town this last weekend. We'll call him Carl. Becuase that is his name. Now Carl and I know each other from playing nerdy card games. I figured we'd go out to dinner and have a few drinks, hang out with some other card nerds, and get home by 1 am or so.

He comes and picks me up at 8 to go down to Long Beach for dinner. He tells me he's already been drinking and has had dinner three times that night already. Should I drive? No, I don't want to insult him.

After an uneventful drive through the LA freeway system, we score an excellent parking spot right next to the restaurant, the Rock Bottom. We walk in, put our names ont eh wait list, and have a beer. They call our table in 10 minutes, so I'd only had a chance to try one of their 5 microbrews. Decent Guiness imitation, but a tad too sweet.

I order a dry Beefeater Martini to go with my steak, Carl does the same. Carl makes that "rabbit-who-bit-a-powercord" face when he takes a drink, so I rescue the Martin from him and put it in my stomach for safekeeping. I get a 3rd to keep them company.

Here's where shit gets dodgy. We end up wandering to a dance club. 7 nerdy guys going to some $20 cover charge untsa-untsa club to shake our asses. This seems a poor choice, so I make a pour choice. Turkey 101 and a beer. There were likely others, because the next morning my wallet archaeology revealed that tomb robbers had stolen $140 from me, and dinner came to $80 max.

The club turns us out at 2 am, and there are a few cops outside giving tickets for PI and waiting to give DUIs. And by a few, I mean 20+. I lean up against a tree and light a smoke, but can't quite manage to stand upright and see at the same time. So I walk back to the restaurant. By the time I get to the restaurant, I have forgotten where the car was parked, where I was trying to go, or who I was with. 7-11 won't sell me a beer. I get propositioned by a 50 year-old hooker with no shoes who is too fucked up to even get up off the parking curb she's sprawled out on. I pet a stray cat for 20 minutes as I sit on a curb and try not to puke. I kick a bottle of strawberry soda for well over a mile as I wander around downtown Long Beach with no real destination.

I finally got on a bus at 4:30 am that took me to downtown LA and caught the subway home. When I got back, the sun was peeking up over the hills that hold Dodger Stadium. Sunday morning coming down was a fragile, beautiful moment between enlightenment and hangover, and I would do it all over again. Except for the hangover part. Next time, I will sleep through the hangover.

Martini Time · Post by **Martini Time** » Mon Jul 03, 2006 3:10 pm

That story brings a tear to my eye. Especially the part about the 3 Beefeater™ Martinis and the steak.

It's another fabulous installment in Dr. DrinkBastard's "My So Cal-ed Life". Thanks for letting me live vicariously through you.

Smart move leaving the car. LB is a long way to go to retrieve it, but definitely a smart move. Oh, and I can tooootally see you hanging out with these fine individuals.

bluebottle · Post by **bluebottle** » Thu Jul 06, 2006 9:30 am

good story ddb! what brought it all home for me was kicking that bottle of strawberry soda down the street, maybe hands in pockets, shoulders slumped - sorta very meditative. i do the same thing, only with crushed soda or beer cans. know that neat little trick whereby you stand on one foot on the can and then jab your index fingers into the sides and it crushes instantly? i do that, then proceed to kick it along the walk. glad you made it back home safe!

liquor&poker · Post by **liquor&poker** » Thu Jul 06, 2006 10:06 am

Good show, old man.

***** · Post by ***** » Tue Jul 18, 2006 5:02 pm

I drank 2/3 of a bottle of Campari the next night, got wrecked on Wednesday at the video store, and went to the hospital two days later with what could have been a bleeding ulcer. Turns out it was just a lingering stomach ache, but when the doctor says "I can feel your liver here" and orders a full hepatic blood test, it certainly gives you reason to ponder.

And by ponder I mean "WTF am I doing drinking Capari? If I've got a bad stomach, I shouldn't piss my time away on 40-some-odd proof stuff. Back to Wild Turkey!".

grippingthewheel · Post by **grippingthewheel** » Fri Jul 21, 2006 2:32 pm

Excellent DSI. Eloquent, good memory gaps and a happy ending. My kind of story.

Bender! · Post by **Bender!** » Thu Jul 27, 2006 4:00 pm

Martini Time wrote:That story brings a tear to my eye. Especially the part about the 3 Beefeater™ Martinis and the steak.

It's another fabulous installment in Dr. DrinkBastard's "My So Cal-ed Life". Thanks for letting me live vicariously through you.

Smart move leaving the car. LB is a long way to go to retrieve it, but definitely a smart move. Oh, and I can tooootally see you hanging out with these fine individuals.

I've been to a rock bottom brewpub once, and for a chain, its quite good. In this instance, it obviously has had sucesss due to quality product.

Post by **Badfellow** » Sun Jul 30, 2006 9:49 am

DrDrinkBastard wrote: Here's where shit gets dodgy. We end up wandering to a dance club. 7 nerdy guys going to some $20 cover charge untsa-untsa club to shake our asses. This seems a poor choice, so I make a pour choice. Turkey 101 and a beer. There were likely others, because the next morning my wallet archaeology revealed that tomb robbers had stolen $140 from me, and dinner came to $80 max.

Ahhh, yes. A fellow scientist piecing together clues from the grey mists of history. My excavations frequently reveal most or all of a hondo looted, Though rather than tomb robbers I prefer to blame the booze elves. But they don't like to be talked about.

Great story, DDB.