I am instructed to take a nap because we WILL be partying hard and late. Considering that I was up at 3 a.m. a nap does sound like a good idea. I am distracted by myspace, the soup and best week ever however and fail to complete my task. Who needs sleep, well you’re never gonna get it…

I arrive at Ms. B’s to discover that the party has begun without me. son of a. I’m early even, so this was not at all expected. Ms. K is on her second beer and I can tell she’s a bit tipsy. Ms. B calls a cab and we’re told we have a ten minute wait in our future. Two minutes later a crazy blonde lady comes flying into the drive honking. I of course get into the side that has a puddle of water sloshing around on the floor. Ms. B, never the shy one asks, “what’s all over the floor?” The cab driver informs us that it’s just water, and then says, “tell him to just step on the paper towels it will sop up the water.” I do as I’m instructed but wonder why I’m not directly addressed. We find out that our driver is a school teacher by day and cab driver on weekends. She gives us her cell number and tells us to please call her when we want a ride home because she wants to drive home safe people. She then tells us to please walk in front of the cab when we get out. I am informed that I didn’t do as instructed and am chastised all evening because of this. I explain that I thought she just didn’t want us behind her car so she could see us, I wasn’t aware that I was supposed to crawl across the entire back seat and get out of the door on the other side when my door was right there. I argue that they are wrong but they refuse to believe me. C’est la vie.

We walk to the Pub and are greeted by a loud drunken fool in a backward baseball cap. He shakes all our hands, Ms. B even hands over her license as we discover that he is in fact no one. He walks in with us and sits down, ordering another beer. We all procure a beer for ourselves and sit at the bar. It’s 7:30 p.m. and we are three of seven people in the entire bar. Two floors, a back patio, and seven people. Granted it is 7:30, but still an odd event. I do what I do and shove $5 in the juke box and it gives me 13 songs. Of course my songs begin to play immediately and I’m troubled by the fact that I’m not sitting in my seat enjoying them because I’m distracted trying to find 13 songs. What can you do?

I hear the girls making friends with the two loud drunken fools and decide that it’s for the best that I’m away from that mess, being at the juke box. I rejoin my group and get caught up on the drunken fools’ backstory. I inform the girls that I don’t care what their names are because I have no plans of talking to them. At all. They mistake us for twenty-somethings, claim to be professional baseball players from Montreal, yet know exactly where our high school is located. I call shenanigans on the whole thing. The girls step outside so Ms. B can smoke, so I take the opportunity to return Kia’s phone call. It’s too loud to really hear anything besides my amazing songs being played so the phone chat is short lived.

The girls return and I inform them that I am stopping at two beers because I want to end the night at home in my own bed. Ms. B responds to this by immediately ordering me another beer. Ms. B informs me that, “you can think you’re gonna do whatever you want but I’m gonna tell you what’s gonna happen, you’re gonna drink bitch.“ I explain to the bartender that we are all straight from an AA meeting and that we just met Ms. B and she is pushing both Ms. K and myself off the wagon. We continue with this joke for the next five minutes for we are amusing like that. We fall in love with the pretty girl who gives us our beer, learn her backstory, order Ms. B a hotdog, put nine more dollars in the juke box, come moments away from throwing down when someone else even dares touch our juke box, make our way upstairs when the second level is opened, take multiple pictures with my camera phone, get my butt rubbed multiple times by Ms. B (I have no idea), discuss which one of us is indeed the fattest, do a shot, and drink lots of beer. Much to my dismay I come to the realization that with the departure of the two drunken fools WE are now the drunken fools. This brings our mood down a bit. We decide that we simply must go dancing and make inquiries as to where there is to dance. We’re told that the only place to dance is the one bar Ms. K and I both hate that no longer is the bar that we hate. Needless to say we pass. We close out our tab, tell the bartender how much we lover her, write “we heart you” on our bill (yes we are that lame), tip her way too much, and vacate. We are stopped on the sidewalk by some girl we went to high school with. We learn her story which includes her long burning crush on me in high school. I inform her that she has me mistaken for someone else. She assures me that she does not. I tell her there was another boy in school with the same first name as mine and that’s surely who she was in love with. She isn’t backing down. She loved me. Who knew? Considering that she is married now, and I like boys, we agree that that ship has long since sailed. We say our goodbyes and take off.

We decide to check out the new Irish pub that seems to be the talk of the town. We are not impressed. After we make our way to the patio and find a seat we discover that we simply cannot resist the urge to dance any longer. We realize that the only other place to dance in this one horse little town of ours is the local homosexual establishment. And as luck would have it just happens to be across the street from our favorite Italian place ever. That’s right, you guessed it, the often talked about Luigi’s. So we decide to leave. Ms. B and I step over the railing that is right next to our table and venture out onto the sidewalk. I turn and realize that Ms. K has been sucked into the sky just like Alfree Woodard in that one Julianne Moore movie. This can be the only logical explanation. Moments later Ms. K is walking towards us from the front of the bar. She said she wanted to exit properly so she walked out the door. Apparently those of us from a lower class hop over rails. Well well. She assures us that the walk to the Belt isn’t far. Three hours later we still have not arrived. We stop and take some pictures along the way, realize that a sketchy looking older dude may or may not be following us so we pick up the pace. As he begins to walk faster we fear something may be amiss. As the girls both grab my hands we cross the street and I start to run, with them in tow, and call out, “run bitches.” This is met with quite a bit of laughter and the question, “did you just call us bitches?” After making our way to the front door of the Belt we find ourselves seriously torn. However our desire to shake it wins out over our hunger. Some Corbin Fisher looking mother fella is working the door. He checks our IDs and puts bracelets on us. As he puts mine on he notices the bracelet I’m already wearing and tells me that now I have two. Why yes, I do.

We walk up the steps and again discover that we’re three of maybe ten people in the entire bar. What is going on with this town? Having no juke box we decide to force the DJ to playing what we want to hear. I ask for Eve’s Tambourine but am told that song is too amazing to waste on such a small crowd. That he will play it for me later when the place gets packed. However, anything older that I want to hear is perfectly acceptable. So we request the holy trinity of Justin, Christina, and Kelly and get to hear all of them. We drink. A lot. Ms. B gets mad at Ms. K because I kept Ms. K too long at the bar talking. We have several emotional heart to hearts outside while Ms. B is smoking. Some tears are shed, everyone makes up and hugs go all around. Thankfully no one is around to witness our drunken stupidity. We decide to go back inside and dance. No one is there. Three people are dancing. We decide to go up on the elevated dance floor and do our thing. We finally hear Eve. We close the place down, tip too much again, and decide to get some food. Again we walk, this time up a big ass hill. I think we all successfully worked off all our beer throughout the course of the evening.

We are disgusting pigs at Luigi’s and eat everything in sight. After eating we become obsessed with a cute guy in a grey t-shirt who is sitting across from us. We come to the conclusion that he’s on a date with the guy sitting with him. Ms. B eventually decides that she hates him. I announce that I’m in love. She keeps telling me that there’s just something not right about him and she can’t quite put her finger on it. I inform her that there is nothing wrong with him, nothing wrong at all. Ms. B then wonders aloud what the number for the cab service is and a waitress tells us as she’s passing by our table. Our friend from earlier in the evening turns out to be a dirty whore of a liar and does not come for us. In fact her voicemail box is full and she does not answer the phone when we call. Instead someone who may have in fact been a mental patient on the lam comes to our rescue. At this point I can barely keep my eyes open, I have almost been awake for 24 hours so it’s understandable. Apparently what happened was… the cab driver speaks a bunch or incoherent jibberish, some things we respond to, other things we have no idea. He mentions something about signing something and putting a John Henry on it, Ms. B corrects him and says Hancock and not Henry. Me, going in and out of my sleepy daze chuckles and then continues to say the work cock over and over. Ms. B fears for our lives, a van almost hits us, our cab driver assures us that he will get us home alive. He then freaks out when Ms. K, who is having a lengthy conversation with him much to Ms. B’s chagrin, informs him that she works in the medical field. He insists that somehow he knew this the moment he met her. Okay. Then he begins a very excitedly with, “ya know this one time in 1963,” but never finishes. We somehow make it back to Ms. B’s alive and run screaming from the cab. We all agree that we passed out the moment our heads hit our pillows when we piece the evening together the next morning. Or rather six hours later when we awake. That’s when I’m filled in on the majority of the cab ride, the only part of the night I really don’t remember. We sit and chat for a bit. I tell the girls that I just want to be home without having to put any effort into it. Ms. B suggests that I call our cab driving friend. Since we know he’s still on the clock until noon, as he told us while driving us. I assure her that I’d really rather not. After an hour of talking about it, getting up and sitting back down repeatedly, I finally make my grand exit feeling like the walking dead.