I had a good time in college. I lived in a prime apartment in the city with two guys and another girl. I was nineteen and never without liquor because either Tony Bologna or Stu would buy for me. We partied every night and there were always crazy shenanigans happening on our roof which looked into the Prudential Center. But that's what college is all about right? Hooking up with too many guys and drinking too many nips of Puckers.
I tried to relive my glory days when I moved to Southie four years ago. I was partying every weekend and drinking like it was my job. I even passed out in my friends bath tub and later on that night eventually puked pink stuff all over the street. Too much red wine and special brownies.
Then there comes a point when you enter your mid-twenties that you say to yourself, "I can't drink like that any more." Don't get me wrong. I'll enjoy the bottle of red wine all to myself and I'm all for grabbing drinks after work. But gone are the days when I wake up at 7am on St. Patty's day and drink until midnight.
However, my responsible drinking self was shoved aside on Saturday for my Last Hurrah in Southie. I am moving out of the neighborhood that I've called home for the past four years and I wanted to remember the evening. Remember I did...until 6pm the following night.
Hooker made it a point to come up from NYC for the weekend so she could see me off in style. She used to live in the neighborhood and she was also my drinking buddy when she lived in Boston so it was totally fitting that she made it a point to be here.
At 5pm I cracked open a Stella and started to get ready for the evening. By 7pm I was totally buzzed and decided it was a good idea to pop open the bottle of Vueve Cliquot that was burning a hole in my fridge. The Ukrainian Princess had joined us by this time so the three of us bopped around my apartment sipping Vueve and applying eye liner.
By 9pm everyone had arrived at my place and I was reliving the Stairwell Story compliments of Iggy and Hooker. I don't know why those two feel the need to always retell it. Oh I know why. BECAUSE IT'S THE BEST STORY EV-ER.
The entire group of us made our way to the L Street Tavern around 10pm and the place was bumping. By this time I was totally buzzed and kept telling the random wicked drunk guy that my (sober) friend Rose liked him. This made him stand really close to her and rub up against her.
"YA FUCKIN' DEAD!" She shouted to me from across the bar as I collapsed in giggles.
One thing you should know about me when I get drunk is that I ALWAYS want to do shots. It's like a relax or a gift from God or something. Saturday night was no different. I turned to my friends Jessie and T and told them I wanted to do a shot.
"ANNNYFRING BUT JAEGAH MMKAY? I'LL BAHF IF WE DO JAEGAH."
"Irish Car Bomb?"
"What's that? I nevah done one."
"It's delicious."
"Ok. BAHTENDAH! THREE IRISH CAH BOMBS!!!!"
You should also know that when I get drunk my Boston accent comes out full force.
I pounded that Irish Car Bomb and after licking the Bailey's from my thumb proclaimed the Bahtendah to BRING ME ANOTHA!
"Leeeees....." JSutt had sidled up to my left, "Ok Leees. So you just did an Irish Car Bomb. Maybe you should wait 15 mins. If you want another one then come back and get one ok?"
"K." And with that I slithered off my stool and went outside to get some air.
During all of this drinking and debauchery I decided to undress Jhilll's fiancee Dave. I don't know what it is about Dave but whenever I'm drunk around him I feel the need to either take his clothes off or breath heavily near him. It's a wonder he even still talks to me. In between Irish Car Bombs -yes I did another one- I started to chat up this guy in a striped sweater. He walked by me and I just gave him a nod and said "HEY."
"Hey. How are you?"
"I'm good. You look like Pacey from Dawson's Creek."
"Really??? No one's ever told me that before!"
"Well you do."
We talked a little more but I had the attention span of a gnat and he eventually got sick of me and walked to the other end of the bar. By 12:30 I had a revelation that we had to leave L Street immediately and head to Murphy's Law, the dive bar down the street that's open super late. I don't know why I felt the need to leave. L Street was bumping and Pacey and I were making bar eyes. I passed him on the way out and he asked where I was going.
"Murphy's."
"Why? It's so shady!"
"Yeah but it's open late!"
"So is my apartment."
I was too drunk to process this. "Mmmmkay byeeeee."
Hooker asked me later why I didn't get my boyfriends number. I told her I had two Irish Car Bombs. 'Nuff said.
Murphy's was filled with the usual clowns. One guy in a Patriot's hoodie kept telling us his friend was going to whip it out for us. Another guy with the smallest head I've ever seen started talking to Jessie and some guy named Dave kept grabbing my nose and saying, "HA! GOT IT!"
The nose grabbing thing was new to me. The threat to whip out a penis, unfortunately was not.
Saturday night was one of those great nights where everyone is in a good mood, the crowd is cool, the vibe is chill and even though you drink like you're going to the chair you don't hurl. That last point is the difference between grown up drinking and college drinking. When I was 20 I totes would've ralphed -totally the best synonym for puking Chris-.
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