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Last Five Hangovers...
The Ten Thousand Dollar Choking Hazard - 2004-12-09
Mixing Advice - 2004-10-24
A Grave Injustice - 2004-09-27
A Short History of the Bloody Mary (in My Life) - 2004-07-31
If You Build It, We Will Come - 2004-07-19

BE A FRIEND OF THE MOVEMENT!

Saturday night I decided that I've had enough of this responsible, sober crap and jumped back on (or fell off?) the DbF bandwagon in grand style. There's nothing like a family reunion with a couple of large glasses of red wine to warm you up, and then nothing else like going out in a new city with the girls to top it off.

Jessica and I had gone to San Francisco for the above-mentioned reunion and so that she could visit her poor friend PKT, who had ungraciously been mowed down by a truck a few weeks earlier. And let me tell you, she looks great anyway, but she looks especially good for someone who has been through what she has! Sadly, she decided not to drink that night because she learned that booze and crutches didn't mix, but we had more than enough for her. Jess will have to detail her own exploits from dinner, which was apparently a sake-bomb fest. [Details are as follows: Me: “No sake for me, thanks.” Guy We Were With: “Here are five shots of sake.” Me: “Okay.” – Jess] We met up at the Blue Light, where I proceeded to get back my dinner buzz quickly on a couple of pints, when the first nice guy of the evening appeared.

You see, in San Francisco, guys will come up and talk to girls! Maybe this happens in bars I haven't been to in LA, but I'm not used to it. Or I should clarify - I'm not used to normal-looking guys coming up to us in bars. The freaks and the short ones are a different story entirely. But up comes guy #1, wanting to buy everyone tequila shots. Why not? I hate tequila, and had never done it, but it seemed like a good idea. [Note: this guy was lovely, but, people? You can’t do a proper tequila shot without salt. Just a word to the wise. -- Jess][Oh my God, and also, you need the lime, as I learned on my 21st when I just sort of swigged it from the bottle. That was dumb. Can I have points for that? -- Heather][No. And we did have limes. -- Lauren][Lauren smells. -- Heather]

By now I have to say, everything was seeming like a good idea. My balance wasn't great, but my mojo was on, as I got more attention on a visit to the bathroom than I've gotten in the last three months in my hometown. We talked to both a freak and then the cutest 21-year old ever, who asked what we were doing for the summer [Isn’t that cute? I felt like telling him that I was working at the Baskin Robbins when I wasn’t making up gym. -– Jess], and then headed to a new bar, the Comet Club.

Next time I'm in SF, I'm heading back to the Comet Club. I give it a big, hearty toast for its cool people, booth in the corner, and the 80s music that played all night. It was just divey enough, and had just enough cute guys. I am very sad to admit that I let PKT down when she wanted me to grab a guy's ass in her honor and I wasn't yet quite drunk enough. [!!!!! -- Heather] Even sober now, I'm kind of wishing he was right here so I could grab it. It seemed to be a fine ass, and we were curious if it lived up to its appearance. Alas, we will never know.

One more beer and a kamikaze later, and it's just about officially the best night of my life. The beer had actually appeared for me as if from nowhere, paid for by someone else. The kamikaze was from a guy that we were out with, who decided our whole party needed one. [The waitress, having grasped my secret code of shaking my head violently and making throat-slashing gestures, brought me a shot of orange juice so I “wouldn’t feel left out.” How sweet is that? – Jess][Official ruling: That waitress is a traitor. This is not The Summer of Excessive Sweetness and Highly Docile Behavior. -- Heather]

It turns out that kamikazes are what makes me forget about work for a while. I also apparently got unusually curious about how Heather handled wearing flip-flops while in Europe, which normally she avoids only second to any sort of eye jiggery-pokery. I believe I also wanted to drunk dial a lot of people, but was talked out of one and found myself oddly sensitive to how late it was and not wanting to wake up any of my other friends. Strange that when drunk, my manners pick up. Huh.

All the night needed was one more trip to the bathroom in the back, which meant more ogling from guys who actually didn't make me want to lock myself in the stall and never come back. I'm not sure what it says about me that I was content with just the ogling, but I'll take it. Go San Francisco! Thanks for recognizing us.

When the night wrapped up, I was in the loving care of Jessica, who ordered me to drink water and take Advil and actually washed my face. [I know, I’m like someone’s mom. Well, Lauren’s mom, in this instance, I guess. – Jess] I was drunk enough to be having thoughts like, "Wow, this water is starting to make me more nauseous than the alcohol," but sober enough to listen solemnly to whatever Jessica told me to do and drink away as ordered. I'm a rebel in my mind, but a puppet in reality.

Our drinking experience wrapped up the next day with the proving of a very important hypothesis: When hung over, McDonald's or a close substitute is what makes your tummy content, and nothing else will do. After eating from a big brunch spread with cheese, dips, crackers, and everything else I normally eat by the bushel-full, I didn't return to normal until we stopped in LittleGasTown, USA, at an overcrowded McDonald's and I wolfed down a quarter-pounder with cheese and a lot of fries. No, A LOT of fries. Self-control is not something that governs me. [Or me. I had a lot of fries, too, and I wasn’t even hung-over – Jess]

So live and learn, faithful drinkers. San Francisco = Cute boys and free drinks. McDonald's = Love.

--Lauren