Saturday, February 13, 2010

Three Blind Mice

I really shouldn't be awake right now. Considering how much I drank last night and how little I slept, I should be in bed, under my covers, with Murray in my neck, and sleeping. Last night's craziness started out when the power went out in my building. Thinking the maintenance men blew the fuse, I opened my back door to see if I could see anyone and was aggressively greeted by some hurricane-force winds and hostile rains. I named the storm Tropical Storm Coca Ina. 
I took off my Chucks and lay on my bed thinking, "What the hell am I supposed to do now?" I was friggin hungry but didn't think I could manage to get around in that storm. I was just laying here texting my cyber-crush Mr. Lightfoot when I heard the downstairs door open and a male and female voice in the stairwell. I assumed it was my cute downstairs neighbor and his girlfriend, rubbing it in my face that he had someone to get down with in the power outage while I was up here texting a hot piece four hours away. I was so happy/relieved/grateful to get a knock on my back door from Billy and Sh'Angela. Her name is really Angela but I've been watching RuPaul's Drag Race lately and those queens have permanent residence in my brain now (and in my heart, and Raven, in my loins).
Having gotten locked out of their apartment and getting soaked in the rain, they came to scoop me up to go eat and drink. Dee-lish.
So began our evening. We started out at Waxy's for dinner, pitchers of PBR, a Bloody Mary, and some Coor's Light. Afterwards, we headed to the Deuce, where we met an older dude named McCloud, who was quite the chatterbox. I think Billy and Sh'Angela heard his entire life story, while I continued to text Mr. Lightfoot. Seriously, he's freakin' dreamy.
After the Deuce we wanted to take Sh'Angela to the hostel to show her where we spent last Saturday night and where we plan on spending future Saturday nights (two words: hot foreigners). 
Billy wanted to change his wet clothes so we went back to their place. There, I drunkenly nailed the shit out of my shin on an insanely heavy van seat they randomly have sitting in their living room. We hung out there for awhile, and Sh'Angela and I walked over to David's to buy some water and sugary treats.
Back at their place Sh'Angela mixed up some Root Beer Vodka drinks and I couldn't drink it; I retched with every sip. Who thought a root beer flavored vodka was a good idea? It's not. Not at that board meeting, not when they manufactured it, not last night, not tonight, not next month, not when the world ends. Root Beer flavor + vodka = the taste in your mouth and the back of your throat after vomiting.
Billy changed and came out to the foyer where I had just taken a picture of myself and realized that my skin tone blended into the color of the walls, which were painted a ghostly-white not commonly found in nature. I took my hoodie off to take more pictures and when Billy zipped up his hoodie right behind me he managed to get the skin on my arm caught in his zipper. HOW does that shit happen?! It hurt like a mother, but definitely not as much as when my shin was violently introduced to the metal frame of the van seat. (Billy had said to me, "That's gonna hurt when you're sober." Uh, no betch, that shit hurt then, drunk and clumsy, that shit hurt.)
We never made it to the hostel. I was about to curl up on the van seat with Buggy but Billy handed me a jump rope, saying, "You need some energy? Here, jump rope!" For about fifteen seconds I was Rocky Balboa, jumping the shit outta that rope.
Once at Automatic's Sh'Angela's friend wouldn't take no for an answer and got me a beer, and then after I finished it, handed me another. I kept telling him, "No, really, thank you, but no, I really can't drink anymore." You wanna know what this guy said to me? He said, "Well, just hold it then." Clearly, when you give a clumsy drunk another beer to "hold," she's gonna drink it, and then, when the slutty barmaid pours a shot of vodka into said drunk's mouth, the clumsy drunk will spill her beer all over the bar. And that's when my liver got up and yelled, "SHUT IT DOWN!" and walked out of her therapist's office.
Billy always manages to find the most random things laying around on the streets and sidewalks of South Beach.
A piece of meat that looked like a whale. And yes, that is blood shooting out of his blowhole.
Sh'Angela and I at Waxy's.
 Sweet Buggy

Still life.
Those creme-filled vanilla cupcakes were super tasty.
Is that a ghost?! Oh.. no, it's just me.
 Sh'Angela is offering me some bronzer.
I love these two.
Strikin' serious poses.
Vodka bottle in the shape of a skull.
Billy, the skull-shaped bottle, me, and my bird hair.

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