congratulations, loneliness, alcohol, and heat
6 November 2006
Congratulations are in order to Site Guy Brendan and his lady Liz, who completed the New York City Marathon yesterday, in one fell swoop making them more accomplished than I’ll ever be. This was Brendan’s second marathon. He ran the Boston Marathon a few years back and immediately retired from marathoning, but was lured out of retirement by Liz, who wanted her first marathon to be the NYC one. I have to be honest – I’m a little disappointed that neither of them won, but it’s a great accomplishment nonetheless.
After the race, Brendan and Liz had a little get together at a bar on the Bowery, a nice lil’ place called Slainte that I can only imagine is overflowing with B&T assholes on Friday and Saturday nights. It was nice to see them both, but a little strange because usually when we hang out, it’s in Boston (where I will be this coming weekend). And Brendan is usually so drunk that he’s running around chasing pigeons like a mentally-challenged but hyperactive five year old.
But last night there were no pigeon chases, as Brendan was tired. I went over to the bar and joined the two of them as well as their family and friends for some beers, which were tasting delicious. I was a little late getting there and shortly most of the people were gone. Then everyone was gone and it was just Brendan, Liz and I. And then, tired from all that running or whatever, they too left, just as I had gotten by third beer, a pint of Guinness that tasted like God.
I couldn’t begrudge them for leaving – they did run quite a bit that day – but I was just hitting my stride and wanted to keep drinking. I think that I have a problem: I love getting drunk when I’m not supposed to. I think that beers taste much better on Sunday nights or Tuesday afternoons or than they do on Friday and Saturday nights. I have no doubt that the naughtiness of it has something to do with it - while the rest of the world is settling in for the start of their week, I’m pounding pints of Guinness and feeling like a million bucks - but I’m ok with that. Because I’m naughty sometimes.
(Ugh – I just grossed out myself by writing that.)
Of course, I wasn’t going to leave with them and leave my full beer at the bar, but I knew that none of my friends weren’t doing anything last night, so I figured I’d call it quits after that beer – even though it was only just 8pm. Besides, I could have one beer at the bar alone. After all, I’m a grown-ass man, more than capable of and secure enough to enjoy a beer by myself and watch some football. I’d have my beer, check out the pre-game show for the Colts-Pats, then head home. Not a big deal.
FOUR HOURS LATER, the bartender brought me over another of a few free Guinnesses that he treated me to that night, as well as a pint of water, "just in case [I] want it." Friends, I was shitcanned. And alone. And the bartender was bringing my sad, drunk ass water.
I’ve never before been brought water by a bartender when I didn’t ask for it, so I can only guess that "just in case you want it" really means, "You’re bombed and making me sad, because I’ve been listening to you beg every person in your phone book to come out and drink with you and have been watching send about 500 text messages, I assume imploring the same. Drink this water so you’re not too hungover tomorrow and then get the fuck out of here. Christ."
Taking the water offering as my cue, I stumbled home and passed the fuck out, not before sending a few more last-minute text messages, asking anyone – anyone – if they wanted to have a drink. But by now it was just after midnight and my lame ass friends were not interested. I contemplated taking the plunge and going to this place by MSG for a handjob, but I was too tired. Also, I didn’t have the cash on me.
At 5am, I woke up because the heat was coming out of my radiator so angrily that it felt like my apartment was on fire. I was covered in sweat, which for about four half-conscious minutes I thought was piss, before realizing that my hair was matted down and knowing that there was very little chance I could piss all over my head. This latest heat explosion was the worst ever and there is a very decent chance that as I write this my apartment is, in fact, burning to the ground. Because something ain’t right with that heater. I had sweat so much that this morning that I dropped off all my sheets and blankets at the laundromat this morning – and it’s not even that time of year!
(Ladies, again, I’m single and coming to a city near you.)
Anyway, long and short of it is that I’m a defeated man today. No one to drink with last night, got bombed by myself. Took comfort in that at least I’d get a decent night’s sleep, but was woken up by my own sweat and couldn’t fall back asleep. Being trying all day to tell you about it, but am so tired that I’m practically slapping my hands on the keyboard and ian sfp9qhi”’oN inndpgoij i’s.
And the moral is that I need new friends here in the city. Just a piss-poor performance by everyone I know in NYC last night – I couldn’t get one single person to come out and have a beer or two with me, so I had to get rocked by myself (which I’m still not sure was awesome or sad). If interested, please send a cover letter and resume to jason@jasonmulgrew.com and you’ll be hearing from us soon. Like, next we’re drunk at a bar on a school night.
After the race, Brendan and Liz had a little get together at a bar on the Bowery, a nice lil’ place called Slainte that I can only imagine is overflowing with B&T assholes on Friday and Saturday nights. It was nice to see them both, but a little strange because usually when we hang out, it’s in Boston (where I will be this coming weekend). And Brendan is usually so drunk that he’s running around chasing pigeons like a mentally-challenged but hyperactive five year old.
But last night there were no pigeon chases, as Brendan was tired. I went over to the bar and joined the two of them as well as their family and friends for some beers, which were tasting delicious. I was a little late getting there and shortly most of the people were gone. Then everyone was gone and it was just Brendan, Liz and I. And then, tired from all that running or whatever, they too left, just as I had gotten by third beer, a pint of Guinness that tasted like God.
I couldn’t begrudge them for leaving – they did run quite a bit that day – but I was just hitting my stride and wanted to keep drinking. I think that I have a problem: I love getting drunk when I’m not supposed to. I think that beers taste much better on Sunday nights or Tuesday afternoons or than they do on Friday and Saturday nights. I have no doubt that the naughtiness of it has something to do with it - while the rest of the world is settling in for the start of their week, I’m pounding pints of Guinness and feeling like a million bucks - but I’m ok with that. Because I’m naughty sometimes.
(Ugh – I just grossed out myself by writing that.)
Of course, I wasn’t going to leave with them and leave my full beer at the bar, but I knew that none of my friends weren’t doing anything last night, so I figured I’d call it quits after that beer – even though it was only just 8pm. Besides, I could have one beer at the bar alone. After all, I’m a grown-ass man, more than capable of and secure enough to enjoy a beer by myself and watch some football. I’d have my beer, check out the pre-game show for the Colts-Pats, then head home. Not a big deal.
FOUR HOURS LATER, the bartender brought me over another of a few free Guinnesses that he treated me to that night, as well as a pint of water, "just in case [I] want it." Friends, I was shitcanned. And alone. And the bartender was bringing my sad, drunk ass water.
I’ve never before been brought water by a bartender when I didn’t ask for it, so I can only guess that "just in case you want it" really means, "You’re bombed and making me sad, because I’ve been listening to you beg every person in your phone book to come out and drink with you and have been watching send about 500 text messages, I assume imploring the same. Drink this water so you’re not too hungover tomorrow and then get the fuck out of here. Christ."
Taking the water offering as my cue, I stumbled home and passed the fuck out, not before sending a few more last-minute text messages, asking anyone – anyone – if they wanted to have a drink. But by now it was just after midnight and my lame ass friends were not interested. I contemplated taking the plunge and going to this place by MSG for a handjob, but I was too tired. Also, I didn’t have the cash on me.
At 5am, I woke up because the heat was coming out of my radiator so angrily that it felt like my apartment was on fire. I was covered in sweat, which for about four half-conscious minutes I thought was piss, before realizing that my hair was matted down and knowing that there was very little chance I could piss all over my head. This latest heat explosion was the worst ever and there is a very decent chance that as I write this my apartment is, in fact, burning to the ground. Because something ain’t right with that heater. I had sweat so much that this morning that I dropped off all my sheets and blankets at the laundromat this morning – and it’s not even that time of year!
(Ladies, again, I’m single and coming to a city near you.)
Anyway, long and short of it is that I’m a defeated man today. No one to drink with last night, got bombed by myself. Took comfort in that at least I’d get a decent night’s sleep, but was woken up by my own sweat and couldn’t fall back asleep. Being trying all day to tell you about it, but am so tired that I’m practically slapping my hands on the keyboard and ian sfp9qhi”’oN inndpgoij i’s.
And the moral is that I need new friends here in the city. Just a piss-poor performance by everyone I know in NYC last night – I couldn’t get one single person to come out and have a beer or two with me, so I had to get rocked by myself (which I’m still not sure was awesome or sad). If interested, please send a cover letter and resume to jason@jasonmulgrew.com and you’ll be hearing from us soon. Like, next we’re drunk at a bar on a school night.
