Drunk Saturday, 2012

PARTY UPDATE — Yes Party People, tomorrow is the day before Mother’s Day, meaning, if you are in Philadelphia, it is Drunk Saturday Time.  Drunk Saturday is the PartyBlog’s favorite bar crawl.  Here’s the itinerary from the Organizer himself:

Irish Pub 2-5
Oh Sheas 4:30-7
Drinkers/Noche 6:30-12
Kite & Key 11:30-2

Giddy up!

PartyBlog’s Abridged Recount of Drunk Saturday 2011:

Cavanaugh’s Rittenhouse is crowded with a mass of humanity in red shirts designed in Phillies colors with the P upside down as a d and the shirt reads drunk saturday. Names and numbers on the back of shirts read “Updog,” “da robbie bears,” a guy much bigger than I am has a shirt that says “Polish Princess.” “Updog” sees me from the other end of the bar waives me over, and greets me with a shot of tequilla. Uhhh…struggling to get it down, as “Updog” polishes it off nicely, wipes his chin and declares, “That’s how it’s done.” The shot stays down and “it gets a litttle crazy,” aka Sully smacks me on the face and yells, “Where the fuck you been Ike?”  Ike is my Drunk Saturday name which I acquired last month when I bumped into these guys drinking outside of at Parc Rittenhouse on the first nice day of the year.   I was like, okay, I’ll stick around for one but then I have to go to work.  Hours later “Noodle,” aka The Organizer had almost made his way through  through 8 of the 9 specialty drinks on the cocktail menu but at no. 9, “The Hawaiian Banana” he hits a wall.  A large amalgam of half drank wines and beers are spread across the table.  For some reason these guys are calling me Ike.   “Up dog” aka Aikman is stopping every girl who walks by and sniffing at them and saying, “You smell that?”  Most agree out of politeness or the illusion of suggestion, “Yes, something does smell funny…”  He says, “You smell that?  Up dog, smells like up dog…”  They inevitably fall for it, “What’s up dog?”  “I don’t know DAWG, what up with you?” Aikman yells at one of the variously scantily clad women as the entire table of starts laughing and once they are gone he yells, “Blue Set BLUE!” because after all, today on the first day of Spring he is called Aikman for a reason due to his uncanny resemblance to Troy Aikman.  By now we’ve all forgotten Updog’s tale of traveling that weekend in an airport and getting frisked in the air port security line for having a blade in his bag that he claimed wasn’t there when he packed his suitcase.  I suspect that Updog’s tale is a tall one, yet this is the life we lead in corporate America, traveling from town to town, various airports without ever having the chance to rest, and the possibility is there that a blade gets slipped in or that we believe the story in a post-Tyler Durden-esque, post-Sept. 11 world.  “Blue Set Blue, I’m gonna get you Ike Reese.” He yells at me.  “Why am I Ike Reese?”  “Because your tackling is as suspect as your drinking.”   Noodle has given up on the last drink and Updog starts pouring everything on the table into Noodle’s “Hawaiian Banana” a poor excuse for a Mai Thai with 99 Bananas added to the mix .  “Finish this drink and you can come party with us at the shore house.”  The drink is purple and it smells bad, but when partying with new people, hazing is to be expected, no welcomed, because if you’re not getting hazed it means they don’t really like you, or at least, you have to try to impress with stupidity, because if you fail, you may never get another chance.   It’s a dominance thing.  Although I almost finish it in a swig, it’s too gross, the gag reflex kicks in.   Updog continues, See Ike, I knew you couldn’t drink…offer is rescinded.

Zero Chances I’m Sober

Yes, although I have arrived late, Drunk Saturday has started, and I quickly grab a beer from the bartender, who is only serving bud, budlight and lager at the discounted price of three dollars. “Uhhh, do u have any hoppy beers?” “Yeah, she wrly says, we have an ipa.” “Sounds good. Ill take one of those.” “Okay. Three bucks.” Ahh the sweet feeling of belonging, a drunk saturday miracle…Work is done it’s time to party.  “Updog” yells at one of the dressed red shirts, tuck your shirt in nerd.

So after 9 pm. An hour past the halfway point of drunk Saturday, 2011,  a six dollar Drinker’s burrito and 80 oz of beers in, I’m starting to feel part of the party.

Thriller comes on around 10:30, which has been wildly popular since Micheal’s death, in the crowded bar that is Drinkers, and the whole place has turned into a dance party. I haven’t moved around the bar for hours, but have stayed standing by leaning on my chair and shaking my butt, but it is hard with a broken foot.  Two weeks ago, I’d gotten in a fight outside of Encore, a guido nightclub in old city, for calling a guy’s girlfriend mannish.  All I had done was ask for a smoke.  Instead of being polite, she started yelling expletives at me for wearing a sweater that read “NYC” on the front:
(Outside of Club Encore, Old City, the nicest neighborhood in Philly where people get shot)
Don’t you know this is Philly!  Get the Fuck out of here with that shirt! I bet you have never even been to New York! (instead of responding I divert) “Oh clearly someone has a fine grasp of the English language, limited to monosylabic threats and curses…”  Hey asshole, go fuck yourself…My brother Zeek who is next to me soon chimes in and tells her to fuck herself instead, which prompts her diminutive boyfriend to step in and say:
“Hey, you guys better cut it out, or else your gonna get your asses kicked.  I got all these dudes around here.  You fags better go over there.”  And he points towards the corner of Second and Chestnut.
(In response) — You fags go over there.
Confused, having heard what he just said, he responds “No, I said you fags go over there…”
“Yes,” I respond, “You, fag, and you, fag,” (pointing to his girlfriend) “go over there.”
(Party Note: PartyBlog is against the “f” word.  It is never party appropriate.  Thus what ensues.)
He and his friends quickly jump me.  Seven guys are tackling me into the street as I go over a trashcan.  Stumbling but with superhuman adrenalin-inspired strength I get back to my feet, about to swing, but  suddenly cops surround.  Not worth continuing the fight due to the risk of detention, all the culprits run away and into the adjacent bar (they are likely regulars, know the bouncers, or sell steroids to the clientele).  My shoe is in a pile of trash, left foot hurts, but because of the adrenalin I can still walk on it.  The juice of fighting is pumping through my veins and I want to lay chase after these seven Jersey thugs, but neither club will let us in, so my brother Zeek and I go to Buffalo Billiards, hand the bartender bills with traces of scabs and blood from my hands scuffed up from the sidewalk, and the next day my left ankle proves to be fractured.

Scab Hand

(PARTY TIP: This is why, partypeople, when partying, be very careful, and remember that Jersey Trash are not like normal human beings, they are like caged up animals and when they get out, these guidos simply look for fights, that is their goal, and this is why drinking at night can be rife with dangers.  Be smart, stay coherent, and WALK AWAY FROM FIGHTS!)
(Back to Drunk Saturday)
Drinking is the opposite of time warp. Its like time zap. Time moves faster, not slower, pushing u into the future at light speed, screaming at light speed, and finally u understand the meaning of Drunk Saturday, and why it’s like Christmas for all whom attend. Because there are people in your life that u love, like your mother, or your brother, or maybe some random new drunk friend at the bar. Drunk Saturday is an excuse to get together, everybody just getting together again, and this is why people even meet and start dating on Drunk Saturday, maybe even getting married eventually.  Because Drunk Sat not an excuse to party, its an excuse to be alive.  This is the day before Mother’s Day, baby, so it’s time to be happy and celebrate life, think about those whom we love, and cherish existence.  A young brunette is smirking at me so I hop over on one foot to to talk to her, and make some awkward joke about a sex change operation, or how I’m waiting on mine, or her’s certainly looks better than mine is going to, and she shakes her head, confused, but smiles back politely.  Although I’ve totally blown my chances, it’s fine, doesn’t matter.  This is Drunk Saturday.  You can say whatever you want…The bar is starting to thin out and I realize I haven’t even been upstairs to Noche.  I try hobbling up the stairs to Noche on me crutches, but soon Noddle is running down, saying it’s time to go to Kite & Key — across town we go…
With two bars, the Noche-Drinkers establishment makes every other bar in the city with premium real estate look stupid for not having an upstairs.  Just as I make it back down the stairs, thinking that this bar is amazing for treating drunk kids like kids with copious amounts of money that will spend it all with just a touch of sensitivity (mainly because when you are injured everyone is nice to you), as I walk outside a guy named “Ben” gets grabbed by the bouncer and thrown on the ground. I hobble over to him, oh too familiar of what happens when someone gets into a fight with a bouncer…

His flip flops are laying on the ground as Ben is livid, screaming, having been pushed down by the bouncer, a man larger than he, who could easily snap his neck if such motivated. The level of calm by the large black bouncer is a subtle insult towards Ben’s loud and angry protest. His buddy Drew quickly comes to the rescue and pulls Ben away.   As I balance on my crutches to grab his flippy floppies and crutch towards him, too aware of the repercussions should it escalate, I remind Ben of the Fourth Party Rule – Always be nice to bouncers…they can make or break your party… 

Luckily, Ben doesn’t have a broken nose, cracked skull, or worse, just a bit of a scare…he is black out drunk but Drew is talking him down, doing a good job, convincing Ben to walk away and fight another day.

A fine cabby stops for the cripple standing in the middle of the road. I hop in. Hey man, how’s it going? Pretty good. I can’t complain. Yeah man, I feel you…I don’t understand how you deal with drunk people all the time…I couldn’t do it. Yes, it takes patience. Certainly patience. I have only been driving for about a year though. But I don’t mind. I used to work at the Sunoco on Walnut, you know it?  I got laid off last year as a manager.
No way, I respond…You know what? I hate Sunoco. My brother Zeek used to date the daughter of their CEO of shipping and then she broke up with him to date my best friend.
Wow. She sounds. Like a bitch.
Yes! She is!
You’re the best man of their wedding!
Hahaha, not really…well she’s not going to marry either of them. She broke my best friend’s heart just recently too, you know that?
“See, they’ll both be better.  Everything happens for a reason man. I hated working there. Now I make five times as much driving a cab.”

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