"It's hard work being a host"I got an email from Sondra last week mentioning that one of her friends would be in the area for work and was planning on spending the weekend in NYC. I did what any right-thinking DD would do and responded that I would be happy to host her friend, and assumed that I would hear more about it later. I received an email from Tony later asking for directions and all, and it seemed he would arrive Friday night. On Thursday I got an email saying that he was done with his project, and would be coming in that night. I rush home, do a quick cleanup of the apartment, and just finish as he rings the buzzer. We immediately head out drinking and I hook him up with the locals at the bar, we have a hell of a time. We basically repeat the process on Friday, except we go to a few bars, and somewhere in there Tony wonders if we know every bartender in the area, or just all the ones at the bars we're taking him to. I think it's just the ones at the bars I frequent, but since I frequent a lot of bars, it's kind of a tossup. Anyway, we sleep late on Saturday, grab coffee and bagels, watch a bit of football, and then head down to the Village. I give Tony the full NYC experience: random violence, a fight between two guys in expensive cars about some minor traffic infraction; skel on the subway, some guy picking at the running sores on his legs; great street performers, a group of really, really talented acrobats in Washington Square Park; and Chino-Latino. We got some really greasy food from the St. Marks Chino-Latino place, and I knew it wasn't going to sit well immediately. We tried to soothe our stomaches with a large number of beers, and were doing pretty well at it when we decided to head back uptown and go out drinking with my roommate. We get back to the apartment, roommate isn't there, we smoke a bit of kind, drink a beer, roommate shows up, and we head back out. Tony forgets something, and runs back up to get whatever he forgot. I'm waiting on the sidewalk and I feel a little burp coming on. I don't know what was in my stomache, but it felt like I had just burped sulfuric acid up, my chest and throat were killing me. I ran back upstairs to drink some water, and then I realized that the Chino-Latino was coming back, and it wasn't happy about it. I made it to the bathroom, where I puked up everything but liquid. I was very amazed that I could drink so many beers and see no evidence of it in my vomit. It seems that the Chino-Latino just shoved everything aside in it's rush to leave my body. I take this as a good sign, and gargling and brushing my teeth feel like I'm ready to go back out, so we go back, my roommate is still waiting on the sidewalk, and we head to the local bar. It's not that full when we walk in, so we're able to get one stool at the bar, which gives us a place to put the pitcher and quick access for refills. We have a couple pitchers, and are getting pretty hammered at this point. Tony is telling Tom the bartender that he's the best bartender in the world, which upsets Shannon the other bartender, so now Tom is giving us shots, and Shannon is trying to hide our beers, expecting the "best bartender in the world" to find it for us as she says. Somewhere in between my old favorite bartending come in to get drunk, the psycho who would come up to the bar and just say, "Call the cops, call the cops", and dancing with one of the waitresses, a fight breaks out. It's pretty packed by this time, and there aren't any bouncers, so it's just the manager trying to break it up. I figure that since this is my home, it's an affront to me personally that these jerks are fighting, so I go help the manager break it up. I grab one guy around the waist, the manager grabs the other guy and says, "Take 'em to the floor." I get some drunken macho energy burst, and hip toss this poor guy hard. Next thing he knows he's just been slammed to the floor, my knee is on his chest, and I've got my hand on his throat in case he gets froggy. We hustle the guys out the door, and now the bartenders are buying me more drinks. I don't know what happened after that, except that there was a lot of beer to be drained, and that I apparantly made it home in one piece. I'm seriously suffering right now, and have to drive Tony to the airport in an hour. By the time I get back it should be time to go drink and watch football. Guess I better have Jim LaFronze prep me a baboon liver. Jeremiah |