...And Then Everything Went Horribly, Horribly Wrong

So last night went from the best night ever to the most twisted worst. S and I went to El Chorro - heaven - many old men were flirting with us and a great piano player was entertaining a passel of 60-somethings, all singing along to Sinatra tunes and drinking scotch. Then it was off to Durant's for a steak dinner. Then my friend L calls. She left her husband and has been living with her mom for two weeks, and says she's meeting some guy from a local (and incredibly lame) metal band at some dive bar down the street. So we're all like "girls' night out!" and since S and I were total rock stars at El Chorro and well-fed at Durant's we were pretty much up for anything.

So we went to the skuztacular Emerald Lounge and met the guy that L was there to see. He was dressed in Gap circa 1991, and he was skinny, and had greasy hair. Granted, he was a super nice guy, but his favorite band is Slipknot (???) and he was, basically, an aging hessian.

So after being abused by the opening band and the Hessian's hair, S and I retired to a quieter corner of the bar to formulate an escape plan. And then, since I had a wild hair and approximately 5 drinks in me, I called the Puppy. We previously had a few not-so-spectacular and very brief encounters since his freak-out in September, but I was looped and feeling nostalgic. And he was warm and welcoming on this particular occasion, so we agreed to meet at the Swiz.

So S and I go down there, and all is beautiful, we meet up with the Puppy and his roommate, and the Puppy says "let's go to my cousin's party." S and I are just lit enough for a go at that. And then L and the Hessian show up in his red Grand Am and they follow us to the "event." Once we walked in the door I was having high school flashbacks - and those are never in a good way. First of all, everyone was eleventeen. Second, they were playing booze card games and standing around a keg. Help me. Meanwhile, L and the Hessian are playing tonsil hockey like nobody's business, and S and I are like "blech!" So we convinced everyone to leave the party, hit another bar, and then buy beer before - brilliantly - coming back to my place to continue on with our irresponsible hell-raising.

And did I mention that L was slapping everyone because her "alternate personality" had come out (it's a super special drinking surprise!), and had just left her husband? That stuff is important. Remember that.

Anyhoo, so we all get back here and it's so much fun, we're playing music, everyone is buzzing, except for S, who crashes in my bed. Meanwhile, the Hessian leaves, and after a lengthy outdoor "goodbye," L comes back in and moves on to slapping the Puppy, and basically being truly embarrassing to be around, but the Puppy doesn't mind. He'll hook up with just about anyone - even girls with broken legs, dragging themselves down the highway. If they're vulnerable, he's in. Plus it was sloppy seconds - he was following Ugly Kid Joe - I mean, COME ON.

Long story short, S winds up taking a cab home at like 6 in the morning, and I announced to L and the Puppy at 7:30 that the dry humping must stop, so I rounded everybody up and said, "Get the fuck out." And they know I'm pissed off, and I don't care, so I drive them all back to the Puppy's - including L, who had lost her handbag at some point during the night, and would rather hang with the Puppy than with me (understandable, since he has a penis and I'm just bitter) - and say ADIOS!

Meanwhile, the only person I care about, S, had to call a cab. I felt terrible when she left. It was the end of the fun and the beginning of my personal hell. I had mentioned before that my personal hell included the smell of hotdogs and standing in line, and now I get to add the knowledge that L and the Puppy made out in my apartment.

Editor's Note: I had a lot more info here originally, but in the spirit of friendship - and all that is holy - I've decided to censor it.