Old Home Week. Weekend At Bernie’s. Clowns!

(in the facebook version, i removed the name of my drunk-ass friend to protect his whatever. more people are likely to know him and read it and even if he isnt on the faceplace, others are and well, you know)

Old Home Week. Weekend At Bernie’s. Clowns! 

This weekend was all about guys I’ve known for twenty or so years. They all appeared in my journal entries when i was trying to pinpoint when Rick and i first met. That means that they were all active in my life in the early spring od 1993. Rick and I had lunch with Shea on Saturday. I adore Shea. It always feels like no time has passed since we last saw each other. While we were parking in front of Bauhaus, we ran into Scott and Tom.

Me, Shea, and Rick:

This is how I prefunk:

The background is the only reason this pic didn’t get deleted:

Pete breaking it down:

We later met up with Scott, Pete, and Adam at Pony. It was clown-themed and for Pony, that means creepy clown bartenders and DJ.

We went down to Rebar to see Dimitri from Paris spin. That was amazing and crazy and fun. But Adam got really drunk. Like black-out face-plant drunk. I tried to get him to sit it off for a bit, but the vinyl booth seats were too slippery and he kept sliding down. That and groping girls. Girls with big muscular boyfriends who luckily thought it was funny some drunk gay guy grabbed his girlfriends ass.

Until you’ve actually fireman carried someone out of a bar, you really don’t think about how difficult it is. First, there is the unsympathetic and unmoving crowd to navigate through while you have 180 lbs of drunk on your shoulder. Second, the drunk on your shoulder won’t just blackout, he continues to grope you and anyone within reach, all the time calling them “hobbits” and “goblins.”

Turns out, cab drivers don’t like drunk people when they can’t stand up. They also do not like being touched by drunk people while they are driving and they decline the offer of oral sex from drunk people. At least in this case.

It also turns out that drunk people may not remember they have moved if it was fairly recent. To his credit, Adam did remember after I pulled him foot first out of the cab and the cab left. He just didn’t remember the new address or cross streets or landmarks other than mention of Broadway and a vague gesture in that direction. I got the location of his new apartment from Pete via text message: four blocks uphill from where the cab left us in the pouring rain. My coat was still in coat check at Rebar.

I carried him the four blocks. It was basically “Weekend at Bernie’s” if Bernie was a belligerent insult-spewing drunk instead if just dead.

Then he slipped from my grasp and fell once again on his face. We were almost to his place too. So close. I got him undressed and in bed and left.

I took a picture of my coat check ticket and sent it to Rick to show Carla so I could get my coat out of Rebar’s coat check. Pete and Rick picked me up and we had a pitcher at the lookout right before last call.

We then went to the Hurricane. I ate chicken strips and fries and Rick filmed a guy puking in the men’s room. I thin our heads finally hit our pillows at 3:30 am.

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