I’ve been pretty darn good lately. And by “good” I mean less drunk than usual. The last time I really went out I was spilling tequila on an iPad menu down by the seaport … following that night and the morning’s usual shame filled search for pants, socks, shoes and dignity, I decided to take a bit of a break.
Nature seemed to agree with me and all of a sudden I found myself flu-tastic and bed-ridden for four straight days. I couldn’t work, I couldn’t eat, I certainly couldn’t drink.
This was a good start.
The snowstorm hit next, and before I knew it between mountains of snow, pure exhaustion and my body still not really running at 100 percent, it has been five weeks since I had really gone out with the intentions of hitting it hard.
All that changed on Tuesday when I had finally had it with laying low. I had no epic plans, no new places to try, just my old familiar watering hole, Harry’s Bar and Grill in Allston. I didn’t even bother to change after wrestling practice and I just headed right to the bar, already feeling a little fuzzy from drinking three Coors Banquets while learning to properly suplex.
(Note to self for next week: don’t drink and suplex.)
Harry’s is my home away from home. It’s the perfect neighborhood spot that makes everyone feel comfortable whether you’re dressed in gym clothes or to the nines in a little black dress and heels. Before my friends had arrived I had already put down two more Banquets, and by the time they did arrive I was well aware that I was more than a few ahead of everyone else. And everyone else probably hadn’t skipped dinner.
At some point we decided to move down the street, because when you’re very intoxicated clearly you should go to your place of employment.
Drunk and disorderly isn’t nearly as fun without the threat of getting fired.
Conversations over shots of Crown Royal ranged from abortion (why?) to steroid use in professional wrestling (don’t get me started, apparently that’s a topic that makes me raise my voice) and then it happened: that pivotal moment where drunk, you think you’re invincible and looking back sober the next day you can’t believe no one stopped you.
No one should ever be body slammed from off the top of the bar onto the floor, even if said body slam was perfectly executed and the shining moment of one’s career thus far.
“Something something my neck hurts, something something liability …”
Aw, feck. Havoc’s back ….