You can sleep when you are dead

I had such glorious plans for this weekend. Plans involving rest, relaxation, a rejuvenation of spirit after a weekend in the South and a busy week at work. Well, the best laid plans of mice….

Friday was Teach’s birthday, so that was strike one against sober judgment. The plan was to meet at a Mexican restaurant on St. Marks around 10. I got off work around 8:30, and headed to the village to kill time. After some typical Village adventures (screwing around Virgin Megastore, pizza at 2 Boots, pint at Grassroots) I headed over to the restaurant. Teach was their with his girlfriend (blog name forthcoming) Smither’s, a friend of Smithers I had met before but did not remember, and Pesto. I said my hellos and ordered up a margarita. I have this problem with Mexican restaurants, where I do not particularly care for Mexican food, but love Margaritias (the math is easy to finish). We eat, I catch up with Pesto, Teach discusses his impending kayak trip, and birth was celebrated in the style of our times (shots!). Eventually Kodez, Arsenal, and Gymnast arrive. As dinner finishes, we head over to Nevada’s for a nightcap. My memory at this point is vague at best, as lots of sugar tequila and not a lot of food has left me a functional wreck. After a drink at Nevada’s (where I could not find the bathroom, despite spending every weekend there for about 18 months) I declared I should go home (work the next day and all that). Gymnast came back with me, concerned about my well being (that fact that I can neither confirm nor disconfirm the need for said chaperone leans towards needing said chaperone). He makes sure I get to bed without breaking anything, and fills up a plastic mug with water and leaves it in the kitchen for me. Sweet guy.

Waking up the next day, I feel both exhausted, and a bit of the drunkard’s remorse. I also realize I am missing my credit card. I call Nevada’s to see if I left it there, and sure enough, I did. Crap, back to the village at some point. I decide that I need a calming influence for the evening. Family dinner sounds same. Maybe a nightcap with the Banker, as he is an adult with adult stuff. Good plan right?

Dinner in the family turns out to be fun, but does involve large tumblers of Grey Goose and Brandy, partly out of desire for booze, partly because my siblings are bat shit insane. After some tumblers and some really good chicken, I headed over to Banker’s place. My hope was to have a couple of cold ones and a sane, civil discussion. I arrive, his apartment is a furnace, and he wants to meet Spring Roll in Alphabet City. Screw it, it’s on, we’re doing it.

We head down to a place on 13th and A. I realize my License is missing, and have to talk my way into the bar using my work ID. Smooth criminal. We hang out with Spring Roll and her new man for a bit. As the energy begins to fade, I mention that I need to go to Nevada’s and pick up my card. Spring Roll and her man head home, and Banker, ever the loyal friend, heads out with me.

When we arrive, the bartender Guzo is very amused to see me (clearly I was in quite the state last night) and returns my card. I quickly hand it back to him, and get a round of beers (I am debating just leaving a card at Nevada’s from now on and just starting a permanent tab). The original plan was to have a pint then head home, but as we get out drinks, both Banker and I get texts from buddies. At this point, it is after Midnight, and a relaxing restful night at home is dead and buried, so what the hell, come on over to Nevada’s. So Hubris and Banker’s buddy come down, and we spend the night discussion religion over beers and Vodka tonics (nothing that new or interesting was discusses, mostly old roads revisited).

I had planned to wake up early and watch the soccer game with Arsenal, but I also planned to go home after work Saturday night, so it is what it is. Now Arsenal tries calling my cell, and I do not pick up (I think I unconsciously turned the phone off, in an attempt to avoid his call), so he calls Hubris, and instructs him to wake me up. In Hubris’s mind, this is an excuse to throw something at me while I sleep, so he grabs the first thing he sees and lobs it at my sleeping form. That item he grabs, non other than the plastic mug full of water Gymnast left me Friday Night. I am awoken not by blunt trauma to the head, as Hubris planned, by lukewarm water soaking my back and sheets. Hubris was extremely apologetic (so hitting me with a mug while I sleep is cool, but pouring water on me is the height of ‘not cool’), and I took it as a sign that I needed to get up.

So any attempt at rest and quiet reflection was thwarted this weekend. Lets see how the next one goes.