A bit more of the year
Most people that write on a regular basis at this time of year like to review the past year and some of it's highlights. Memories of friend's engagements, birthday parties, and experimental lobotomy surgeries get the most attention for detailed posts about their loved ones. It gives people a sense of closure, a way to look into the next year with a "I'm going to work out more!" mentality that 70% of people out there have but end up simply donating their hard earned money to the gym of their choice. It tires my brain, and gives me that I-just-ate-too-many-gushers feeling in the realm of my tummy. My approach yearns to be different, pointing out people's most idiotic moments and slightly fabricating them into the story it realistically was. "Well Jimmy, you wrote a story about me but it wasn't accurately portrayed." Well, I have to say that 1% of my writings of others may be stretched a bit. The other 99% is completely true. Yes, even the clementine boy.
A few months ago I was out with a friend for some drinks (let's call her Captain Hyena). We went to various places, trudging around in the hot summer air and trying not to sweat in our armpits or crotches. It was comparable to a drink tour, sampling beverages at each bar and analyzing it's quality. The problem was that we ordered the same drinks at each bar, so comparisons were pretty elementary. "Oh, that's good" or "Oooh, that's not good" were about as intellectual as we got.
Captain Hyena was getting a bit blue in the face, sucking down gin and tonics the entire night. Her movements were cruise-ship-stumbling, adolescently sea walking around trying not to fall over. She tried to maintain her composure, but the glassy eyes and geriatric slurring were just too obvious. She was captain of the laughing hyenas, paying tribute with every little joke that I cracked and dancing with no music playing.
We arrived at what would be the final bar on the tour. She leaned against the bar with a giant sigh, and I decided to order another drink. She asked, "Weeelll, wshut aboot mee?"
I answered, "Ok. I'm not sure what you said, but I will order you one."
"Sthankss, E havve tooo goo bathhroooms."
As soon as she walked away, I said to the bartender, "Hey, hold the gin on that one."
She smiled, poured only tonic into her glass and got a fresh beer for yours truly.
Captain Hyena returned, grabbed her drink, and sipped on it furiously like she was out in the desert for 3 days with Jim Morrison. She looked at me, looked at her drink, and asked, "What kind of gin is this? It's delicious!"
I replied, "I think she gave you some top shelf shit. I've had it before. It's so smooth you can barely taste it."
I don't drink gin. At all.
She drank her cocktail, happy as a clam and sucking down the entire thing in a matter of a few minutes. She commented, "Man. I think that drink put me over the top! I'm really drunk now!"
Notice how her speech improved? The wonders of tonic. Only tonic.
She leaned over the bar and called out to the bartender, "That drink was sooooooooo good! Can you make me another just like it?"
The bartender looked at me, grinned and turned her back to make the drink. She served it, we exchanged a wink and a giggle, and off to the races Captain Hyena went on her drink. Wowsers.
I decided after that night that I would always order my own drinks. Silly girls wanting guys to order for them.
