Light my Fire

"Why pay rent when you can own?" they say. "Tax write-offs, pride of ownership, moving up in life" they preach. What happened to the grad school dream Jim? What happened to "let's drink all the 150 beers in this bar over summer and get our names on that plaque"? Where's that Mustang I promised the salesman I'd buy? Where's my Kawasaki Ninja? What happened to the 23 year old who bought 10 people shots and shouted "what's my name?" and had them all chant it? Screw all that, what happened to the "buyer's market"? Almost feels like I'm begging people to sell me their home. Home owner, here's a hint - if your stupid condo has sat there unsold for a year, while all your neighbors got theirs, maybe it's not the market it's you.


Last Thursday, my big German friend, Haans (not his real name) thundered "I'll have just 1 beer more. 2, if you guys are funny". A beer later, he must have decided we were fuckin' hilarious because he bought us margaritas, one after the other - each bigger than my skull. We were all 3 down in under half an hour. The margaritas are big enough to drown in, and the bar limits its patrons to 3 per head. How about that for a forbidden taste? Last call is the imminent threat of sobriety and knowledge of the passing time only hastens the drinking pace. Considering 2 of my friends were driving I suggested we "just get some air, lets chill".

In the next 40 minutes, we had consumed approximately 4 double shots of whiskey each. My memories of the night begin to fade after that. A creepy guy hit on one of my friends. She entertained his conversation, much to our collective shock and disgust. I argued with the bartenders about their poor scotch selection - I'm not sure who won. Haans almost picked up a fight with the creepy perv, but when you lose count of the number of drinks in your system, you tend to lose focus real quick too. Closing doors had us bounced out soon. I wasn't done with the "establishment" yet. I avoided 2 bouncers, got back in, stammered and mumbled and got some water. Only for it to be snatched away at the door because they thought it was vodka. Dumbasses.

I woke up the next day at 10 AM, still drunk. Called in sick, hoped Haans survived and went back to sleep. Woke up at 3:30 again, and my head and stomach were starting to speak up. "It's the mixing man, always fucks me up" I mumbled to myself since the kid wasn't talking to me anymore.  "Never again!" I declared while feebly munching at a big burrito.

And then it was Saturday night the next day.