I’m fine. I’ll just dance it off.

I didn’t want to go out Saturday night. I got the call around 7:45, just as I’m browning meat for Home-Alone-Taco-Night. I’m in the shower by 8… and I get home somewhere around 5am.

Just a mild night out: I end up on some random party bus at McCarthy’s in Lakewood — McC’s was TOO mild! And the band sucked… and I ran into Cinci boy’s friends. After a couple shots, we jump on the party bus with 15-or-so Youngstown guys and head downtown. (I did NOT want to go downtown again!) We had a fucking blast! Any time you have a guy named Flounder with you, and have written bets going as to when one of the guys would throw up (mine was 3:12), you’re bound to have a good time.

I’m thinking “Bachelor party?” since we end up at Christies (yes, that Christies). I’ve had better times there. Hasn’t the construction been going on forever? I had to use a scary “woman’s” bathroom with urinals. I don’t think the girls appreciated me dancing around. Shake that ass, show me whatchu got! Thank you to the manager for covering our admission. Couple of the guys were married, but no one’s planning to on this adventure.

Ok, “Birthday Shots!” Bar Flyy was a trip as always. I think I spent most of my time waiting for a drink than actually drinking. And what is it with no one smoking anymore? Thankfully (or not) I ran into a co-worker and bummed one off her. I ran into “Patrick” — some guy I recall from a couple years ago. I think I met up with him at The Feast in Little Italy. Well, anyways, he’s hot and he had a cool shirt. I also meet the owner from Spice in Columbus and make certain to take his info down for next weekend’s adventure. (Oh yeah, the C-bus trip got bumped back a week). And oddly enough, he knows my friend down there. It wasn’t anyone’s birthday.

“Cheers! And good luck in Chicago/Denver/SanFran/Dubai!” Blind Pig. One day I have to break down and ask the cute door guy out. I always do the “smooch-smooch” on my entrance and exit, but I don’t know who he is. I’m just happy I wasn’t drunk enough to fall down the stairs. Nobody is moving away.

“We have to get food before 2am, or we’re totally not going to eat!” You know what that means: Panini’s. Beyond gross — why do I keep eating here? While waiting in line, I pick up some guy and gave him my number. Couldn’t even pick him in a line-up today even if I were hypnotized. I SAID NO FRENCH FRIES! And why is my cole slaw in a cup? I end up back at the bus with a pizza and sandwich. I look forward to all the bruising with the many times I fell down or had someone fall on me. I think every time I stood up, the bus driver purposely made a harsh manuever. I’m sure the driver was mildly irritated with us.

Then we end up in Olmsted Township. WTF? Still drinking and dancing. I pretended to know all the words to everything NWA (Dre, the motherfuckin’ doctor, bitch hopper, The sucker-motherfucker stopper, Back with a vocal track that’s a fresh one, So now, let’s get the motherfuckin’ session, Goin’, flowin’) . And I started a mosh pit when the hard stuff came on. Most of the guys were passed out and/or wasted just sitting around watching me make an ass of myself. But I do it so well! I could’ve danced until 6am. I promise you I was singing (loudly) and I probably didn’t know any of the words. It’s just what I do. Wait, did that guy just do a standing back tuck? Somewhere around 4:30 in the morning and 30-dollars-less-rich, a sure-to-remember drunken dial to Philly Steak, we cab it back to Lakewood. Sweet, the cabbie bummed me a ciggie and let me smoke in the cab! No numbers exchanged or anything. I don’t even know what we were celebrating. I hate that I forgot my camera. I hate even more that someone else didn’t.

Whoever these guys were, you make “being one of the guys” a blast.

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