Jenna's House of Idiosyncrasies Version 10.0 [Focus.]

Me with Martin and Blake, my new friends in the armed forces.

While making time with Sam and Jason at Washington Street Tavern last night, I met these young men, who are in the Navy protecting our asses.

They were some of the most hilarious drunks that I have ever met. I haven't been that entertained in quite a long time. In the words of Blake, “Do you feel safe, having met Martin?”

They are coming back to town in April and we are so going to hang.

Pictures from last night on flickr.

You know you are way too comfortable in your grown-upness when you proceed to get drunk with/in front of your father.

On Friday, the rock star played the big open mic finals at Washington Street Tavern, a place with cute bartenders and strong drinks.

You can see where this is leading.

My Dad was in attendance, and he had allowed a few other people to buy him drinks before I arrived at about 11:00. My favorite conversation of this evening? My Dad saw me pulling out my cash, counting and preparing to head to the bar. He looked at me like a six-year-old expectly naming off their birthday wishlist (let us not forget that my father doesn't drink often), a goofy, wide smile on his face.

“Jenna, I need another drink and I don't have any money.”

He shrugged innocently, the sappy grin still plastered to his face. I stared at him, dumbfounded. This was, in my tipsy father's eyes, a request to make the order more specific.

Giggling like a school girl, he offered, “I'd like a mixed drink, please.”

I relented. I do have some very favorable genetic material from this gentleman, afterall. “Long Island?”

“What's that?”

“It's what I'm getting, so it's what you're getting.”

“All right!” Dad laughed heartily.

I was on my second or third Long Island at that point. I had four or five before we left Washington Street. There are a few reasons for drinking that heavily, some of it needing to ignore things and people that are not going the way you want, some it it being a Friday following a long, exhausting week, but most of it being charming bartenders that wink at you coyly everytime you tip.

A couple other priceless father-daughter moments, both after all of my drinks had been consumed:

1. Dad, smiling uncomfortably: “Uh-oh, you just dropped the F-bomb in front of your father.”
   Me, too intoxicated to regulate: “Shit, I was hoping you'd be too drunk to notice!”
2. Dad, commenting on the 30 degree weather and the fact that I am only in a T-shirt: “Aren't you cold?”
   Me, smiling with delight: “I can't feel my fingers. I'm not worried about it.”

I know I went to the Grill with my father after that. I don't remember what we talked about.

I don't think I want to remember.

I had not intended to go out last night. I was going out, but the plan was not to “go out”—I was going to run down to Lunch Paper and see the Outfit play at about 9:30, then get some real food (as my body was reeling from eating cheesecake for breakfast and a small bowl of mashed potatoes for lunch), bring it home to eat and watch a movie. I was going to take it easy, maybe having a glass of Bailey's for dessert.

I don't know why I bother to construct plans for myself. I don't follow through with my own resolve.

Melissa called to ask me if I was bringing anyone with me (to gauge how big of a table we might need) and named off the existing members of the party thus far. One member was particulary of interest to me, and I decided I would not be returning home right after the show. So I made myself a small, quick sandwich, chomped it down while getting ready, brushed my teeth and was out the door.

[An aside: I somehow got out of paying the $3 cover at Lunch Paper. I'm not certain how; I just walked up the doorguy, said “Hey.” and he said “Hey.” and smiled and gestured for me to go inside, no id check or cover necessary. I have my suspicions why, however, and it bolstered my self esteem. Thankfully, it would be deflated again in a matter of minutes.]

I ordered my first Long Island and sat down with my group. We couldn't see the band (the set up of Lunch Paper is such that if people are standing in front of the “stage”, there is no way you are going to see the performance from any other part of the bar) but we grooved anyway. Emily, Greg and Danny threw Reese's Pieces at one another while Melissa and I watched. I protected my Long Island from target practice, but others were not so lucky with thier beverages, and soon there was candy in beer, which I imagine, doesn't actually taste that good.

“It's like babysitting children!” Melissa mused.

“Three drunk children.” I pointed out.

“Aw, my three drunk children.”

“You're such a great mom.”

After the set the four of us walked outside to meet Abie, and then the whole group walked back up Washington Street discussing what we should do now. No one had any good ideas, and we ended up standing at the corner of College and Washington, in front of the smoke shop, talking about how cold we all were and watching Emily, Danny, and Greg try to do handstands. Emily actually does a decent handstand, even after a Long Island Iced Tea.

Finally, I made a decision. We headed to Washington Street Tavern. We went in, and I went to use the restroom while everyone else went downstairs where it was (presumably) less crowded. I headed down there, hit the last step, was greeted with a definitely less-than-pleasant smell, and my whole group came towards me, declaring that they can't stay here. I concurred, and we walked back outside, way back to the other end of town to Flicker. At Flicker, I got a terribly made $7 Long Island, and we sat outside chatting it up. I stood against the railing, smoking. I finished my drink quickly and began (unconsciously, I swear) leaning towards the gentleman I'm interested in. He began (consciously, I'm sure) leaning away. This did not make me happy. You see, I was trying to re-enact some previous events involving this gentleman, and he was having none of it.

I foolishly held out hope as we headed to Room 13. I started a tab, bought myself my third Long Island, and then waltzed over to where my group was playing foosball, and attempted to buy the gentleman a drink. He declined. If it was obvious that nothing was going to happen before, it was definitive now. So I did as I've been conditioned to, and attempted to drown my sorrows. I bought another Long Island. I had barely started it when my group decided they we were leaving, so despite insistence that there was no need to finish it, I gulped the whole drink as my roommates watched in horror.

That is how Abie came to be sitting on the bathroom floor with me at 3:00 am. I wasn't so sick that my stomach was compelled to get the contents out, rather, I was compelled to get the contents out of my stomach, and did so by mostly by sheer will, but with the aid of a functioning gag reflex. Abie, further proving her qualification for sainthood, fed me water and crackers, brought me my pajamas, put up with my terrific moaning and talked to me for a long time until she was sure I was fit for bed. I continuously apologized for needing to be cared for and she pointed out that this was only the second time since we had been living together that I have been so sick I couldn't care for myself. This made me feel better, but not less rejected.

I'm going to be avoiding booze for at least a little while. This morning I woke up still feeling residual effects of three days of heavy drinking. I quiped to Abie in frustration, “My legs say, ‘I don't work!’ and I say ‘Yeah you do! I'm sober now, hello?!?’ My head's not drunk but my body refuses to accept it.”

As with most of my weekends, I went out and spent too much money and had more fun than I deserve.

Friday, Sarah played a GMIA Open Mic at Washingston Street Tavern. Sarah swept away the competition, of course, but that is no surprise. What was surprising was how damn cool Washington Street Tavern is. I bonded with one of the bartenders, Zack, and ended up going back Saturday night, taking the Indian with me. Zack made me a drink of his own creation, a Grape Juice, which while tasting exactly like grape juice does not contain any grape juice but does contain a shitload of tequila.

This drink is awesome.

We called up various peoples trying to get a group together, and while many people shut us down (turns out it was a low key night for everyone?) we did manage to rope in Abie and Sabrina, who demanded to actually be mentioned by name in these pages next time.

Are you happy? You are totally in now.

Suffice it to say, the Indian did not come home with me that night.

I stayed late, talking to Zack, who is seriously hilarious, and then I walked my drunk ass home. After changing into my pajamas I made a sandwich and a large glass of water and sat at our new kitchen table forcing Melissa to listen to stories of my night. Melissa always, always claims to be amused. I say she is just infinitely patient.

I slammed five huge glasses of water before climbing into bed, and had some very off dreams about boys I have made out with/would like to make out with. I don't remember the details, so I guess in that respect it was very much like real life.

Zing!

Sunday was slow. I tried to study for my art history test on Monday, but without Abie as my study partner I mostly stared at the slides and went, “Huh?”

When she finally got home from work we went over to Blue Sky and Abie proceeded to carefully lecture me on Bystantine Art History, like so:

“Anyway, we are not talking about masturbation, we're talking about God.”

...

“Abie, he was nine when he was presented to the temple. I know this because—” I break out in uncontrollable laughter as I finish, “—because I am a very devout Christian.”

“Me too!”

Now neither of us can stop laughing. “I am the epitome of a good Christian.” Hysterical laughter follows. “Man, we are so about to be struck down by lightening.”

“Hasn't happened yet!”

...

“In this one, Jesus doesn't have a cock, because, you know, is he a man or a God?”

...

“Okay Jenna, why is the Virgin decorating all the altar apse post-iconoclasm?”

“Because she proves his humanity—that it's okay to depict Jesus because he was on earth, he was once a man.”

Abie gestures emphatically. “That's right! Mary popped Jesus out of her coochamarang!”

We both break out in disorderly hysterics. “I can't believe you just said that about Holy Mary Mother of God.”

“Well it's true!”