The Bar Tender's Magic Trick

My weekend was somewhat non-eventful except for the fact that I got so fucked up on Saturday night I ended up sleeping on my bathroom floor using a dirty towel as my pillow.

My boy Corner Sleeper and I went out to Zanzibar in Santa Monica and I got a little too faded. The problem with Zanzibar is that they have a sexy bar tender that has made it her new hobby in life to ensure that I go home completely belligerent. Combine that with the fact that there were no other attractive women in the whole spot and I was in for a long night.

I started off with the good old Vodka and Red Bull (it’s a tribute to J-3) then was given a Vodka and Cranberry, then another Vodka and Red Bull. Then I decided to just order a shot of Patron with the next Vodka and Red Bull. I think this is where the downhill spiral started. After this I remember two things about being at the bar:

1. Asking the bar tender what she recommended I drink and it being a Margarita that would have sent a small child home in a stretcher, and:
2. The bar tender pulling my phone number out of her bra in some sort of apparent miracle/amazing magic trick. It was truly incredible. How did she get my number in her bra?

So as we proceed to leave, Corner Sleeper suggested that we stop at Jack in the Box. Just like any other drunken night at 2:30 a.m., it sounded like a great idea. But I had to piss and the line at Jack in the Crack is about ten cars deep. If I was a cop, I would just go to Jack in the Box at 2:00 a.m. and hand out D.U.I.'s with each order of curly fries.



I decided to get out of the car and piss in the parking lot, which is probably not smart considering that there are at least 15 people in plain view. Lucky for me, I also felt like throwing up and although I was willing to piss in front of everyone, I didn’t want to hurl in front of everyone.

So I headed down the alley and around the corner, laid down in someone’s front lawn and threw up about four times in the street. I also decided that I was just going to lay down there until Corner Sleeper got all the food. I guess in my drunken stupor I was assuming that he knew exactly where I was laying down in some random person’s lawn. Sure enough, he pulled through the alley and I stumbled back to the car.

Corner Sleeper: “You cool dog?”
Me: “Never been better.”