My Massholes Came Out

I had just worked thirteen days straight and was in dire need of a night to relax and a morning not woken up by an alarm clock. I was working so much I had no chance to relax at night. But as soon as I finished all my jobs on that Saturday afternoon I went into full weekend mode.

I got home, grabbed a beer for the shower and started my weekend. When I got out of the shower I only did one thing productive and that was brushing my teeth. After that I planted my ass on the couch, kicked my feet up, and enjoyed having my boots off. There was beer in the fridge and food in the cabinet, I had everything I needed to do nothing for the rest of the night.

That was until my buddy asked me if I wanted to go out that night with him. Without hesitation I was in and he made his way over to my place to pregame. He didn’t drink much beer but he was down to take some shots of Jack before we went out. Which if he was pouring them I was having one. I would never turn down a shot, especially when it’s my Jack to begin with, you bet your ass I’m having some and using my beer as my chaser.

When we went out to my bar, as soon as I took my first step onto the rooftop I could feel myself succumb to my inner Masshole. It was my first night off and needless to say I was enjoying it the only way I knew how, by drinking like there’s no alarm clock tomorrow. We took down shot after shot at my bar, before we figured we’d hop to another bar to feel out the vibe.

These are the last things I remember. The night is mostly a blur but I remember vaguely having to talk my way out of a fight at some point after someone didn’t appreciate my douchey humor as much as I did. Fortunately nothing happened and we figured we’d hang out at the outside bar instead.

It was a good idea until I saw a different guy at this bar leave his date to go to the bathroom while she paid for their tab. That didn’t jive with me so I moved his chair out of the way and asked, “Are you really paying for your date?” I never made a girl pay or split a check with me while we were out so it was baffling to me. Between giving her a hard time about paying for her date and flirting with her, I was basically saying that there was no way I’d ever let that happen if we went out for a date. (Not that I have money or anything, just the gentlemen in me) Then once her boyfriend came back we went our separate ways and my buddy and I found ourselves on our way to another bar.

This is where it all goes dark. I only know this from my friend telling me the next afternoon. I guess we saw the same girl that was on the date at the new bar we went to. I must have said something smooth like, “Look at us running into each other again.” When in reality I don’t think I could have even formed a comprehensible sentence with all this devil’s juice flowing through my veins. Evidently, for what my buddy said, she and I started making out in the middle of the bar. Something I never do, but that night I was that drunk guy at the bar.

I guess I tried to exchange numbers with her but she said no. I must have been such a sloppy kisser or something. So my buddy and I scurried out of there to another bar. He led the way as I stumbled behind him following him. I don’t remember a lick of any of this. Apparently at the next bar I was talking to this older girl and somehow managed to get her number. I only noticed it when she dialed it and saved it in my phone at one am that morning. I texted her today knowing nothing about her. Thank God she saved her name in my phone when she put her number in my phone, at least I know her name.

I went home after this. I had to go home by this time, I could barely stand on my own two feet. My buddy had to walk me to my apartment to make sure I got in safe that night. I was that bad. I woke up the next day in my jeans from last night, I had one shoe on, and the light was still shining in my room. I had a pounding headache that lasted until today, Tuesday, and woke up to a text from a friend that I must have saw last night saying, “Maybe we can hangout if you don’t call me a schizophrenic again”

I was a mess the other night and I’m surprised I didn’t wake up with two black eyes. I guess I somehow smoothed talked my way into a kissing session at the bar, someone’s number who could be sixty years old for all because I truly can’t remember a thing. I don’t even remember insulting my friend calling her crazy. I’ve been trying to take her on a real date, why would I shoot myself in the foot like that. I only hope that that version of me didn’t burn too many bridges and that one of these girls actually wants to go on a date with me.

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