punks and puking

Sunday I worked a double, and I made bank, and I was happy. My friend Mackie invited me out for a few drinks at the local dive bar in somerville. Wait, maybe that’s unkind to say. First off, it may be a dive but there are great people over at Sligo, hard working people, and down to earth people. People who enjoy the rolling stones, my kind of people. Anyway, I’m throwing a few back with my friend and time is passing as it tends to do. And as the night progressed I got drunker and drunker. I remember a car bomb, being one of the last drinks I had.
Also that night I learned what a black and tan was. I always thought it was just a delicious drink served in a chilled glass with Guiness and Bass. Little did I know that a Black and Tan was a soldier who infiltrated the Irish brood and gave up their secrets or some shit, (I was wasted). Also I learned that a black and tan substituting Sam Adams for Bass is delicious. I also learned the correct pronunciation of Smithwicks, and that me drinking it made me a pansy, or something like that…(I was drunk).
Mackie comes off like an idiot most of the time, but I learned he could be quite deep, but thats here nor there. I also learned that Perez can’t keep his eyes open long enough to insult you after twelve or so bud lights.
Anyway, it was time to go. I had heard my Rolling Stones songs, and was drunk enough for me to pass out comfortably next to the loving body of my girlfriend Lisa.
That night would not be so easy. So me and Mackie are outside, (and by the way, I realize me and Mackie is grammatically correct, this blog isn’t for grammar nazis) and we get in the cab. Now I had been sitting most of the time, periodically going out to smoke, but mostly sitting. That is when I learned the golden rule of drinking. If your going to drink and drink alot, stand up. Makes sense.
So we get in the cab, and I begin to projectile vomit the soup and salad I had at work that night. The cabbie, didn’t seem too pissed, and asked if I wanted to stop. Not stop puking, nothing would stop that. I say to him, no keep going. The minute he puts his foot on the accelerator, I start puking again. This happened four or five times till I got to my house.
I stumbled up the stairs, and passed out in the shower, Lisa was not happy that day. I imagine after being in the shower for three hours, periodically dry heaving, not only does the water turn cold, but you also piss off your girlfriend.

and that was Sunday.

The next day I went to work early to buy new pants. Self explanatory, yeah, I puked on them. So I get through the day with great ease. I come back at five o’clock after breaking up and making up with Lisa, and everything is cool. She was overtired, I puked in a cab, it all made sense, we didn’t have the best night. So we make up, and I go to work. I borrow her car, think nothing of it. Lock the door, go to work.
Flash Forward about five hours, I walk out of work, feeling tired yet good, because I had a good night, people were cool, made some money. I was happy. I walk out to the car, unlock the door, and put my bag on the passenger side seat. That’s when I noticed the glass.
There was glass everywhere. I walked around the side of the car, and to my dismay, BAM! the window has been smashed in, and there is glass everywhere. I freak out, thinking “shit, what am I going to do now?” I look around the car shell shocked and notice that not only is the GPS gone but also Lisa’s IPOD and other things.
I run back to Bertucci’s get my manager Gio. A stand up guy let me tell you. He stayed with me the whole time till the cops got there. I’m telling you this guy is great. A Cambridge Police officer came to the scene, and he was a pretty nice guy. I was relieved about that. Anyway, that day sucked.

So that’s my week so far, puke and punks.

just another jagged thought by Jason

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