Pizza and a Crisis

Saturday, July 21st, 11-2:30am



I had a crisis hot line situation with my friend Betsy, so I knew I was being drafted into the alcoholic brigade. I reported to Slice on Northside promptly at 1100 hour, or as promptly as public transportation allowed. It didn't seem to be a particularly noteworthy evening, with the evening being based around a crisis hot line situation, but I toted my camera along, just in case. Enough alcohol makes anything noteworthy.

I was met at the door by Betsy's tough love enforcer, Nicole (an sweet sort of sergeant, by my estimation) three sheets to the fucking wind on the patio. She was with some guy, K, who was playing the waiting game.

Nicole is a charming drunk, one that always good for a dance, but this was a crisis hot line time. This wasn't a time for a celebratory drunk, but a hunkering fog of alcohol. Betsy had abandoned the open air patio for the claustrophobic confines of the bar. Elbows up on the wood, chin poked down, Betsy was hunkering down for a real booze. I needed a catchup, although I usually would drink beer in these type of situations, yet I still asked the barkeep for a vodka and bull. Unfortunately I have some sort of ID snafu I really would rather not get into now, I can't drink in some places because of lack of identification. This led directly to me being rejected for drinking rights. The night seemed to be heading for a wash.

Betsy left to handle the biz in the ladies' room. So I had time to reflect on something I had seen on the porch. Boobs: I had met some somewhere, somewhere on the porch. Yeah, Nicole had introduced me to boobs on the patio, but I was too focused on a friend in need. The boobs were remarkable, the had an amazing wobble on top that seemed like the collapse of a jello dome. Now the rest of this human with boobs attached was aight, you know nice smile, but I was ready to do the do anyways. She was towing an anchor, but I was going business casual about my approach so I figured I would be ok.

Betsy returned and we got down to the gritty business of her crisis. It was gruesome, but that's none of your business what was transacted. But during this idle, we were joined by Nicole and K. Miraculously, through the miracle of social networking through the notorious Nicole, the barkeep saw fit to outfit me with refreshment. Now I kicked it into overdrive. Me and Betsy went all Reflection Eternal over the sauce and the good barkeep saw to it that my glass never hit empty. It was all so let the good times roll. But Nicole was finally succumbing to the liquors joys and needed a drunk's nap. An expeditious exit was on the horizon, but when the exit was attempted, Nicole had drinker's regret and returned to the bar for another drink.

I was now obligated by the Guy Handbook to hit on Booby Mcgee. I approach her about taking a picture after trying blurrier to take serendipitous pics, but the anchor called me a creep for even asking such a question. I have to admit it may be a creepy request, but I know better about myself. The Jello Wall was obviously amused by my request, but the Cold War still continued. I walked away. The situation just didn't call for the effort.

Now was the time to leave. We had Heather waiting anyways. But before we could collect Nicole, Officer Jello demanded tribute of a drink. I acquiesced because truly there were no hard feelings: just another day on the job for Officer Jello. Also, she was on the edge of my fucking index and she was giving me way too much attention for me to be a creep.

But her thinly fell apart after the giving of tribute, because she was trying to flirt through trial and error. This was really distracting me away from what this night was about, which was supporting my ace. I tried to excuse myself, but the anchor was now on my leg, whipping me with quips. My masculinity was being Caviezelized. I actually enjoyed the night. I enjoyed Slice. I enjoyed the quips. But it was time to leave.

The rest of the night was quiet....we picked up Heather, deposited Nicole, and shared an unenthused pitcher at the Righteous Room. By the way, why can't that place get its act together? The crowd tries way to hard for it's own good, in everything from the clientele, decor, and staff. You just don't get it.

Question to readers: I thought about including a glossary of terms, yea or no way.