Sometimes We Just Need Some Whiskey...

It was one of those nights where one word sets the tone. Force and I looked at each other with grumbled demeanor and uttered "Whiskey?". With a nod it was off to find a dive bar to set the backdrop for the much needed rant fest to come. A celebratory day for me as I was rid of the passive aggressive man-child that was my couch squatter and finally turning in a research project only 4 days after the class ended. It was also Dustin's Saturday which in itself deserved the clink and knock of a shot.As I stood outside of B-Side finishing my red, a guy comes out. He stops, looks at me then turns and walks away. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him turn and slowly walk back. The Seattle in me kicked in as I prepared myself for the "hey, you got an extra cigarette?" (Which by the way, no, I never have an extra fucking cigarette. My pack that I bought with the change left over from my measly server's paycheck that I worked my ass off for, didn't accidentally come with 21 in the pack.) Oddly enough it was to say hi and ask how work was. We must have known each other for years and I'd somehow forgotten. More on him later.

Finding Dustin in a darkened corner booth, we started off the night by....honestly, cant remember shit from those first 15, good ol R&R robbed me of those memories. We somehow went down the path of family, it may have been fueled by my mother's descent upon my studio apartment with no 'return home' date insight. Swapping stories of crazed grandmothers and how we come by our alcoholic tendencies honestly, led us to vulgar rants filled with tangents, back tracking, lewd hand gestures, and boisterous explanations of our favorite idiots; co-workers, roommates, and other cuntly humanoids. 

As the conversation progressed and we chain smoked our way through more R&R and beer, tallies of Rainier for myself and pints of PBR for him, I spot my friend from earlier in the evening. Approaching me to rudely interrupt Dustin and what I'm sure was a beautifully cynicism-filled nugget of life in the food industry, he stops at our table, opens his jacket and reveals his 22 of pyramid to me. He slurs at me that it's ok, he had just gone grocery shopping and that he promises not to drink it in the bar but he just wanted me to know so I wouldn't be mad at him. Eyes half open and slightly swaying, he assures me he would never disrespect me or B-Side, he just loves that bar too much. He apologizes and mumbles he's leaving after wishing us a good night. I guess I had also forgotten I was an employee of B-Side along with the fact that him and I are old chums.

All in all a successful night as we had not only accomplished filling our livers with whiskey but completely lost the time from 9:36 to 1:11 somewhere between the patio and the bar. Stumbling home at 2:30 after the inevitable "just one more shot", relishing the fact that I've once again screwed myself with my 5:30 am wake up taunting me, I happily thought to myself, Who needs a therapist when you have booze and good friends?