I'm in recovery today. I've been partying since Thursday and I think my liver is about to explode. Well, not really, but it can't be good. After work Friday night, a group of us young-ins from the office headed down to the Missouri Lounge on San Pablo Avenue in Berkeley. It's on my way home, so I figured one PBR wouldn't be a bad idea. Plus, there's nothing like bonding with coworkers over some shit-talking and cheap beer at a hipster dive bar.
We all had the $5 special: a shot of bottom-shelf whiskey with a PBR can chaser. I double-fisted the shot of whiskey with the can of beer. We all did though, so I didn't feel totally uncool. One PBR can turned into 2 and then three. I knew I had to get out of there before I got totally drunk and started flirting with one of the cute boys I work with. That's just a no-no for me. But I do work with some very attractive and charismatic people.
The party continued on Saturday. One of my coworkers had his first gig as a DJ in a Chinatown cave. Seriously. The place was dark when I arrived with another coworker and her friend. We honestly thought the creepy Chinese bartender going down the stairs was going to kill us. So, we ran back to the lounge area to listen to the soothing sounds of the '70s. The bar jukebox was playing Neil Diamond when we walked in and "Nights in White Satin" when our guest DJ found us. Dude, how often do you hear The Moody Blues at a bar in Chinatown? After my second vodka-Red Bull and the jukebox's selection of The Village People hits, we all agreed it was time to conquer the dragon that might be lurking downstairs in the dungeon. People were looking at us funny for doing the hand gestures to YMCA as if we were at some barmitzva. I forgot how uptight people in San Francisco are.
We stumbled downstairs to find our DJ buddy's pals handing out glow sticks. Oh, wow. I was waiting for them to start handing out hits of ex. That never happened, but there was dancing. Oh, yes, there was lots of dancing which apparently justified our mass consumption of liquor. I almost felt 21 for a split second, except that I was with somewhat more mature people than I had known when I was that age. It's great when people actually take turns buying rounds of drinks and shots of whiskey.
Downstairs was where the action was though. By 10 pm, the bottom dance floor was full of my coworker's friends and frat brothers. A room full of cute young frat boys, oh my. I haven't danced that much since drum and bass nights at Cat Club back in 2001. I was definitely one of the oldest people there. (Except the cougar that found a cub to latch on to.) But I don't mind, I act and look like I could still be 25. I didn't think I could still dance. And to be honest, I'm paying for it now. I'm in so much pain. But he spun some really awesome shit, so it made it less painful.
The bar kicked us out right after last call when the music stopped abruptly. A group of us headed back to my coworker's place a few blocks up on Stockton Street to the tallest building in Chinatown. There was cake, more drinks, the biggest bong I have ever seen and the best view of The City I have ever seen. I took a picture with my camera phone but it didn't do justice. We're talking 15th floor with a direct view of the Pyramid and Bay Bridge looking out to Treasure Island and Berkeley. I could have stayed on the balcony forever with the Coit Tower to the left and Twin Peaks to the right.
Good thing it wasn't a clear night otherwise I would have never gotten off the balcony, which would have worked just perfect for me because after pret
ending to take a bong hit (I was the designated driver), the apartment became like an episode of "The Real World". My companions were slightly baked, so they thought it was just the weed that was making them paranoid and freaked out about drama. I reassured them that I was completely sober and was still weirded out.
That was pretty much our cue to leave anyways since it was 4 a.m. and I live out in the boonies. I feel like after two years of living out here in the East Bay, I'm finally starting to find some cool people to hang out with. Not that I would do this every week, but it's good to know I still can.
We all had the $5 special: a shot of bottom-shelf whiskey with a PBR can chaser. I double-fisted the shot of whiskey with the can of beer. We all did though, so I didn't feel totally uncool. One PBR can turned into 2 and then three. I knew I had to get out of there before I got totally drunk and started flirting with one of the cute boys I work with. That's just a no-no for me. But I do work with some very attractive and charismatic people.
The party continued on Saturday. One of my coworkers had his first gig as a DJ in a Chinatown cave. Seriously. The place was dark when I arrived with another coworker and her friend. We honestly thought the creepy Chinese bartender going down the stairs was going to kill us. So, we ran back to the lounge area to listen to the soothing sounds of the '70s. The bar jukebox was playing Neil Diamond when we walked in and "Nights in White Satin" when our guest DJ found us. Dude, how often do you hear The Moody Blues at a bar in Chinatown? After my second vodka-Red Bull and the jukebox's selection of The Village People hits, we all agreed it was time to conquer the dragon that might be lurking downstairs in the dungeon. People were looking at us funny for doing the hand gestures to YMCA as if we were at some barmitzva. I forgot how uptight people in San Francisco are.
We stumbled downstairs to find our DJ buddy's pals handing out glow sticks. Oh, wow. I was waiting for them to start handing out hits of ex. That never happened, but there was dancing. Oh, yes, there was lots of dancing which apparently justified our mass consumption of liquor. I almost felt 21 for a split second, except that I was with somewhat more mature people than I had known when I was that age. It's great when people actually take turns buying rounds of drinks and shots of whiskey.
Downstairs was where the action was though. By 10 pm, the bottom dance floor was full of my coworker's friends and frat brothers. A room full of cute young frat boys, oh my. I haven't danced that much since drum and bass nights at Cat Club back in 2001. I was definitely one of the oldest people there. (Except the cougar that found a cub to latch on to.) But I don't mind, I act and look like I could still be 25. I didn't think I could still dance. And to be honest, I'm paying for it now. I'm in so much pain. But he spun some really awesome shit, so it made it less painful.
The bar kicked us out right after last call when the music stopped abruptly. A group of us headed back to my coworker's place a few blocks up on Stockton Street to the tallest building in Chinatown. There was cake, more drinks, the biggest bong I have ever seen and the best view of The City I have ever seen. I took a picture with my camera phone but it didn't do justice. We're talking 15th floor with a direct view of the Pyramid and Bay Bridge looking out to Treasure Island and Berkeley. I could have stayed on the balcony forever with the Coit Tower to the left and Twin Peaks to the right.
Good thing it wasn't a clear night otherwise I would have never gotten off the balcony, which would have worked just perfect for me because after pret
ending to take a bong hit (I was the designated driver), the apartment became like an episode of "The Real World". My companions were slightly baked, so they thought it was just the weed that was making them paranoid and freaked out about drama. I reassured them that I was completely sober and was still weirded out.That was pretty much our cue to leave anyways since it was 4 a.m. and I live out in the boonies. I feel like after two years of living out here in the East Bay, I'm finally starting to find some cool people to hang out with. Not that I would do this every week, but it's good to know I still can.
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