Sunday, November 05, 2006
Pickin' Up The Pieces
The night, as most nights go, was young. Still progressing at a crawl and ever so often stopping and wondering where it was going. As is wont to happen, I too wondered where it was heading. The plan had been to hook up with my buddies and do a gentle drink. The word “gentle” is used here in the most liberal of ways, for the agenda did have the idea of inebriation. Suffice to say, the agenda was drawn up when we were still sober and the word “inebriation” could still make sense.
Every so often, I wondered when last, I’d had a meal. The answer, more often than not, was dinner the night past. Something kept trying to convince me that it was perfectly natural to feel the way I did before binge drinking. In fact, there was a word for it. It left it hanging and if I’d taken the time to process the message, I’d have known that the word… the feeling that wouldn’t go away was DREAD.
I met up with my cousin shortly after he was done eating. My brain took my reluctance to get food as an indication that I was fine and my stomach was content with its enzymes and all. (Unbeknownst to me, my stomach was pissed and was planning to do me in…in a collaborative move with the liver)
We joined a pal of ours who in turn introduced us to her pals. The conversation we had with her pals will go down as…well; I reckon I’d have had more fun watching a blade of grass progress through various stages of infancy…its first fold, its realization that photosynthesis was actually a good thing and the fact that it happened to possess both male and female organs was not weird, it was just expected. As the night went on, I looked around for any solitary blade of grass that wanted some attention.
Our pal on the other hand showed a great deal of concern at our pseudo discomfort (quite like discomfort, but attempts to disguise itself as a smiley face). But we downplayed it for the “normal” occurrence it was. So we got to drinking. Triple Distilled Smirnoff was our poison. I suppose the fact that it’s distilled three times implies, to those in the know, that it will floor you thrice.
A few moments later, another friend turned up. He is not much of a drinker and…actually he is not any bit a drinker, I’m being kind. He suggested we go to Al Zee (there’s product placement for you!) and take in the Rock that was…
We picked up more alcohol; because that’s the sort of thing people do…THEY MAKE MISTAKES DAMMIT! So there it was, my mistake, staring me in the face like a reflection off a rapper’s gold tooth.
I went on to drink…and drink some more. Somewhere along the line, the words Bottoms and Up were uttered in a mostly not-so-perverted way. And I think that single-handedly led to the abrupt end of my night out. …As far as I can tell.
See, I’ve been told that we left Al Zawadi and went on to Mateos and The Cheese Bar, but I haven’t the faintest recollection. I have also been told I spoke to a couple of friends at Al Zawadi, but even that does not register. I do remember handing someone a business card, but for the life of me I can’t remember why I did it. I have an idea of why I gave it away some time back (at a time when I didn’t have the prowess to fashion a note that would have had hearts melt and…stuff)..
So here I am, Picking Up The Pieces….