(Please read the prior post before reading this... I've chronologically documented my night lolz)
Once I had made it to my party, I needed a fucking shot. People didn't start arriving until a few minutes after myself, so I thought I'd buy a round and get to know my bartenders. Well, fuck. The one girl looked weirdly familiar to me. After I ordered a round from the other bartender, I asked the one in question what her name was. She is named after a fucking desert...and I knew exactly who she was. Months ago, at some frattastic, Motown club, I met some friends for drinks. Normally, I go places where I easily get served, since I know many bartenders. Not the case at this joint. I waited, patiently, for twenty minutes to be served... all while people came and went RIGHT NEXT TO ME. The bartender: desert bitch.
Now, I legitimately waited patiently, even going so far as to flash my Louis Vuitton wallet, hoping that would attract a server... I mean, it's real, so they can assume I'm of the upper-class. I won't mind. I did not get served that night. Not acceptable with Dylsny, so I left the establishment and have since never been back. The next week, the same bartender happened to be standing behind me in line for another bar. Drunkenly, I turned around and asked, "Hey, what's your name?" When she responded as being the desert bitch, I sassily remarked, "Ohh yeah, you bartend at Lux... you fucking suck. You legitimately fucking suck as a bartender."
I couldn't believe this girl was bartending my party. She knew exactly who I was and now realized she needed to suck up to me. It was fanfuckingtastic. I ended up pretty much avoiding the bar that night, because shots were being bought for me, so I didn't mind she was there. I'll let it slide.
The party had a great turn out, from what I've been told and who I remember seeing. The deal was that people inside my party would be allowed to go upstairs to the other bar for free, avoiding the cover charge. But, before I know it, mass chaos breaks out. I was literally being kicked out of my own party. Myself and all my party-goers were very confused. Apparently, someone in a green beanie let himself into the champagne storage closet and took a bottle for himself. Are you fucking kidding me? I still haven't figured out who the prick is, and if I do, I will unleash an unimaginable hell upon him. I bet he was one of the randos who wasn't even invited and lurking around my pretty friends. This is not acceptable.
Once we were cleared out, I found out they were charging us all to get into the bar upstairs. No, not me. I wasn't standing for this. Although it was my favorite bar in Motown, and it was my fucking birthday party, I was not paying to go upstairs. Instead, I decided to follow some friends to Joe Mama's... the bar I don't fuck with. It's whatever, I don't remember being there, didn't spend a dime, and left the establishment after a short period of time.
My night is still in pieces from the time before I was kicked out of my party all the way to bringing a regular hookup of mine home. My friend, and part-time roommate, Juanita, had left my party early because she worked at 7 am in a town 45 minutes away. I let her have my bed that night and I slept on the extra mattress in my living room, with regular hookup guy. Thank god I realized in my drunken state that I did, in fact, have more friends coming home to stay that night. I respectfully clothed myself before passing out and waking to a herd of six friends moments later.
We all crashed in different areas of my living room and woke at 8 AM. 8 fucking AM. I was sandwiched between "hookup" and my friend, Logan. Weird thing, though, I vaguely remembered my other friend, Seth, falling asleep next to me. Apparently, Seth was weirded out by myself and "hookup", so he switched with Logan. Valid. I would be too. But, for the record, I did not touch "hookup" a single time after my friends got home. I'm respectable, I wouldn't do that in front of my friends. But really, I wouldn't. PDA makes me cringe. Being hugged, touched, or any type of physical contact, makes me cringe.
We woke up, my friends, Susie (remember her?) and Canada decided to keep their drunk going, and started taking shots of whiskey then and there. Drunken Canada came in handy a couple hours later, when I found an array of hubcaps dropping off a friend from lunch. Normally, in broad daylight, I wouldn't mind getting a hubcap from the side of the road, or I'd just mentally note it and come back at dark. This, was a special circumstance. There were literally SIX hubcaps within feet of each other. Canada offered her hubcap-retrieving assistance, and gathered ALL of them up! It was by far the greatest thing I've witnessed. Now, I have a whole trunk full. It made my fucking day! haha
-DMS
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