Sometimes expensive beer sets the record straight

Ooh, aside from having to show face at the job today and get harassed over my obviously ridiculous ponytail all day by my rather unforgiving coworkers, the evening picked up like all evenings oughtta pick up: with serious fun and genuine affection. The always fabulous (albeit slightly misguided) Missy, the always-rocking Bex, and the incredible edible Ed waited for me long enough at the Melting Pot to share in some dark chocolate goodness and a delicious glass of pinot noir -- needless to say, the conversation was good and heartfelt. People who for a fucking change of pace actually matter! Attaboy Ed!
Then, cuz my alcoholic heart knows no boundary, the most delicious roommates in all of K-Town came on over (them being of course, Sarah and Mels), we picked up Chris L and jetted out to The Room -- which, if you will all remember, Jesse, my bro Dan, Jose, and myself tried to find a couple of weeks ago rather unsuccessfully (though to a certain degree, being propositioned by a gay guy at 4:15 am is some kind of success were I to swing that way) -- and it was fucking fabulous! Tiny and quaint and anchored by my newest and most favorite beer peddler in the world, Nina! What a good person! It was also nice meeting and greeting with the very trustworthy Maribel and Ivan. Delicious beers from across the world were imbibed till the cantankerous crew of Gabe, Andrew, and Rachel showed up and we took it on down to the Buck 15... which I had last set foot in for the Mark Mothersbaugh exhibit with a former friend and the one and only Tom Smokedog. It was reggae night! Sarah and Mels wasted no time getting the dance on and I gots to shaking... Chris L baby, you're gonna hafta shake that thaang at some point [STOP FUCKING THINKING!!!]. But the reggae wouldn't last for long since we were trying to hook it with Jesse for some assisted shenanigans... and boy would we be surprised when we headed out to the Marlin and I bumped into my old lost pal Francesco! Motherfucker looked just like Jughead from Screeching Weasel, down to the hat and hair but sans the thespian flair. More dancing, more drinking, and Jesse finally showed up with the always tactfully and adeptly dressed Jacques and crew (Allison and BJ) -- not to mention that Jesse looked very nice as well.
But at this point we had to call it quits cuz there is a job tomorrow and because a certain degree of decorum must apparently be maintained. Out of South Beach we headed into the ugly suburban wilderness of West K-Town and found out Los Perros on Bird and 133rd closes at some point during the night, dropped Chris L home, and then got hit with the no-chimichanga hell of Ernesto's on 88th and 107th being closed as well. What the fuck?! The ladies were hungry and I wanted another beer.
But in the way of a for instance, apologies for not updating these last few days... the weekend merged into one long and exciting day and since I couldn't differentiate between the hour's change, I thought it best to leave it alone. Know this: the fury of Lionel Tate not being your hubby is rearing its ugly head on cyberspace, the pavement stayed out, the fluids in, and your humble narrator is gonna be very happy this fuckmachine has a spellchecker embedded in it. Not unlike slow barges on the dredge. Or some such shit.
For those interested: Chris L will suffer the fate of the Phoenix tomorrow night and rise on an eight hour trip over the weekend. What? Fuck it -- find us between the Magic City's dynamic Downtown district and the Beach tomorrow night. Maybe Sunday I'll remember. Maybe not. Brilliant eternity will flower with guilt... and I most certainly don't have the time.