A report. I am still drunk.

I showed up thirty minutes early tonight. What followed my punctual arrival was perhaps the longest half-hour in history. I approached the hostess and I said, plainly:

"Hello, my name is John Solis. S-O-L-I-S."

I spelled it out for her because people so often mispronounce or misspell my name.

"Uhhh.... that's nice." She stabs. "Did you want to be seated?"

I quickly realize that my promptness has left her confused and disoriented. "I'll just sit at the bar."

Time passes and Brendan and his cohort arrive. I leave my chair and finish my mojito, which is apparently the trademark drink of Cendio. Cedino? I am still drunk. I finish my drink, and I order another. I am desperately wanting something called a 'caramel appletini', but I feel that any manhood I have left will be tossed out the window if I order this drink.

I lean in on the bartender and ask him, "what would James Bond order?"

he doesn't know.

Luckily for me, and my liver, Jenny knows that James Bond drinks a dirty martini with a twist of lemon rind. Shaken, not stirred, of course.

And with that one simple and idiotic request, I consumed my first of ... six? martinis tonight. I am still very very drunk, for whatever it is worth.

The 'free vodka' was scheduled to last from 9:00 pm to 10:30 pm, but ran out at around a quarter to ten. Luckily for me, I had an open tab and no sense of money management. Christo imbibed a Patron shot and yet another "James Bond" martini on my behalf. He bailed out early, but to his credit, he drank every beverage handed to him. What a champ.

I have a fatty crush on the promoter. Something about a woman in power. Hi Andrea.

Time passes and I notice that my ride has arrived. I am drunk and paranoid, and incredibly cautious of my behaviour. I am sure not to offend her, though at one point in the night she is certain I grabbed her butt and I scream at her till she admits she was wrong.

She was wrong, by the way.

That was, thankfully, my only incident of the night. I saw quite a few people I didn't expect to see, and my drunkeness was (likely due in large part to the high quality of the drinks) a very happy sort of drunkeness.

I was largely mentally distracted throughout the evening, but that did not stop me from dancing and looking like an idiot. Some people lead with their hands, or even their hips. I lead with my crotch. Maybe it's been too long, but the pelvic thrusts just force their way into my social life when they aren't satisfied in my private life.

Thank god I'm still drunk or else that last paragraph may not have made the cut.

My happy drunk turned into a slightly more hostile drunk as the night went on, but I never crossed any lines of appropriateness. I took a puff of a cigarette which is unlike me, but I suppose I only wanted to blow a ring. Which I did, quite successfully.

More time passed and more things happened, and I got a taco and enchilada. I thought my enchilada would be full of beef, but as I bit into it, I found nothing but cheese. In fact, it was an entire bag of Kraft shredded Mexican style cheese, wrapped in the worlds thinnest casing. I finished it though, because I am a trooper.

At some point during the night, we encountered a few gentlemen playing a rousing game of midnight wiffle ball. One of them invited me to smoke, and I agreed to, for some reason, but was too drunk to find their apartment. I suppose that this is a good thing, at the end of the day. I assembled the hookah back at Christina's house, and it was very good.

There are a ton of gaps in here. Here are some blurbs:

1) Everyone assumes I'm still handling this girl that I no longer am. It creates some awkard moments, for sure. The fact that I'll still defend her honor just compounds the stupid situation.

2) When I am drunk, I definitely like to kiss people. Sorry for that.

3) I am the drunk dialing master. On 20 drunk dials, I'll get around 10 answers. That's .500! I'm the Tony Gwynn of drunk dial averages, though none of mine panned out into anything successful.

4) I still want a ride and a hot tub party. Just so you know.

5) In my drunkeness, my paranoia is quite amplified, and as I type this, I am incredibly skeptical about what I left behind tonight. Yes that is vague. Yes I know.

But here's the point: I didn't embarass anyone. I didn't ruin anyones night. No one knows I hate them, and no ones knows I love them. But I *did* get way fucked up, and I *did* have a really good time. So take that. I'm still a person. Not an alcohol-fueled awkward-moment machine like some of you may have thought.


Tomorrow I need to find my car. And once I found it, I would have to find a way to get there. I had no idea where I parked it, but upon checking my text messages, I realized that I had left myself a reminder.

"Dear John: You parked in front of Banana Republic. Be good, I love you."

At least someone does!

Goodnight.