Karin the party machine. Taken this summer at the Bovine Sex Club.
Every time I hang out with my friend Karin, I end up drinking waaaay more than intended.
Last night, we set out to go catch 8 Mile — “It’s the white Purple Rain!” I remember remarking at one point — with Karin and her friends Ed, Kirk and Tara. Paul, Kat and I caught up with them at The Bishop and the Belcher, a nearby pub, where Karin and company were having dinner.
“Joey, why aren’t you drinking?” asked Karin, using a tone of voice that is normally reserved for lines like “Poor little kittens, did you lose your mittens?”
“Not in the budget,” I said, “I just have money for the movie.” I was planning on dropping by the Velvet Underground later, where I can land at least a couple of free drinks, and the busking afterwards would help cover the entertainment budget for the next week.
(Attention employers: I really need a job.)
“We can’t have that,” said Karin, who signalled the waitress and ordered a pint of Stella Artois for me, followed by a half-pint.
We got to the movie theatre only to find out that it had been sold out. Paul and Kat opeted to go home, while the rest of us went to the nearby restaurant/bar/dance club/meet market Fez Batik.
We’d barely bellied up to the bar when Karin put a pint of Heineken in my hand.
After that came the shots of Liquid Cocaine: Jagermeister and Goldschlager.
This was followed by another round. Then another pint.
Then back to my house, where we put on the Gorillaz and finished the rest of the birthday beer, save the giant Heineken bottle.
At just after midnight, everyone departed — Tara and Kirk were quite looped, Ed was catching up with other people, and Karin had to be at work at 9 this morning. I walked her to Spadina and hailed a cab for her. I would’ve said that she was leaning against me for support as we walked, but I’m sure I was doing pretty much the same.
I stumbled back home, fully intending to get my second wind and go to the Velvet to catch up with some friends who’d be there. But first, I needed to lie down for just…one…moment…
…and woke up some time around 5 a.m. with a parched mouth and a full bladder.
On the way to the bathroom, the power went out. Soon after that, but well after I’d crawled back into bed, the power came back on. The sunken halogen lights in my bedroom ceiling glowed with Satan’s vengeance. The dining room CD player dutifully started playing The Gorillaz at a volume inappropriate for 5 a.m., so I had to stumble out of bed to shut it off before it woke any housemates into a justifiably homicidal rage.
There was more to the night than just drinking. There was some really good ‘n’ saucy conversation, but alas, it’s all pretty much unbloggable. You’ll just have to use your imaginations.
I’m doing considerably better now — I’m just a little dehydrated and only mildly disoriented as I type this.
Karin, you enabling hussy, this is all your fault.
Let’s do this again soon.
