Orson Welles drunk

My favorite part is either the mumbling or the fingering of the bottle during the third take.

What to do the day after Conny takes the Bar Exam

1. Wake up drunk in Conny's hotel living room
2. Call boss and tell him you are still drunk
3. Yell at Conny and ask how I got on a fold out bed
4. Listen to Conny’s explanation
5. Thank Conny for not letting you fall asleep on the fold out bed while it was still folded up into the shape of a couch.
6. Sit up
7. Lay back down
8. Ask Conny what he is making me for breakfast
9. Sit up again.
10. Stand up
11. Go pee
12. Mistake not being hung-over with still drunk
13. Go down stairs for awesome breakfast at the Drury Inn
(Actually Step -1) Forget the Arnold Classic is in town
14. Remember the Arnold Classic is in town
15. Try not to stumble into huge dudes that are eating all the French toast
16. Smile at self for skillful ladling of sausage gravy on biscuits
17. Eat coffee and drink sausage gravy
18. Watch Conny mangle waffle with spatula on grill and finally give up and use fingers to pull shredded waffle off grill.
19. Watch Conny not eat mangled waffle
20. Sit for an hour and watch hot chicks with huge dudes with tiny pee-pees go by
21. Go back up to Conny’s room
22. Grab shit and leave
23. Go to parking garage
24. Look for car
25. – 27. Continue looking for car
28. Find car
29. Drive car to gate and realize you need room key to leave garage
30. Drive in reverse up steep hill
31. Sigh as call to Conny goes into voice mail
32. Sigh as call to Conny goes into voice mail
33. Sigh as call to Conny goes into voice mail
34. Sigh as call to Conny goes into voice mail
35. Sigh as call to Conny goes into voice mail
36. Sigh as call to hotel goes into Conny’s room’s voice mail
37. Conny stops taking a shit and calls me back
38. Drop off Conny at hotel doors after he lets me out of parking garage with his room key
39. Say goodbye again
40. Drive home 9/10th way home
41. Receive call from Conny
42. Answer, “No, I don’t think your car keys are in my car but I will check when I get home.”
43. Check
44. Call Conny and tell him keys are not there
45. Call Meshell and ask her to check her car (she dropped us off at the hotel.)
46. Answer call from Meshell and say, “Thanks for looking.”
47. Call Conny and ask if he’s looked in X for the keys.
48. Ask if he’s looked in Y for the keys.
49. Ask if he’s looked in Z for the keys.
50. Begin to feel hung-over
51. Look at clock and see that it is 11:00am
52. Get in car and go back to Conny’s hotel
53. Fight Arnold Traffic
54. Pick up Conny
55. Drive Conny by Char Bar just in case
56. Car Bar is closed and take Conny to my home
57. Conny calls Toyota dealership
58. Dealership says they can give key with VIN number
59. Drive back down to hotel get VIN number
60. Stop halfway there as Conny remembers VIN number is on insurance card
61. Turn around and go home
62. Conny drinks a diet coke and I drink a diet 7up.
63. Go to Toyota Direct
64. Sit in car listening to Howard Stern show from 1994 while Conny convinces dudes inside he is not a car thief
65. Fall asleep for 2 minutes
66. Awake screaming as Conny knocks on window
67. Take Conny to hotel
68. Drop off Conny
69. Arrange to meet Conny for dinner on Tuesday night when he’s back in town
70. Say goodbye again again
71. Promise not to go drinking when meeting Conny for dinner when he is in town next Tuesday
72. Drive home without call from Conny
73. Look at clock and see that it is 2:00pm
74. Fail at napping
75. Post photo of Char Bar chalkboard
76. Remember at the last minute to call Conny’s house in Akron and leave a message that his wife will get saying that you are the manager of a nudie bar and that you found Conny’s key’s in the $150/hr VIP room and that "Mr. Moneybags" can come back anytime and pick them up
77. Reply, “Awe CRAP” when Conny answers the phone at his house instead of it going into voicemail.

Thanks!

This message is to the girl who was at Skully's last night, dancing around in your bra. You danced for a bit, but were so drunk, you fell flat on your face and had to be carried off.

Thanks. That was hot.

Room for One in Chicago

I love Chicago. My buddies Doob, Doug (not Dave) and Paul all live there. Great food. Great people. Lots to drink and all hours of the night to drink it in.

I had the fortune of heading up there for a work related training in the Summer of 2005. My boss and I drove up from Columbus. The hotel was in one of the 23,546 suburbs of Chicago that ends in the word Park. We were meeting the client at a Cubs’ game so we threw our bags on the floor and drove a number of miles over to a friend’s house. At the house, we picked up three other guys and took someone else’s car to a train station. We rode the train for 40 minutes and got off at a very non-descript station. We walked about 8 blocks to a bar and had a quick three drinks. (Drink count: 3) We tumbled out of the bar and crammed into a cab (Note: we = 6. Luckily, I was the only fat fucker.)

The cabbie was kind enough to take a few short cuts and the locals accused him of trying to find the worst traffic to raise the meter. I don’t think Apeluriphediakni spoke much English. We made it downtown via curbs and sidewalks to the Cubs’ game.

Ah, the Game! The Cubs were playing the Red Sox for the first time since 1918. I’m not a huge fan of baseball, but this was a big game and everyone in town teemed with excitement. Our company paid for all the guys plus the client to go to the game. (Client = smoking hot MILF in her very early 40’s.) Todd, one of my boss’ friends, explained that we would be “standing on the curb” at the game.

Standing on the curb turns out to be exactly that. There is a concrete curb that spans the bleacher seating area. A chain link fence follows down the middle of the curb around the upper walkway and dead ends into the stands. There is standing room only along the walkway, so to gain an additional 6” above everyone else’s head, you can stand on the curb. The problem is that there is only about 3” of curb to stand on, so it is necessary to hold on with one hand to keep your balance. This proves tricky when attempting to drink your fifth draft beer (Drink count: 8) and eat a brat with mostly everything on, beside and under it.

Game ends. Cubs lose. (Drink count: 9ish)

We immediately head over to a bar called Sluggers. Sluggers is an all-in-one alcoholic stop. It’s got batting cages, dance floors, pool tables, dueling pianos and Capt. Morgan’s. And jell-o shots. And Bacardi. And various liquors that when mixed together taste like either a candy apple or Dr. Pepper. (Drink count: unknownish) We got hammered as my boss flirted with the client.

At some point later in the evening, I decided that I wanted Taco Bell. Ta-da, there was a Taco Bell next door. I did not tell anyone that I was going to go to Taco Bell because that would involve me actually speaking. At the Taco Bell, I used a number of mumbles and various hand signals to order about 14 burritos. I took them back over to Sluggers and sat outside on the step and ate. And ate.

Minutes passed and no one I knew came out of the bar. I stumbled into the bar and looked around for about ten minutes. No one I knew was there. I was alone in Chicago.

I called my boss on his cell phone. We both slurred at each other for a minute or two. The rough translation of the conversation is as follows:

“You leave me alone at bar.”
“You not in bar. We go.”
“You bang client lady?”
“Me bang client lady soon.”

That son of a bitch. In an effort to get back to the hotel to fuck the client, he left a soldier behind. Fucker. He said that the hotel was a Marriot in something something Park. I repeated, OK, Marriot something something Park.

I stopped at an ATM and got money. At least I have a timestamp. 2:47am. I stopped a cab and asked him to take me to the Marriot in something something Park. He had no idea what the heck I was talking about. I attempted to explain that it was in a suburb. I let him move on and called my boss to get better directions. He wouldn’t answer. He did not answer for the rest of the night. Banging the client does that to you.

In my drunken state, I assumed I could walk to my friend Doob’s apartment. I mean, how big could Chicago be? As I stumbled through the neighborhoods and surrounding shops, I called my boss several times to explain how I was discontented and that I wanted to no longer continue our work relationship. (I said that he was a fucker and that I was quitting and flying home the next day and that he was FUCKED.) I tried calling Doob, but he didn’t answer.

After about another hour of walking, I gave up. I wasn’t going to find Doob’s and my boss wasn’t going to answer his phone. So this is what I did:

Found a house that was under construction. There was an alley next to the house. There was a pile of gravel, a stack of 2x4’s and some demolition materials next to the house that was next to the alley. I stole a newspaper off a neighbor’s porch. I spread out a layer of newspaper in the center of these construction materials. A nest. I lay down. I covered myself in the rest of the newspaper. I slept.

I woke up at about 6:00am. I had no idea where I was except that it was outside. That was fucked up.

Sat up and it all (well, some of it) came oozing back. The game. The bar. The taco bell. The walk. The quitting. The nest.

I got up and started walking. Again. This time, I listened for the L and found a set of tracks and followed them to a station. I bought a ticket (how the hell did I get $200 cash?) and rode the train west to the last station. I got off and re-boarded on the eastbound to downtown Chicago. Once I made it downtown, it was about 7:00am and I called into the office back in Ohio. I got the address of the hotel from Lori who didn’t ask any questions. I had to write the address down using a cigarette butt and the ATM receipt. Stopped a cab and he drove me $75 to the hotel in Orland Park.

When I got there my boss was not in the room. He was still with the client, taking one for the team. (He took another one for the team the next night, too.) I slept again.

I did not quit. I did not fly home. Later that evening, at the training, my boss mentioned how funny my messages about quitting were. I laughed, knowing I had meant every word.