It’s 4am and I Feel the Need. The Need to Feed.

Posted: May 2, 2011 by VT in Daily Ramblings

One of my gays and I were heading out to a warehouse party in South Beach. We were getting out of the taxi when two huge bouncers exited the club dragging a severely intoxicated individual. The guy was beyond wasted … stumbling, drooling and babbling incoherently.

The bouncers saw our cab and started yelling for us to hold it. They literally threw him in the back seat. (I’m sure the cab driver was excited about that fare.)

A big-girl drag queen, Connie Casserole, was standing at the entrance watching the scene unfold. As the cab drove off, Connie looked at me and said, “Honey, they legalized the,” dramatic pause and flamboyant snap, “WRONG SUBSTANCE!”

I understood what she was saying. Alcohol can make you do some crazy shit. I mean, have you ever done something you truly regretted when you were stoned (besides eat a pie)? I, for one, have done a few things in a drunken oblivion that I wish I hadn’t – although they do make for spectacular blog entries.

And yes, pot may give you the munchies. But so does alcohol. Why do you think Taco Bell’s 4th meal was invented?

The need to feed after a night of drankin has resulted in some amusing situations. For example, my friend K and I once got home from the club at 2am shit-faced and famished. One problem – there was no food in the house.

So she and I hoofed it two miles to the nearest 24-hour grocery store to buy Spaghettio’s. Two drunk girls wandering the streets in search of Chef Boyardee? Pretty pathetic.

We purchased four cans, two with meatballs and two without. We decided to forego the bags … since we’re green and all. So we carried a can in each hand and headed back. I’m sure the passing motorists were thoroughly confused — or amused — as they watched us stumble home cans-in-hand. (But they tasted fan-fucking-tastic once we finally reached our destination.)

Here are a couple other examples of what happens when binge drinking leads to binge eating.

Transportation for Ta-Tas

Me and my bitches were leaving a dance club in the wee hours of the morn. We had just started heading home in a cab when we passed the Taj Mahal of drunken munching: Denny’s.

Now we had just enough money between the three of us to pay for the cab. But that damn Grand Slam was too much for us to resist. We told the driver to pull over, paid the $5 fare and went inside with the rest of the cab money.

One Grand Slam, a Super Bird and an order of Chili-Cheese Fries later, we were ready to hit the hay. Problem was we were nowhere close to home. And we had zero cash and no credit cards.

I thought we were royally screwed until I saw a guy stocking the newspaper machine with the Sunday paper. He was climbing back into his van when I yelled and got his attention.

I asked the guy to give us a ride. Before he could respond, I climbed into the van and my girls followed suit. We parked our asses on the pile of newspapers in the back and gave the guy big smiles.

“You need to get out,” he said. “I’m working, and I can’t have you riding in my truck.  I could get in big trouble.”

“Come on, please?” I said. “We really need to get home, and we don’t have any money.”

“Please, please, please,” my bitches begged.

“Well … how far is it?” he asked.

“Right down the street,” I lied. “It won’t take long at all.”

So I told him what direction to go, and we set off. I took that opportunity to read my horoscope and scan the Lifestyle section.

We drove a bit, and the guy asked, “How much further?”

“Oh, we’re almost there,” I replied.

A few seconds later. “How much further?”

“We’re really close now,” I said.

This went on for a bit before the guy really started to get frustrated. “Look, I’m way off my route. You need to get out.”

“But sir,” I said. “If you take us a little farther …” I was desperately trying to come up with something. “… my friend S will show you her boobs.”

Sidenote: I am famous for pimping out my friends to get out of a sticky situation. Just ask the divebardiva who had to rescue me from a cop. I told him that if he let us go, the divebardiva would make out with him. He was NOT amused … and she wasn’t either.

Now S — also known on the blog as ManMagnet — is NOT the kind of girl to show anyone her boobs, much less a random stranger. (She’s one of the rare girls who actually gets more conservative the more she drinks. Does anyone else have a friend like this?)

She glared at me from the top of the pile. “Just go with it,” I hissed.

He drove a little further before he got wise to our ways and threw our asses out. He never did get to see any boobies. And me and my gal pals had to walk the rest of the way … in heels, I might add.

But we did get a parting gift. Each one of us grabbed a paper on the way out.

If Only I Had Cheetos in the Glove Box

I was out at a club with a big group of friends. One of the guys was pretty toasted, so I was trying to keep an eye on him. I went to dance and when I got back, he wasn’t there.

“Where’s R?” I asked.

“I don’t know,“ his significant other said. “But I wouldn’t worry about it. He’ll be fine.”

So we continued partying for a while when I decided to go look for him. I circled the club several times to no avail.

A couple hours later, R appeared … still highly intoxicated. His significant other decided it was time to go, and they left.

The next morning, I called R.

“Where the hell were you? I was looking for you for hours!”

He explained that when I went out to dance, he decided he needed some food. He left the club and walked a few blocks down to the nearest convenience store to grab some grub.

But before he went inside, he thought he’d take a little rest. So he sat down in the alley on the side of the store and promptly fell asleep … for two hours. When he woke up, he stumbled back to the club.

“Oh my god, what were you thinking,” I scolded. “Something could have happened to you.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he said.

“Well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

“Oh I definitely have,” he assured me. “From now on when we go out, I’m gonna keep some snacks in the car.”

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  1. Toots says:

    My life is boring !!!!

  2. K says:

    Well, I never expected to have a story featuring me and a couple of cans of Spaghettios to be splashed across the web. Particularly since my bar trash days are but a distant memory in this suburban housewife life I’m living. These days it’s more like G&Ts on the patio while the kids play kickball. Not a bad life, but a different scene for sure.

    In any case, I can say that I remember the night fondly. I do sometimes wonder if the First Presbytarian Bank of Fort Lauderdale survived all those bank mergers of the last few years? Or if the river rats still run along poolside fences in the wee hours before dawn? Or if they still call you The Streak? THAT is a night that I know Scooterpie will never forget.

  3. Vodka Toxic says:

    Awwww good times, K. Good times! 🙂

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