Yesterday was the kind of day that makes a girl think that Michigan winter will ever be over. Andrew had decided we needed to go to the bar all day. Oh, Andrew. One thing I can say about myself is that I am a very accomodating friend. You want to go to the mall and get samples from the fast chinese place? Learn to reupholster furniture? Start a hip-hop outfit complete with matching tracksuits? Go sit at the bar? I'm your girl. I can hear my mama right now, "Lydia, you shouldn't drink so much!" I know. So I drove over to Andrew's house and picked him up, drove back to my house to leave my car, and walked to Mulligans, stopping at Wings of Desire on the way for red Kool-Ade. I hadnt't been to Mulligans in many months, but as we were two of five people there it was actually non-irritating. No one was playing shitty hardcore on that appliance of the devil that is the Internet Jukebox, and I could watch Malcom in the Middle on one of those huge TVs. We had a vodka and cranberry juice. I had decided that "matching drinks" yesterday would refer to having the same thing all night, not the same number of things all night. So I had 2 and Andrew had 3, and we left and walked to the Meanwhile for Black Labels on Andrew's tab. At this point, I am loopy, and by the time Mikey Kreuger and Andrew's lady Katie got to us and hustled us out of the bar for food I was astonished to see that it was still sunny. I think it was 5pm at that point. Katie drove us and I remember suddnely being at Mongolian Barbeque. What? We go in and I pretty much have no idea what to do. Andrew used to work at this place, and everyone is hugging him and there are people all over and I'm suddenly expected to fix myself dinner. Suffice it to say I made the worst dinner ever. I mixed crab, lamb and bean sprouts. With some class of sauce. I vaguely remember it tasting salty. Someone had ordered me a beer which I saw as being a foot and a half tall. There was no way in hell I was going to get that down my throat and not all over the floor. I pushed it in front of Kreug. Then we're leaving, and when I drink too much I lose all concept of money. Ususally I forget it exists. I think I threw some money on the table and let Katie sort it out. We're driving again, and then we're not, and we're going into DJs Bar. You know, the one with the crazy sign. We all line up at the bar and I managed to order, and then wax mundane on my depressive disorder. I got the hiccups, which the bartender cured with homemade sweet n' sour and bitters. When I got home I crawled in bed and called my ex-boyfriend. Dear God. Could I be any more lame? Moral: Don't drink, don't eat mongolian barbeque, don't call your ex.
Mongolian Barbeque Debacle of 03/08