Back to Alcohol

From what it seems, I’m heading back to my addiction to the juices. If the path to liver failure is littered with free flow parties, product launches, trance events, wedding dinners and avid blog fans buying you drinks, then the damnation of the liver is a small price to pay.

I started my rekindled affair with the juices on Tuesday at a wedding dinner at Marriotts by tearing through the red wine after every course. By the time the fish dish came along, the three elderly folks at my table were staring wide eyed at me gulping done the wine.

OldMan: “Wow young man, you can really drink.. How many have you had?”
Me: “I think four glasses?”
Colleague: “No dude, you’re at the sixth glass… We’ve been counting.”

The Math:

8 Glasses of dyed red crap they tried to pass off as wine. I’d only use this shit to marinate my steak cos any bacteria is going to die tasting this crap. All this in an hour.

The After-Math:

Me: “What wine is this?”
Waiter: “Red wine sir.”
Me: “No shit… is this Australian or French..?”
Waiter: “No sir, it’s our hotel wine.”

Me: “…..Right… Just keep it filled.”

Wednesday

Reznor and I headed down to Home Club for a trance event. Mid week indulgence of a rave semblance is exactly what rat race executives need. It’s a welcome from throwing pickles on my windows and watching it slide. The thumping bass echoing in the silent lobby of the Riverwalk was the perfect interjection from the mundane I so badly needed.

By the time we got there, the whole group was already comfortably plunged on the sofa with a couple jugs ahead. This was the same night that I got to hear RollerGirl’s wicked suicide story..

Friday

Huixx and I headed down for the Stuff Party at Zouk. Two words made this a worthy trip to head out early despite a possibility of fatigue burning me out early before the night is matured.

Free.Flow

Huixx: “We’ll go grab some drinks first then we’ll go join my friend at wine bar.”

This was an easy enough game plan. Grab drinks, say hi to some friends, then go back out to join this poor guy who’s so madly in love with Huixx, he willingly waited outside for us. What an idiot, but that’s what makes Huixx cool. She has idiots tagging her like I have psychos on my heels.

On the way in, we grabbed a vodka each. By the time she was telling me about her FHM calender shoot, I was already into my fourth.

Huixx: “Wah.. you can really drink. You want mine? I’m not feeling too good.”

I’m not sure how you guys take your juices, but at free flows, the right way is to skull. If you sip, I will smack your till your lips get big enough to rim the glass.

By the time we were ready to leave Zouk, I had snuck back twice into Zouk for 6 more glasses. Counting the 2 glasses of amaretto I had at Wine Bar, I took the tally up to 13 glasses. That’s discounting the beer the others kept forcing me to drink.

Note: The word “Force” is applied only to beer, water and commitments.

When we got to MoS, I already had a mouthful of spit that can start a campfire and I’m starting to learn that there isn’t a limit to drinking when it comes to partying with CokeWhore and RollerGirl.

2 hours later, I’m at the retro room singing all the lyrics wrongly with CW and by 5am, I was back to giving my toilet bowl a blowjob.

I had a picayune debacle with a bantam of a security guard at RollerGirl’s apartment. When she got off, she specifically gave me instructions to use the back gate to get out, but when I got there, the damn security guard REFUSED to let me out.

What is wrong with this? Has ANYONE been refused exit from an apartment?!

Guard: “Are you a resident here?”
Me: “No.. Can you life the barrier for me to go out?”
Guard: “No.”

No? NO? Who the fuck says no to people going out?! Aren’t you supposed to keep people out?! This made me absolutely hysterical. I was half drunk, in a cab with the meter running like it’s out of fashion and I was refused exit. Boy was I pissed.. so much that I swore I’d have beaten a Tele-Tubbie right back into heterosexuality if it popped up.

Me: “Uncle.. can you just life the barrier?”
Guard: “No. Only residents.”
Me: “I just want to get out. Just lift the damn barrier!”
Guard: “No.”
Me: “UNCLE!! What are you talking about?! I just want to get out! Lift the barrier!!!”

The whole debate went back and forth for about 3 mins with me close to hysterics, till the cabbie finally contributed three words to the argument.

“Chao.Chee.Bye!”

I stared at the cabbie.

Me: “Woa.. Uncle, relax leh…”


Saturday

Despite the fact that I was half drunk, my heading was spinning and I lacked the mandatory 13 hours of sleep, I amaze myself at my juxtaposition of a decadent lifestyle with my laudable discipline to turn up for work on time everyday.

Perhaps the greatest anticipation all week long was Armin Van Buuren at Zouk. Armani what? That makes you and at least 50% of the damn crowd squeezing with us at Zouk that night. Some of them looked like they were waiting for Brittney Spears.

There’s only one incident that I’m going to re-count, despite several pleasant ones. Like meeting this cute chick that shuffles and having one of the readers buy me a drink, but I’ll dub the following incident, “THE POWDER STORY”.

I’m not going to explain why we had powder on the floor to begin with. Anyway, the guys started rubbing up their soles with the powder till this bouncer came up to me.

Note: I was the furthest one from the crime scene.

Bouncer: [Tapping my shoulder] “Give it to me..”
Me: [Absolute bewilderment] “Err.. give what?”
Bouncer: “Don’t waste my time. Just give it to me.”
Me: “Give what?”

Bouncer gives his best stern look. That effect would have been better if he had been taller than me. I continue to eye his flared nostrils in bafflement.

Bouncer: “The powder.. don’t think I dunno..”
Me: “Huh? I don’t have it.”
Bouncer: “Don’t waste my time I tell you..”

And this is the one time you will EVER see me pissed and I said the following.. verbatim.

Me: “DO YOU FUCKING WANT TO SEARCH ME?”

Bouncer is pissed at my remarks and knows he can’t find shit on me so he does the next most macho stunt. He snaps his fingers and calls for a mop.

We spend the following min imitating him calling for a mop, which pisses him off more. He comes back to me,

Bouncer: “Don’t give me that look ok?!”
Me: “What look?”
Bouncer: “This is Zouk ok?!”
Me: “Ya.. I know that.”
Bouncer: “Don’t give me that look.”
Me: “Look. Do you want to search me?!”

As soon as he left, we went right back at laughing at him.