Get Me To My Air Mattress

I think I might be dying.
And I blame Miley Cyrus.

My best friend, who shall not be named, and I made a pact. A sacred pact requiring us to do a bar crawl from Brooklyn to Central Park last night to try to make it to the Miley Cyrus concert at 7 AM, McDonald's and 4 Loco in hand.
Now I shall relay to you this very unsuccessful story.

My evening began at a bar at 8 PM. Possibly too early to start a bar crawl that won't end for 12 hours, but HEY. I have to keep a steady buzz going. After a few beers and riveting basketball game that is too controversial to mention at this time, I met the rest of my crew to begin the crawl. I was then harassed by one Amir Cohen about my bar crawl planning, which was basically a general outline of which subway lines to take. APPARENTLY, the correct term for this is a "bar hop" and for a "bar crawl" you need to have at least 30 people in your posse and the bars you go to should know you're coming and have drinks waiting for you. As a Harrisonburger, I find this very unrealistic. But I'm in New York now, and I need to raise my standards of drinking.

Soon thereafter, Cohen ditched the mission proving that his party knowledge and commitment is insufficient.

And then there were 4. It's taking me a long time to write this post because I'm still drunk and definitely cross-eyed. The 4 of us downed some brewskies and then took the subway to Manhattan. We didn't even bother getting off at multiple stops to go to different bars because we were lazy and still trying to convince ourselves that this would be fun.
We lost some brethren along the way. Unexpectedly, one of us did not get on the Subway car. With no explanation. Whatever happened to good old following through? When I agree to drink, I don't half-ass. And I don't sneak away in underground transit. Because I get lost when I'm sober (high school superlative: Most Likely to Get Lost on a Road Trip. Yeah...no shame?).

The 3 of us exited the Subway to find a barren wasteland. No bars, no people, no lights. Pitch black sober misery. Thanks to Google maps, we did find one bar 4 blocks away that would be open for the next hour, since it was already 3 AM (How did that happen? We only went to one bar before this...). We were the only people there, and a man named Sean/Shawn served us up. I tipped him $1, but he didn't take it. That dollar is probably still sitting there.
Then an old man walked in, seeming to be a regular because he just word-vomited "Hitme" to Sean/Shawn, who got him something red. It must have been strong, because he couldn't even finish it.

This old man was drunk, deranged, and exactly 66 years old. He openly greeted Tracey and I, but ignored our male counterpart Davey. Only old men in jail could possibly be interested in a young man in the presence of the two hottest girls on Earth (...Me and Tra).
Here are some key phrases from this man:
- "You're 20? Ya know, I was drunk and stoned until I was 20. Then I got married. That sucked."
- "Hey Sean/Shawn...Did you know you have a small ass?"
- "You work for the radio? You're a working girl? How'd you do that?"
- "I have a small dog. I just walked it for 15 minutes. I was here before then, and now I'm back."
- "Did I tell you that I have a little dog? I walked him today for an hour."
- "I got 5 grandkids. They'll probably get me a fuckin card and some cigarettes for father's day."
- "Always remember to air out your vagina. This is very important! You know it is!"
And that's when we decided to leave. Thanks for the advice, old man.

Now that all bars were closed, it was time to find food. A 24 hour diner presented itself to us, and we feasted on pancakes, cheesy eggs, homefries, regular fries, lox&cream on a bagel, sausage egg and cheese sandwiches and other delicious noms. By then, it was 5 AM. We needed to get in line for the concert at 5:30. We were 3 blocks away from our ultimate destination. It was around this time that we started to fall asleep and decided that instead of just keeping up our fantastic mission until 7 am, we would go home and get useless 45 minute naps before work.

In conclusion, I missed Miley Cyrus. You make me Smiley Cyrus. Because you are a bogus whore.
Despite traveling an hour back to my bed, I still did not sleep for nearly an acceptable time increment.
I was late for work because I took the wrong Subway and was only wearing one contact.
At least I had already eaten breakfast?
I'm having a party tonight. I can't wait until tomorrow when I am finally allowed to sleep.
I don't regret this failure of an evening.

I'm too hungover to know if this is coherent, let alone funny.