An Extreme PBR Wallet Makeover

Reader (s),

Again, I must apologize for my lack of commitiment to KMS over the past three months. A lot of things have changed since my last post.

For one, I have started a new job, which until this day has compromised my blogging time. Secondly, I have a beard now, the maintenence of which has sapped any addtional time that would otherwise be spent complaining in this forum.

Thanks to Gabe, for coming back from the Orient, and helping me to get the writing jones going again.

Anyhow, this posts' anecdote begins with a party and ends with a spicy fry. The moral of this post is...do not go out till 3am on Wednesday nights, or you shall bring wanton destruction upon yourself.

Wednesday, July 27th. A Wednesday seemingly like all other Wednesdays, except it wasn't...It was to be more glorious than most Wednesday's because it was the premier of my ex-roomate's appartment makeover show on HGTV. As my ex-roomate moonlights as a bartender, he of course was hosting the 'premere' party at his bar. I had a vested interest in attending this event for two reasons: (1) I had lived in the madeover appartment for a year and a half and wanted to see what it now looked like and (2) They have $2.50 PBRs. It turns out that the PBR made this a lethal combination.

I had a lacrosse game that night, so I wasn't able to get to the bar until about 9pm. But when I did, the party was in full swing. I have to give my ex-roomate credit, he filled the place (on a Wednesday nonetheless). So I show up covered in sweat and mud, belly up to the bar and begin with the PBRs and whatnot.

I must say, PBR is delicious. 12 PBRs, and a few shots of whiskey, a reciepe for disaster.

Fast forward to closing time, I look around me and realize that the only people left at the upstairs bar are me, my ex-roomie and some wierd girl obsessed with him that he has no interest in whatsoever. Despite my obvious drunkeness, the situation was getting a bit akward. So I decided to peace out.

Unfortunately for me, the bar is multi-leveled, which means that I must--much like navigating a casino in Vegas late at night to get to your hotel room--actually pass by the downstairs bar before leaving for the night.

Temptation is a sonofabich.

Needless to say, my attempt to pass by the bar without joining in the closing-time-festivities failed miserably.

So, a few Buds and a few near vomit inducing shots later, I was out the door, wandering through DC's beautiful U Street corridor at 3am, drunk as a skunk.

When I got home, I was too drunk to sleep, so I took a shower and ate breakfast. Then I passed out in my recliner, nude.

Fortunately for me, I somehow managed to set my alarm, and was rudely woken by it at 8.15 a.m. Unfortunately for me, I had a crushing hangover, I was naked, had no idea where I was and had to be at work in fifteen minutes.

I frantically got dressed and got everything ready for work. There was one small problem...I couldn't find my wallet. I literally tore my appartment apart in ten minutes. When I had exhausted all my searching options. I cursed myself and my drunken stupidity and concluded that my wallet was, in fact, gone. I also concluded that I was, in fact, fucked.

Because my wallet and everything in it had now gone missing, I had no money, no ID and no Metro card. I had to count out twenty-seven dimes just to get metro fare. When I got to work an hour late, I had to embarassingly explain that I had lost my wallet, and then, like a vagrant borrow money for breakfast AND lunch.

The whole time I had an ego-crushing hangover. This hangover was so bad, it was like something from another time period. This must have been what the Romans felt like after a long night of gorgining themselves on wine and lamb.

I called the bar, no wallet, so after returning home for the day and again ransaking my living quarters. I gave up and set about the tasks of getting all new credit cards, bank cards, ID cards etc, etc.

Friday rolled around and I had spend hours on the phone with banks, credit card companies and the like. I was pissed. By then I had aquired a new bank card and a new zip card.

Saturday, I had to pick up Gabe from the airport, so I spend the day cleaning my appartment and doing laundry.

Laundry.

Unbeknownst to all, including myself, the mesh lacrosse shorts I wore that fateful Wednesday night, unlike any other mesh shorts in the history of mesh, actually had pockets in them. This is where I had put my wallet after my night of PBR fueled debauchery. When I came home and got undressed for a shower, I threw the mesh shorts in my hamper, causing the wallet to dislodge and sink to the bottom the container.

This is where I found it, 4 days of aggrivation and hangover later.

If that isnt a KMS, I don't know what is.

P.S. Gabe, what was up with those girls and the spicy fries? Seriously. Also Jake, that girl you were talking to was a hooker. No really.