I have a love/hate relationship with the city of Boston. Most of my family is scattered throughout the area so my face is a frequent visitor. Also, it doesn't hurt that the city has a decent film/television community, which gets me a varying amount of work. But there is one thing that has prevented me from relocating to my "roots". Most people who have experienced the city can agree with me on this one: Everything to do with driving in Boston is disgustingly greasy.
I despise the puke layout of the roads;
The traffic is overbearing and nonsensical at times;
In order to drive half-way efficiently in Boston, the Masshole driving style must be adopted but takes years of mastering;
And it seems like most city drivers are petrified of letting anyone pass them or cut into their precious lane. I call this "tiny car penis syndrome". Because the mentality of many Bostonian drivers is that if anyone jumps in front of you, they're humiliating you by proclaiming you as less of a man; thus having a tiny member. So the moment a one spots your blinker, they'll speed up to ensure their manhood remains intact. This creates a frustrating ordeal where you end up playing car roulette with another driver whenever you're trying to crossover to an exit during rush hour. Who's more man enough to get as close to the other as possible without backing off? You better plan your maneuvers a few miles back because otherwise, you'll be the one left with the little vehicular peepee.
But I'm getting carried away with my frustrations. We've established that driving in Boston is a duck-fart. Luckily the human race has figured out ways around this ordeal. That's why when my birthday buddy, Oreo, and I turned 21, we decided to pool our money together to do it big. We were going to rent a luxurious limousine. We'd then drive from Londonderry, NH to Boston, MA like we were a couple of big-time, fancy-pants'd businessmen going to an important arrangement. Thus giving us an hour of pre-gaming before we arrived close to Faneuil Hall. (We were newbie 21 year olds and didn't understand the Boston bar scene so we decided to head to a recognizable busy area and go with the flow.)
I met up with Oreo at his place and soon learned just how interesting this night was going to be. Oreo received an unique birthday gift from one of his friends. It was a bottle of something very, very special.
This is the part where I introduce you to my best friend yet sworn enemy. His name is Jagermeister. He is an evil son-of-a-gun yet somehow knows how and where I
We all jumped into the limo and took off. If you've ever been in a limo, then you can guess what happened next. We played with every little gadget we could get our barely legal hands on.
Oreo: "Oh my God! Check these lights out! You can control how bright they are!"
Eddie: "There's even a fridge! We can put things in it and they'll get cold!"
Oreo: "Uh oh! We can change the music! Who's up for a little Wu-Tang Clan?"
Eddie: "Dude, there's a sunroof! We can Teen Wolf this bitch!"
Don't judge us, we're simpletons.
After we extinguished that from our systems, we started pouring the Jager. It began slowly--with Jager Bombs. Then, once the Red Bull ran out, we graduated to straight Jagermeister.
The drive was the quickest drive to Boston I've ever experienced. It was almost like we jumped into a black hole and were spat out into the city. The only problem: The Jager must not have made the jump. Because the bottle was still there, but the black deer blood inside was no where to be found.
As usual, the traffic in Boston was terrible, so we asked the limo driver to drop us off close enough to our destination so that we could walk the rest of the way. The limousine pulled over and we prepared to exit. We soon found where all that Jagermeister went. The moment each of us planted our feet on that Boston pavement and stood up, a feeling of lightheadedness took over. We were shaken and the night hadn't even begun yet.
Another realization; we had no idea where we were. So we did the only thing that confused New Hampshirites do when lost in Boston: Look for old, familiar monuments that you've seen in your 8th grade social studies textbook.
We walked around in circles for about a half hour before we finally found Faneuil Hall.
Drink some more, I guess.
We went to a bar called the Purple Shamrock and suddenly alcoholic beverages started materializing right before my eyes. It's a phenomenon that happens to everyone on their birthday. I call it the Boozedini Complex. Close friends show up and suddenly alcoholic drinks magically appear in the hands of the birthday boy/girl, rendering him/her useless.
Our group was slowly accumulating. The best part about this birthday was the amount of characters we were able to muster up. I had friends visiting from all over the northeast for this interesting night. Just so I don't have to introduce every person, I'll go through the ones who play a role in this story:
I mentioned him earlier. My birthday buddy who is also one of the funniest people I know. He has an infectious laugh, especially after someone makes an unconventional fart joke. Both of us had no idea what we were getting ourselves into that night.
This person is actually a male. He told me to use this name when bringing him up in any story, but he will forever be known to me as the Asian Sensation; More grind for ya dime; Stylin' & profilin' snazzy dressing son-of-a-lady-who-does-nails. Some feel uncomfortable around him, but you should know by now that I find uncomfortable situations hilarious. Mary was visiting:
I haven't hung out with Goku as much as his Mary, but I've been around him enough to know that he is a lot of fun to have in your entourage. Also a pharmacist so a warning to the elderly: This man currently has your life in his hands.
We were also with a group of University of New England students who vanished at some point, friends of Oreo's, and a random assortment of others who I can't remember due to later intoxication.
So we're all at the Purple Shamrock, and I was already in that sweet spot. Not quite set to auto-pilot, but certainly on my way. I had great group of people around me, which always puts me in a ravishing mood.
But--Balls Mahoney was starting to take over. I could feel him knocking on my mind's door; ready to burst in and throw common-sense Eddie out into the cold.
Balls Mahoney is convinced that rational thinking is an unneeded, dieing concept. At this point, he might have been right.
Then I heard music start up. LIVE music. One thing about intoxicated Eddie, when he hears live music, he'll shut out everyone and go straight to the source. He will then dance in mediocrity until he tires himself out, needs another drink, or has to piss. 'Needs another drink' came first. Luckily, the Boozedini Complex struck again as a rum & coke hovered my way.
People in our group wanted to relocate so I obliged. Everyone finished their drinks and we went back into the streets of Boston. Sadly, Eddie was not with them. But Balls Mahoney was--and he was ready to blitzkrieg the city.
As we were walking to find the next bar, I started screaming to strangers "reminding" them about my birthday. Like it was some huge event that they should feel privileged to be apart of. I'll have to ask the other individuals with me because I can't remember exactly what I was saying, but I'm confident that I sounded like a defiled prince who was denied as the heir to his father's throne. I was looking for proper recognition, but despite Boston being the home to the bar in Cheers, nobody at these bars knows--or cares about--my name.
Oreo was the only one on my level. He was plastered and stumbling. I'm pretty sure at some point Oreo altered his voice to resemble a large, African-American woman on the daytime television show Maury as she defiantly yells at Maury Povich's angry, rambunctious audience before she finds out that 'He is NOT the father'.
Oreo: "Yooooou don't know meeeee!!! You might think you know me, but you don't know me! Keep hating 'cause you wish you looked like this!"
We continued walking through the crowded streets when we suddenly ended up passing some of Boston's finest. Several police officers were standing in a line, talking amongst themselves. Each cop was straight-faced but you could tell that all of them were eager to tackle any drunken idiot who decided that this night was a good night to 'layeth the smackdown' because they failed at getting laid.
Suddenly, I became uncontrollably nervous. I went straight into 'Time to win an Oscar for Best Sober Performance by an Alcoholic Actor' mode. But then, I remembered a little tidbit of information: I was 21 years old now. I was not doing anything illegal.
My overbearing confidence returned to my body. I hitched up my pants and strutted through that line of intimidating lawmen. I tipped my cap to them to display that I had absolutely no shame for my own actions.
We passed the officers and jumped into the line for a nearby club because some of the group wanted to put their dancing shoes on. Sadly, there was a $10 cover charge. Since a lot of our group, including myself, were poor college students and could not afford the expensive ways of Boston bar-hopping, factions of our group split up. Luckily, the Boozedini Complex occasionally took care of cover charges, so I ventured inside.
Mary, Goku, and I walked over to the bar to grab a drink. Mary looked at me, pushed me back, and delivered a devious stare into Balls Mahoney's soul. Oh no, this is what I was afraid of. You never let Mary buy you a drink, because Mary will find a way to mix your current state of mind with that one drink that will take it to the final level. And I don't say "final level" like it is an accomplishment. The final level is a sloppy, broken, incoherent, and mucky mindset where you don't return from until the following morning. And even then, your body, mind, and soul will still desire multiple days of water intake and tears outtake in order to return to your former human state.
Mary turned to the bartender. Normal Eddie would have developed an excuse to get out of this situation because he has common sense and knows that whatever Mary places in front of him will be the end of his night. Sadly, Balls Mahoney would have none of that.
Mary turned back around with a glass of water.
Holy schnikes! My friends actually cared about my well-being! I took the glass of water from Mary and took a big gulp from it.
I then slowly moved the glass away from my face, which was now displaying that look you get when you step into a fresh, steaming pile of dog shit.
My wincing eyes looked up and connected with Mary's. He had that same devious stare that was now paired with an evil ear-to-ear smirk.
This was a glass of straight Grey Goose vodka. I usually would never use a raunchy comparison like stepping in dog shit to describe Grey Goose, but in this moment I was not having it. My body and taste buds were not ready for this tomfoolery. Balls Mahoney would have chugged the whole thing if someone was so inclined to challenge him, but he also respects a fine beverage. There was too much money placed into this drink (especially being in the pricey drinking city of Boston) to mix it into a filthy toilet bowl within the next 5 minutes. So Balls Mahoney did something he has never done before: He passed up a drink.
Goku then snatched the glass from my hand and dominated it. This man might be a smaller man of Asian-New Jersey descent, but in that moment he proved to me that he had the liver of a Soviet fisherman.
Sadly, the denial of tasty beverage wasn't enough to save me from the abyss. Auto-pilot had finally kicked in. At this point, I was no longer a human being who could conduct himself in what society would define as "the normal way". I was now being operated by a horribly programmed machine who was only interested in completing simple tasks such as stumble, dance poorly, and of course continue drinking despite the obvious lines that have been crossed. Also, for some reason my face was stuck in a Guido duck face:
This is the part where I started to black out. Before this night, I had never blacked out in my life. I was pretty proud of my brain's ability to retain information despite the ignorant things I've put it through. Every bad decision caught up with a vengeance.
I have no clue how long we stayed at that club. Luckily, I had a gaggle of loving friends with me who get off on posting embarrassing pictures of my unpromising dance maneuvers to Facebook. So I have digital evidence that I looked like a total jackass that night.
We finally left for the limo, but my dignity would remain in Boston.
The group we started with entered the limousine and we were on our way home. Sadly, the ride home was a lot different than the ride to the bars. The tag-team birthday boys were quieter than ever as they slowly realized where the night had taken their young, innocent minds. I was trying to recollect myself but was unable to establish clear thoughts as the loud music from the radio bounced my weakened brain from ear-to-ear. I believe it was still the Wu-Tang Clan.
Have you ever made an attempt to sit quietly and will yourself into being sober? You try to put mind over matter and prove to the gods of alcohol that you don't follow their so-called rules. Yeah, that's exactly what I was doing in this moment. And I was failing miserably.
The positive side of the situation was that I was not feeling physically ill.
Suddenly, a putrid stench infiltrated my nose-buds. Something so diabolical, that Balls Mahoney himself instantly released the control that he previously had on Eddie's mind. A smell that was so dank, my alcohol-danger-meter instantly went from a 'serious yet controllable' 8 to a 'dangerous and prepare for evacuation' 10.
I looked up and squinted. I could barely make out a shadowy figure who was sitting across from me on the other side of the limo. His body was convulsing so violently that it made the girl from the Exorcist look more docile than a breast-feeding pug. He was shaking so much that even Michael J. Fox would have told him to "settle down". [And the award for most offensive joke of this blog post goes to ...]
It was my birthday buddy, Oreo. He was the one who suddenly decided to place his night's birthday presents right there in front of our guests. But I was the only one seeing this situation unfold. No one else in the limousine even acknowledged what was going on. It was a surreal Twilight Zone moment--until I joined the cast.
The nauseating smell was getting me uncomfortably sick at a very fast rate. I could feel the written bond I had with my stomach slowly deteriorate. I've always been proud of myself for maintaining an iron stomach that was capable of holding down items that had no business being held down, but in this moment, my body wanted to teach my mind a lesson. I still tried to clutch onto everything as I convinced myself that I was perfectly fine.
Eddie's mind: "Eddie, you're perfectly fine. Sure, it smells like a dead camel's butthole in the desert, but you've been through worse, right? C'mon, just think happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts ... Remember when you got a toy batmobile for Christmas when you were like 9 years old? Man, that was awesome. You pushed that little thing throughout the whole house and stopped The Joker from taking control of the living room. See Eddie, there's no way you're going to pu----"
I decided to join the party. I convulsed as I tainted everything that's great about riding in a limo. I had just silently puked on myself and the floor of the limousine.
A limousine has an image of class, wealth, and luxury. I turned one into my own personal in-flight puke bag.
The peculiar thing is, no one noticed that I puked either. And two individuals were sitting right next to me. The birthday duo was able to get all the way to New Hampshire without being called out for our dastardly deeds.
We pulled into Oreo's mom's house. The limousine driver opened the door to let some of the passengers out. The inside lights turned on as he completed this task. Time for the moment of truth.
Everyone quickly realized what had happened to Oreo because his puddle was right next to the door leading to our precious freedom.
"Ewwww! Oreo puked!"
Oreo took the blame like a man. He wasn't capable of saying much, but he knew he was the culprit and owned up to the mess. Suddenly, the group noticed another pile. I tensed up.
"Look! Over there! Oreo must have crawled over near Eddie and puked next to him too! Poor Eddie!"
I dodged a bullet. Oreo was going to take the blame for both of our slippery mistakes. I was in the clear.
"Wait a second! That pile is Eddie's! Eddie puked too! You can see it on his shirt!"
Dammit. They got me. The birthday boys were caught red-handed. And we would have gotten away with it too. If it wasn't for those drunken kids... and that Jager too.
And to make matters worse, I was the last one to get dropped off. This meant that I was stuck to endure the drive of shame alone. The climax of which was when the driver finally opened the door just for me to stumble back into the world covered in my own filth. I couldn't even lift my head up to look him in the eye. Partially because I felt so guilty. Also, because I still had vomit residue on the side of my face.
It was after 2:30AM, and his precious work vehicle was Nickelodeon slime'd.
Despite this whole situation being a very embarrassing one for myself, I still wanted to share it. Because you should find positive in any situation you've put yourself into. If my mistakes have the ability to entertain even just a dozen people, then I see value in them, as long as no one but myself was hurt in the process.
My 21st birthday was a memorable one, and it started a tradition that I've followed ever since: Always start your birthday with a bottle of Jagermeister. Regrets are for tomorrow. My 22nd birthday would follow with that tradition ...