From Her Perspective

This weekend was the first weekend since May that I didn’t have some sort of obligation that required a gift from a registry, a dress I hate, or an open bar.  Fine, that last one was pretty sweet, but all of this partying to celebrate milestones in other people’s lives was both financially and emotionally draining.  For example, two weekends ago, I had two weddings, back to back.  I was the maid of honor in the first one and although my toast KILLED (literally everyone was crying.  Hooray!), and the second wedding was equally fun, I was sick for a week afterward.  I guess my immune system had finally had it.  So that brings me to this weekend.  My grand return to the Sunday Drunk.

Of course you know what a Sunday Drunk is.  You go to the bar early in the afternoon wearing a disgusting yet extremely comfortable outfit (track pants are extremely acceptable, as well as any sort of sweatshirt that is embroidered with your name and high school graduation year on the sleeve.  Okay, fine, I obviously did not play sports in high school and do not actually own one of these sweatshirts, but all my old boyfriends were captains of the football team so I have amassed a great collection of both varsity jackets and old sweaties that inevitably mortify whomever I force to hang out with me on said Sunday Drunk.)  You park your ass on a barstool and you watch football and eat fried food with your friends until it actually turns into the nighttime and then you go home, go to bed early, and wake up Monday morning feeling like a million bucks.  

My Sunday Drunk began early yesterday afternoon.  Since it was finally feeling fall-like (alliteration, tss) we decided to walk to the bar.  This was also fun because it ensured a stumble home, which generally leads to some sort of hilarious trip over a fire hydrant or something.  So we walked down to my favorite Sunday Drunk bar (I’m not telling you which one, for reasons that will be revealed later, and because I’m super selfish and like having the fun all to myself) that I used to frequent before my life was not my own, and I will tell you that it did not disappoint. 

When we walked in, it looked closed.  That was because it’s pretty much pitch black in there all the time, despite the fact that there are many windows, and because there was nobody in there. Like, not one customer.  Perfect.  That meant there was no wait for my delicious Magner’s with ice ON TAP and we had the run of the music selection (early nineties pop, thankyouverymuch.  Do you remember Terrence Trent D’arby?  Yeah, I didn’t, either, but he had some classics that I know you jammed to at your middle school dances, don’t bother denying it.).  We also didn’t have to wait for our assortment of fried items, my favorite being the curry fries.  If you are a curry fry aficionado, you probably already know about this place.  The curry is thick and doesn’t drip off your fries like it does at most places.  It’s spicy but not so spicy your nose starts running.  And though I usually like my fries more greasy and less potato-ey, these were perfect.  And no, I’m still not telling where I went.

The best part of this grand return was that as afternoon deepened into evening, the bar was invaded by elderly gentlemen who have probably been tanked since 1976.  At this point, I was, as I had been all day, the only female patron at the bar.  The elderly gentlemen busted through the door, yelling “Drinks for the ladies!  Drinks for the ladies!” The bartender, also a female and uninterested in losing a giant tip and of course disappointing a group of grandfathers looking to have a good time, just kept bringing me all of the beers.  Since I am one of the last vestiges of the true definition of a lady, I figured it was okay.  After all, I don’t want some whore reaping the benefits after I had put so much heart and soul into spending the whole entire day sitting in that same spot. So after my billionth liquid heaven of the day, it was finally time to close up shop.  After all, there was a stumble home to be had.

Now that fall is here, I am excited to say that Sunday Drunks will be a regular part of my routine, like going to work or tying my shoes.  I suggest you start doing the same, as there is nothing better than relaxing with friends on a lazy, cool weekend and reminiscing about when you were cool and could hang.  And no, I’m still not telling you where I want.  This little jewel is all mine, suckas.