Drinkin' at HoJos

Happy Tuesday, everybody! I am tired but excited for a short week, especially a short week that leads into an even shorter workweek, which leads to me taking off for Italy. I am excited, but I am not excited deep into my soul yet. I think I won't be until I pack and put my out of office auto-reply on my work email. It's not quite tangible yet. I'd also feel better about going if my finances were in better order, but thus far they are still in shambles and don't show any signs of sorting themselves out. I don't have a fear of charging dinners, shoes, or bottles of wine-- I would just feel better if I could pay cash for them.

This weekend didn't do much to help my fundage woes. Friday I had a relatively tame evening at Cleary's, but it was fucking freezing out, which makes life much more miserable. I wasn't in a good mood-- I hated everyone at the bar, I hated that it was cold, I probably should have stayed home.

Saturday my Mom came up to visit, which was nice. We drove around Cambridge, I showed her where the new Ikea is, and we had lunch at the Sunset. While she was in the bathroom, my friend Jefe called, which is unusual. Unless we end up at a party in Rhode Island together, I usually don't see him. Turns out he was in town to see Flogging Molly with a bunch of the usual suspects from high school, and he had an extra ticket. Since I had no plans, I decided to branch out and see something new.

I met the RI folks at the HoJos behind Fenway. It was unbelievably cold. The wind blew through my ski jacket and sweater and felt like needles on my back. I debated whether it would be warmer to run down Ipswich Street and create more wind but get there sooner or walk slowly and freeze longer. Eyes watering, I made it to the HoJos and went into the room.

They'd been there for only two hours, but the room was already a mess. Empty cans of Coors Light and a couple of empty Forties crowded every surface. The coffee table was assembled between the two double beds, with abandoned hands of the kids game "Apples to Apples" strewn on it. CBS nightly news showed images of the mudslide in the Philipines as we talked.

Jefe was there, as were Dan, Christian, Joel, Mike, and some kid I didn't know but was actually Jefe's brother Greg. Joel's semi-girlfriend Sam came out of the bathroom after I'd been there for five minutes.

"You want a beer, Amy?" Jefe asked. "They're in the tub."

I went into the bathroom, and saw the remnants of a thirty pack sitting in a small pile of ice. A bottle of sour apple liquor sat forlornly amidst the beers. There were some Guinnesses in there, but I stuck with the cheap stuff since I was a guest. I somehow popped the top on the can with my semi-frozen hands and sat on the edge of the bed and listened to the familiar banter.

I like hanging out with my old friends because I allow myself to do all the stupid, sophomoric things that other people do that bug the hell out of me. My neighbors are loud and obnoxious, but so are my high school friends. They drink sour apple liquor because it's available and leads to a buzz. Jefe and Dan went to schools known for their partying and sports, which I mostly missed out on. It was like walking into a one-night frat house, but in the best way possible.

I drank two beers in about twenty minutes, and took one shot of the appalling sour apple booze before we headed to Avalon. Jefe, Joel, and Dan didn't wear their coats, and Sam almost didn't since she claimed she was "drunk enough not to notice the cold."

"Sam, you should wear your coat. It's way too cold out there without one."

"I drank my first forty on the way here. So I'm a little drunk right now. But okay. Coat."

We stepped outside, and Jefe and Dan immediately regretted their decision to not wear their coats. Sam walked along, saying "I am SO glad I wore my coat. It's fucking freezing out here."

The opening act was just wrapping up when we got past the slowest coat check line ever and into the club. I followed the crowd, which eventually got broken up and I was with Joel and Sam. They pointed in one direction, saying Jefe and the rest of them had gone that way, but they weren't there, and when I turned around Joel and Sam were missing too. I wandered around, awash in a sea of hoodies that said "Defend Southie" and finally ran into Mike, and we found Dan, Greg and Christian hitting on a gaggle of girls. Mike ran off to talk with them, so they pointed Jefe out to me, and I joined him in the thick crowd in front of the stage.

The band took the stage, and immediately the entire floor turned into a mosh pit. I'd suspected as much, and had luckily changed out of my cashmere sweater into my black $4 Garment District sweater. Dan had bought two beers so he wouldn't need to leave the pit to get another, but the full beer sloshed all over my head and onto my shoes. I jumped around between Joel, Sam and Dan so if I fell, someone would be able to pick me up. I didn't mind the mosh pit, really. I hate tight crowds, and a mosh pit gives you license to just shove someone who is in your way. I held up pretty well, all things considered. I took a spill on Dan's spilled beer and had an ass soaked in Miller Lite, but I rallied. As the show went on, I realized I was in over my head. I got an elbow to the nose, and started being shoved into the stairs. I started to fall, and grabbed a guy's chest to keep from falling. "That's my nipple. THAT'S MY NIPPLE!" He informed me. For the last two songs, I joined Greg, Mike and Christian at the bar.

Mike chatted eagerly with a girl in some kind of heinous dress, while Greg played with his cell phone, not looking at anyone. The show ended, and Jefe and Dan emerged from the pit. Dan was sweaty and smiling, but Jefe emerged from the pit with a 34C black lace bra wrapped around him backwards, and holding a drum stick the drummer had tossed into the crowd.

"Where'd you get the bra?" I asked.

"Nevermind the bra, where can we find the girl?" Christian asked, taking note of the bra's size.

We were herded out of the club at 10 to make way for the dance clubbers, and we went back to the hotel to regroup. Christian and I ran back to the hotel since it had somehow gotten even colder than when we left for the show. Our lungs stinging with the cold air, we sat on the bed as the others came back inside. It was early still-- only 10:30-- and we debated where to head next.

"I think we should go to Fanuiel Hall," Mike said. Most people agreed with him.

"It's fucking freezing," I said, "why don't we just stay around here?"

"Those girls are at Fanuiel Hall," Mike chimed in. "I told them I'd meet them there."

Mike went to the hotel phone to call for a minivan cab. It would be a two-hour wait.

"We can take the T over," I suggested.

"It'll cost us just as much to take the T than to take a cab there," Mike retorted.

"Take the T," Christian said.

"Cab," Mike said.

The conversation unraveled as small groups tried to figure out what to do. Mike murmured to Greg, "We'll go to Fanueil Hall, these guys can stay here. Those girls wanted our cocks, man. We should totally go there."

Eventually, we ended up at Jillian's, which is not my favorite place on the planet, but it was better than hauling ass all the way to Fanuiel Hall in sub-zero wind chills. We ate fried foods and danced by the bowling alley. I went back to the hotel with them, but the cots started coming out, so I took off for home.

There was more to my weekend, but the stories are boring me, so I am not going to write any more. For now.