Stage 4: Thanksgiving

Thursday morning I didn't wake up in my own bed. This is always distressing, especially when it is comes on the back end of a black out. Where am I? What are the circumstances that led me here? Am I in trouble?

These are the 3 questions that plague me, followed quickly by 'Do I have my wallet, phone and keys?"

On a good day the answers were: Somewhere safe, Partying, no one is mad, I have all of my possessions.

A brief follow up is typically "Did I spend over $300 last night?" But on this particular day, I didn't even check. I had to be at the airport in 2 hours and I was still wearing a Pikachu suit in Manhattan Beach.

I über back to my apartment and remember that I was supposed to drop something off at my boss's house, my delayed hangover is kicking in. A onesie bar crawl always sounds like a good idea at the time, but why I chose to do one on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving with a potentially brutal day at the airport ahead of me…your guess is as good as mine. Probably alcoholism.

I only have time for either a shower or to run to my boss's house. I smell like I took a bath in the fermentation room of a brewery so I decide my boss will live without a script. I throw my crumpled excuse for a suit in the dryer with a wet wash cloth and hop in the shower. 15 minutes later I'm off to LAX with a stand-by ticket to Sacramento, a hope and a prayer.

I arrive at LAX at around 10am with plenty of time to make the flight at 11. I cruise through security, waltz right up to gate 51 and inform the agent I would like to get on the next flight to Sacramento.

"Cool, there are 10 open seats, you're totally going to make it."

Great, run to the bar, crush two IPAs and then come back to claim my boarding pass.

"Sorry, the flight is full."

What happened to the 10 seats?

"People with status had the same idea you had, they clear before you."

This is understandable. Flying standby is a bit of a risk. I'm a bit annoyed because I could have taken a nap, I could have run a couple errands, but whatever. The beer is cold at the Rock and Brew.

"What's up with the 1 o clock flight? I REALLY want on that one, can I just maybe upgrade to a first class ticket?"

"Oh, don't do that, there are 20 seats available."

Ok fine, I'll just head to the bar for a couple hours. I drink myself a 6-pack while discussing the Captain America: Civil War trailer with a few nerds. You can guess what happens next. I don't get on the 1 o clock flight, I don't get on the 3pm flight. I get on the 5:15 flight.

Being stuck in an airport for 9 hours isn't ideal no matter how much beer you're allowed to drink. The one saving grace for me was that when I did land in Sacramento I realized it was one of the few airports that hadn't banned Uber.

Small win.

I thought.

I get in my Uber to Granite Bay (45 minute drive) and my cabbie asks me how my day is going.

"It's about to get better"

"Why is that?"

"I just texted my friends, they said they have five shots of whiskey lined up for me."

The cab goes dark, I'm a bit surprised, that's a funny light hearted joke. Why isn't she laughing.

"I really wish you wouldn't have said that…"

Uh oh.

"Today is my five month anniversary in recovery and I'm really struggling."

Oh God.

"But maybe you getting in the car and saying you are having 5 shots…"

No, no no….

"…on my 5 month anniversary is the universe telling me something."

NOPE NOPE NOPE!

"I was just kidding, they didn't even text me that, I was just trying to make you laugh!"

"The fact that you even brought it up though, it's fate, don't you know? I'm having a shitty week, I lost custody of my daughter to her dead beat dad, I'm down 5 grad at the casino. This is going to turn it all around."

"NO DEAR GOD, THE UNIVERSE IS TESTING YOU."

We finally pull up to my friend's house in Wexford Estates and she won't shut up about the size of the homes.

"I'm going to the casino tonight and I'm going to drink and win enough money to buy one of these homes."

"Christ, at least stick to beer."

I'm digging into my bag as we pull up to casa de bird when my driver reminds me to give her 5 stars for the ride.

"Just promise you won't end up in a body bag tonight and I'll give you as many stars as you want."

And that's the story of how I enabled an addict.
***
I don't even make it inside of the house when I see all of my friends in an ambulance.

"Is this like the one you escaped from in Italy? Get up here, we're doing shots of morphine."

They weren't but I wouldn't have been surprised if they were.

"Here are your five shots. It's conveniently been placed in a water bottle. You can't leave the ambulance until you finish it."

Ugh. I want to go home.

By the time I make it into "Thanksgiving dinner" it's about 8 o clock, the table has been cleared and there is a small late plate in the corner with my name on it. People are already playing beer pong in the garage. It felt like coming home to the frat house after a long day of midterms.

Before I could even finish my turkey I was whisked into the garage to play beer pong/flip cup/civil war. Guys were kind of finishing getting ready while casually playing. Someone was fiddling with a speaker, trying to get it to project his newest sound cloud mix. One of my homies was handing out vivance while giving status updates on when the chicks would be arriving.

Oh my god. My Thanksgiving is a frat party.

I spent about 4 hours on the beer pong table, usually a game I hate, but we added a new wrinkle called the Charlie Sheen rule.

American Beer Pong rules 64a-8
If at any time in the game a ball deflects in the air off of a cup, the receiving team can set the ball in the air to his or her teammate who can in turn spike the ball toward the other team while yelling 'Charlie Sheen.' If the spike strikes the opponent, they will drink a beer. If the opponent catches the ball, the spiking team will drink a beer.

The Charlie Sheen rule is why I blacked out and didn't make it to the annual 2am leftovers celebration 'Thanksgiving Dos.'

Instead I woke up at 6am in the movie theater room with a cat on my face. I quickly ran outside into a neighbor's yard and vomited for 20 minutes into a bush. Sorry random neighbor.

Anyway, top three hangover of my life. I took four showers that morning and more than once contemplated overdosing on the cat's feline AIDS medication. My symptoms began to subside around 3pm, my friends brought me a plate of sashimi, shock tarts and some cold beer.

"That's like $200 worth of sashimi Moelman, wake the fuck up!"

An Iowa win and the Shock tarts sorta brought me back to life enough to roll into the car for the trip to SF, a four hour slog through nightmarish traffic. By the time we arrived at the Sheraton Marina I was ready to cuddle up on my floor spot (oh ya…5 grown men sharing 2 double beds, the 6'3 guy gets the floor) and call it a night.

Of course my plan was foiled.

We spent the better part of an hour arguing about where to go to dinner and how much we wanted to spend. But while my friends argued about whether we should get steak or seafood, I skipped straight to the nightlife section of Yelp. A friend had told me about a place called Bar None that she described as 'very bro friendly.' TO THE INTERWEBS!

Oh, two stars…very promising start. Let's see what AMY T thought about Bar None

UMMMM SOOOOO I really like this bar LOL. It's definitely a throwback to those college days, which I mean, I'm not complaining. It's like a giant frat party. If you're not into that scene, then this place probably isn't for you. But it brings me back to my college days (maybe because I was in a fraternity..LOL). 
Tables in the back for drinking games. Guys, RAGE CAGE. rage cage is a lifestyle, not a game.

That's a good start. I'm pretty sure Rage Cage is what some people call You Got Served (ping pong ball speed quarters) but I'm more impressed by the 1 star reviews. Let's check those.

Michael C offers…

Packed & full of D-bags that wish they were still in college to enjoy the frat parties. 

Check.

Armanius M suggests…

Trashy place for trashy clientele. What a dump. Obnoxious crowd of 30 year old wanna be college students. Bad service. Bad beer. Bad bouncers. If you want a loud place where the collective IQ is likely about 90, this is the place to go. Otherwise, there are much better bars than this. Not recommended at all. 

Double check.

Finally Ashley Z eloquently adds…

ah. The gateway to hell.... your official blvd of broken dreams.. This place really gives Union Street its best name.Frat row.. step right up. Place your best bets who will puke first...If you are looking for a Herpes free evening.. this isn't your place

Sold.

We settled on a surf and turf meal at Boboquivari's (Bobo's) two bottles of fine Sonoma Zinfandel along with petter filets and three pounds of crab legs felt like a fitting way to juxtapose the debauchery lurking for us around the corner.

After dinner we were all full and tired, also frighteningly sober. We decide to walk the 5 blocks to Bar None (MISTAKE) only to be sweating from SF's unnecessary mountainous hills by the time we arrived at our destination.

We walked in and the place was dead, a frightening fact since it was already midnight, a paltry two hours before close. We were about to give up when a small sign in the corner caught my eye. $2 beers, $3 whiskey shots, $4 Jagerbombs…

Now I'll be the first to admit that I'm happy that Jager suffered a quick death after college. I was so sick of that shit by the time that I turned 22, I thought I would be happy never to see it again. But $4? In a major city? At midnight at a bar where we knew no one?

"We'll take 5." <--- a="" during="" many="" night.="" p="" phrase="" repeated="" that="" the="" times="" was="">
After 5 rounds or so, the flood gates opened. It was like every SF kid that was home for the holidays knew that if they wanted to get laid they should go to Bar None around 1230 on Friday. My buddy pulls out his wallet to pay for a round and a curious bag falls out of his wallet innocently to the floor.

"Oh my God, I FLEW with that?"

"The universe is telling us to go the bathroom right now."

We met several like minded individuals in there.

Cut to: We've met some Marines and a bunch of British chicks. Our round of 5 shots for $20 has turned into 12 shots for about $50, still miles cheaper than any round I've bought in Los Angeles in the past 5 years. Somehow one of my buddies is now behind the bar making out with our bartender and one of the British chicks that looks like Adele before she lost weight is sucking on my neck?

The lights flash on, it's 2am. My group orders two ubers, one is going to the Sheraton, meanwhile the Marines are leading a charge to Chinatown for rub and tugs.

Mercifully, I end up at the Sheraton and somehow I have stolen a bottle of Fireball from the bar. I decide to take a shower for some reason. I always enjoy a good drunk shower, but there was an open bed for the taking. Instead I wake up at 5 in the morning in the bath tub, wearing the SPG rewards member Sheraton bath robe.

LPT: Sign up for SPG rewards, you get a courtesy 4pm check out. Great when you have a night of excess with your bros.

It's Saturday, half of our crew has left for Los Angeles already. I have a flight to LA but it's based out of Sacramento. I'm keen to get there early so I can just end my weekend and hop in bed to cry myself to sleep and pray away my sins.

WAS NOT TO BE.

One more epic lunch at Yank Sing I'm told…Michelin quality dim sum, whatever the fuck that means. I'll tell you what it means, after waiting 2 hours for our table and a botched take-out order we had 90 minutes to get from downtown SF to the Sacramento airport.

My life was flashing before my eyes, I was positive that if forced to spend one more minute with this crew my liver would shut down.

I made it, just barely…but at some point during this binge, my phone had stopped working. Upon landing at LAX instead of ubering home, I had to walk about 3 miles to a neighborhood in Westchester that I had stashed my car. I imagine the trail of tears was only slightly more depressing.

I get to my car, load up on $15 of Del Taco and set my sights for my happy place: my couch.

I fell asleep on the couch Saturday night at 8pm, I woke up on the couch Monday morning at 1am. I had missed an entire day. It was incredible.

I dragged my ass into work Monday morning with a broken phone and a bag full of lies.

"Thanksgiving was really relaxing. I spent time with family and watched football."

There was not a single moment of relaxation. It was taxing my ability to party. I'm spiraling out of control, I am literally in a flat spin out to sea with no safe ending in sight. At the moment I am a stage 4 degenerate and we all know, there is no stage 5.

But I have a feeling if I take a few deep breaths, eat a couple salads and maybe go to the gym this week…who knows, I could be ready for the Big Ten bar crawl on Saturday. We'll call me questionable, but coach thinks I have a good chance to play. Because life is a story and when it's all over, I'll have a good one. Five years from now I won't remember how hungover I was all weekend, I'll remember the love and memories I shared with my buddies, and that's what I'm thankful for.