Chocolate Shots of Death

last night we celebrated catherine's belated birthday. first we went to the mustard seed in mt. p with a group of her friends for some dinner and drinks. well, actually dave and i went for a bottle of wine. we were drunk by 9:00. we're lushes. and honestly, i'm still drunk. and its noon. i'm "working from home" today. so is dave. poor catherine. she's working at work.
okay after the mustard place. catherine, dave and i went to gene's. her friend charlie joined us, but he only made it through one jager bomb and one pumkin pie tasting beer before he peaced out on us. us three, however, closed the place down and made friends with bartender miranda. the curly haired one. you know, well, you probably don't. sorry, im drunk.
i came home with three receipts worth of funny shit. so here come the stories...
okay really, we started ordering shots like they were providing us with life. like, if we didnt drink them, we would die, when in actuality, because we drank so many, we might all die today. we really have to remember to chose life... well, catherine ordered the "chocolate cake" shot. eww. it actually does taste like chocolate cake, but i have issues with clearish shots (eww, i might not be able to write this blog right now because typing "shot" makes my stomach flop around a little.... time out)

okay, time in. well, the chocolate shot arrived and dave was like, "is this going to hurt my tooth?" see, dave has this tooth, a sweet tooth if you will, that makes him unable to eat anything chocolate because it hurts. sometimes i wish i had this tooth because i would be like 40 pounds skinnier... whatever. so he asked if it would hurt his tooth and my response is "no. it's going to hurt your world." i wasn't lying.
catherine got her pen out at this point and started to try to write on the table. well, instead of ink... it just kind of carved instead, so she went with that. now half of all of our names are on the table in genes. her logic was that if she only wrote half our names, no one would know it was us. i blame the chocolate shot for this logic. well catherine is carving and dave threw his knife onto the table...
dave: that's all i do at work!
both cather (as she so carved her name) and i both said at the same time: carve?
dave: no. i'm in a knife club.
the conversation continued. the shots continued as well. we had some royal flushes and bomby bombs and more vodka/waters, vodka/tonics and jack/cokes... and i guess we were talking about how dave might have to travel for work. this conversation happened:
dave: i might have to be in japan.
nic: ohhh??
dave: yeah. i told you about okanawa.
nic: okanawa is in japan? ... i thought it was like, in missouri...
catherine: okanawa, missouri.
all the while, keep in mind that we are shoved into this teeny booth back in the corner where miranda would sporadically appear with more drinkies. she came back with a fresh round and i started squeezing my lime so my vodka would taste like lime vodka instead of regular vodka and i completely squirted catherine in the eye. i know because she said "you just hit me in the eye!" i said, "oh noo!!" but catherine then told me, "no! i liked it." so it was okay that i hit her with acidic juice in her pretty little eye because she loves me.
between the three of us, we racked up a $133 tab. god we were drunk. we decided to walk back to catherine's house. its right behind gene's... i turned into a flippin thief. maybe i shouldn't tell this part of the story... oh who cares. so we're walking down the road and i yank this tiki torch-like candle pole out of some store's potted plant. then i sprinted while screaming, "uh oh! i hope i'm not on video!" i then came across a sign that said "vote for someone" in another potted plant. or perhaps a yard. i took that too. then i took a road cone. but then i traded it for a prettier road cone. i left all three objects next to catherine's door. um, happy birthday? we ate some cool-pops or icy pops or freezy pops or whatever the fuck pops you want to call them. and we just continued to laugh and be drunk and look at myspace and tell each other how much we love the other one. dave continued sharing his funny ass stories from high school that consist of how people got pooped on... he actually told that story because i think catherine said something like "i got spit on" and we heard "i got shit on" so then dave told the story of how a lot of his friends actually did get shit on at the same time by this guy in high school. eww. thats gross, im not tellng anymore of that. ask dave for details if you want them, what the hell was i talking about before this? damnit now i have to go reread what i wrote. oh yeah, cool-pops. they wer delicious. then we all walked back to gene's to get our cars. what the fuck, i know. why we didnt just take them in the first place is beyond me too. oh, before we left cather's house, haha, cather... i tried to stick the tiki pole into her yard. well, i failed to notice that the top part had this ceramic frog like fixture attached to it and so when i slammed it into the solid earth below, the fucking frog split in half and inevitably split my hand skin in half too. now i have this freaking cut across my hand. for a minute i thought i needed a hospital. im gay. the cut is less than a tucker scratch. and i probably deserve it for stealing the ceramic tiki frog pole anyway.
catherine told me that she tried to go to mcdonalds but even though they are open 24 hours, they were closed. fucking liars. but a number 10 is chicken and 11 is fish. thanks, catherine. told you so, dave! ha.
dave and i passed the fuck out. and apparently i took off all my clothes in a corner. i dont know why i stood in the corner, but i did. we woke up drunk as shit. seriously, catherine, i'm so sorry you had to work today.
that's disgusting. i was silly morning drunk and started clapping my feet.
nic: have you ever clapped your feet like a seal? (proceeded to make seal-barking noises)
dave: seals dont have feet!! gah! and then he rolled over on the floor and grunted at me. yeah, he just laid on the floor for like 2 hours this morning. mostly because i was diagonally across the bed and tucker kept attacking my toes so he was probably safer down there. then i tried to sit up, but i had to lay back down because i was too dizzy. nic: ooooh! i feel like a weeble wobble! don't you feel like a weeble wobble??
dave: i feel like crap.
nic: weebles wobble but they dont fall down!
now we are both laying on the living room floor reeking of vodka and death. i fucking love you dave and catherine. i love you too gene's. and vodka. and cool-pops. i fucking love cool-pops. the end.

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