Shut Up Liver

Homer: “If I can’t drink at this bar, I might have to give up drinking.”
Liver: “Hooray”
Homer: “Shut up liver.” (Punches stomach) “Oh, now my liver hurts.”

In a previous episode I mentioned that happy hours were a key part of my management strategy. Now that I’m officially a project manager, it seems this has officially caught on. Tuesday night was the team Christmas party. We’re a team of 5 that’s a subcontractor to a company that has a team of about 23 people. All of them we’re invited and most attended. The four of us attended because it had the two best words in the English language, “Open Bar”. Apparently, this new team did not know what they were getting themselves into. In the two and a half hours, I must have had 8-10 drinks. And most of those were double Maker’s on the rocks. So you do the math. There’s nothing better than going up to the CEO of a company, drinking straight bourbon, and telling him he’s throwing a hell of a party, oh and by the way, here’s how you should be running this project.

Not content to just have drinks, we had to have zaniness ensue. When the party wound down, the bartender left for an unknown reason. So we did what every good consultant would do, we poured ourselves monster drinks. One stood guard by the door, while three of us went over and under the bar to pour drinks. One of us ripped his suit while trying to do so. Damage so far, about $300. After finishing that drink off, we hit the road, where the fun continued. Not so much for me, because I vomited all over myself. You stay classy, Barney. Another one of my coworkers went to a holiday champagne tasting with his girlfriend. He proceeded to go running through Howard University campus because he thought someone was chasing him. He ended up bruised and with cuts and he lost the back of his cell phone. Oh, and he got arrested. He didn’t get booked with anything and the cops let him go on the condition that his girlfriend pick him up. Now that’s a ryde or die chick right there. Keeping your man out of the slammer. I’m sure this will be on The Lox’s next album. I think we have our new slogan for anyone who wants to join our team: “The 8732, where happy hours end in handcuffs at historically black colleges”.

I ended up coming in Wednesday morning wearing the same clothes as the previous day (the vomit was washed out). No one actually called me on it though. I think they all understood. I mean, it’s not like they were in any better shape. They were probably worse. There’s no way they would be able to get on multiple conference calls with execs in the state they were in. Me, waking up at 6 still drunk, coming in in last night’s clothes, and still being not only functional, but highly productive? In my world, that’s called Wednesday.

Thursday was the planned shit show of the week, as my employees decided to honor me for my birthday. And they chose to honor me by sending out the evite saying that this was a “Princess Party.” Can you feel the respect? Anyway, I wore the pink tie that my daughter just bought for me (She’s old enough to pick out stuff now, so that was fun) to this event purely out of spite. Chubb Rock isn’t the only guy in my family who can rock the pink to an event (I’m sorry, that story will never get old). Thursday was fun because two of the trains I was on broke down going to the bar. I took this as a sign that it was my luck again, so I ended up walking 2 miles to the bar. There wasn’t as much craziness this time, just me drinking Jack by the glass. I was looking forward to getting my bill so I could see the damage I did to my liver, but I apparently had a cool bartender who just charged me $60 for the entire night and didn’t list anything out (He probably remembers me from the last time I was there and ran up a $100 tab in 2 hours). I came into work this morning still buzzed. Oh, and I have a Christmas part tonight.