I don’t have any original pictures for this post, unfortunately. You can stop reading now, but that means you’ll miss out on the recounting of yet another shitshow where I enable one of my siblings.

I think I’ve mentioned this every other time I’ve had too much to drink the night before, but for the sake of a defense, the BF’s bar studying is getting to me. Instead of being able to drink one glass of wine and rely on him to drink the rest of the bottle, he has just ONE drink. A disciple of MM’s “waste not, want not” indoctrination, I have had to finish the bottle on occasion. Needless to say, I have built up my tolerance.

It is with this stamina that I entered into my Saturday. Boss came down that afternoon—he needed help editing an essay that he’d written in order to get him out of the freshman English requirements at MIT. Dinner time came around and our friend Jondrea* came over for dinner.

This is the part where I tell you what we ate. Spice-rubbed roasted Cornish hens with a cucumber-yogurt sauce, grilled squash and rainbow chard. Yes, we eat like this almost every night.

We do not, however, usually break out every type of liquor in the house for my rising-freshman-in-college brother.

Boss had a sampling of the finest liquors 20-somethings can afford (with the exception of my Grey Goose stashed in the freezer—he killed that LAST weekend pregaming before the 4th of July party). He tried mini shots of Don Julio tequila (after we used the pliers to get the top off), then some wine, then some more wine, then some Bacardi that I made him take home with him (in exchange for a new liter of GG).

After dinner, Jondrea convinced us that we needed to get creme brulee, so we went to Bistrot du Coin, where none of us ended up eating said creme brulee. Instead, we had champagne and other desserts, and decided to go to her house afterward for—you guessed it—more booze.

It all began with Boss asking (for the second time) what kind of booze put in the SAFE that he was gonna buy for his dorm. The tally at Jondrea’s went something like this:

  • Boss liked the Cruzan rum (Wikipedia says it’s produced in St. Croix, so I assume Jondrea & Ashua* brought it back with them when they went to the Virgin Islands)
  • He did NOT like the Jack Daniels
  • Did not like the Czech liquer that Jondrea brought back from Prague (that BF proceeded to light ON FIRE—I forgot about this until about 10 minutes ago)
  • Can’t remember if he liked the thing that tasted like Christmas, but I do remember that BF lit that on fire as well

Let it be said that this carnage might’ve been stopped had Ashua, Jondrea’s fiance, been hanging out with us. Instead, he was off smoking hookah. I put an end to that by commandeering Jondrea’s cell phone and texting him with “come here now.” He obliged like any good future husband would.

He came through the front door to the apartment—which was kind of like FEMA leading W through the parts of New Orleans that weren’t hit THAT bad—only to see us in the kitchen with shot glasses and fire and the contents of their whole liquor cabinet lined up in front of us. He protested by pouring my brother his first “real” beer, of which Boss was’t exactly enamored. Jondrea tried to persuade Ashua with food, and thought 12AM was an appropriate for “fourth meal,” so she made pasta.

That’s some of the last things I remember. Jondrea refreshed my memory Monday morning:

Jondrea: Holy crap. I found:  full glasses of vodka, sticky stuff all OVER the walls and windows in the kitchen, eggs, burnt matches and other things, and bottle(s) of empty liquor. Because i was incapable of cleaning the kitchen until….now. Holy shit. When the night’s entertainment became the liquor cabinet itself I think that’s when things went wrong.
E: Don’t you worry, you have a bottle of Hammer & Sickle coming from me this week, considering I decided it was a great idea to pour Ashua a full glass of vodka. And then ruin it with ice cubes.
Jondrea: He found CHEESE in the glass. Said that’s why he didn’t drink it. (could this be from the pasta she had to make at midnight? The world may never know)

She also apologized for getting strawberry (from her dessert) all over the clothes I made her put on before we went to Bistrot du Coin. I didn’t remember the strawberry—in fact, the clothes are still sitting in the Georgetown Cupcakes bag that she handed to BF (I think) before we left. At that point, all I remember was laying on the couch saying “I’m so embarrassed, we need to leave.”

I told her I was sorry for messing up her house. She said I could trade her for something that resembled grappa, since she was going to cook with it but used all the Pisco when she decided everyone needed Pisco sours to go with their pasta.

Jondrea: Don’t feel bad. It was fun. And, if you’ll remember, I was the one who turned the blender on (to make the Pisco sours) without a LID
E: I forgot about that. But I DO remember separating the eggs to make the egg white mix for them!

real-world-dc-houseIt was around that time that BF peeled me off the couch and dragged me home. On the way, Boss & I practiced our impeccable Vietnamese accent. And then we ran into the Real World DC cast.

E: Rook big boi! It du Real Worrrld!
Boss: Duuuuuu herrooo!!
Real World girl: Uh, hi?!

Yeah. Won’t be drinking for a while after that night, despite the fact that we have something to look forward to: Boss replaced my Grey Goose AND we bought Jondrea & Ashua a bottle of Russian Standard. Note: not intended for consumption with ice cubes or cheese.

*Names have been changed to thinly disguise the intoxicated parties involved.