FML – Fuck My Liver

In 2004, I went on an epic journey to the lone star state.  A friend and I drove there from Ocean City, MD (24 hours) and back to Pittsburgh, PA (19 hours) to save money for more alcohol upon our arrival.  Having a free hotel room helped as well.

The first day, it is a blistering 94 degrees; probably about 140 degrees with the heat index.  I attempt to go outside to get some sun, but come back inside 15 minutes later drenched in sweat.  Shit, we couldn’t even drive anywhere because the car wouldn’t start in the heat.  There’s only one thing to do in this instance: Imbibe alcohol. 

There is a group of people at the hotel that my friend knows and they’re in the lobby playing poker, conveniently near the bar.  We play some poker, bullshit, and work up a buzz before things break up.  As evening approaches and our blood alcohol level rises, the temperature cools down.  We decide it’s time to head to the city to go out on our first night in town.

It’s around 9:30pm and we get a cab.  Coyote Ugly is the first and only bar I remember the name of.  The place is dead with maybe ten dudes there, but they had some smoking hot bartenders.  They’ll fuck you too ($6 for an 8oz. draft beer).  We grab some drinks and hop on a pool table.  We’re playing with a couple of guys in cowboy hats when they ask where we’re from.  Telling them we’re from Pittsburgh was a bad idea.  The drunker one yells, “You’re fucking Yankees?  I hate fucking Yankees!”  Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t the civil war end in 1865?  He’s ready to fight, but his buddy calms him down and somehow convinces him that Yankees are from New York and north, not Pennsylvania.  Time to go.

We bar hop to a few places and realize that no one comes out early.  The bars are dead until midnight.  We’re on a rooftop bar with maybe 15 people and ten minutes later, it’s packed.  We’re almost too drunk to socialize, but continue to drink and converse with people.  2am rolls around and we’re ready to head back to the hotel.

Once we arrive, people are still up partying.  We grab brews from the room, bring them down to the lobby, and keep drinking.  The security guard warns us that we can’t be so loud and aren’t permitted to have backpacks, to which my friend replies, “Why? Cause I have a bomb in my bag?”  He was being completely sarcastic, but the guard didn’t take it this way.  He searches the bag and obviously finds nothing, but still threatens to call the cops over the ‘threat’ he said was made.  Though impaired, I convince him that it was all a misunderstanding and apologize.

We continue to drink with a group in front of the hotel.  People start fading off until it’s just me and this girl, Maryland.  Apparently I’m more trustworthy hammered than I thought, and get her back to my room.  We begin a game of strip poker.  Yes, this sounds dumb one-on-one, but she was playing coy.  Things are pretty even and we’re both down to just our bottoms.  We climb into my bed and start to fool around.  She stops me. “I can’t do this”, she says.  I give her a puzzled look.  She continues, “I think you’re cute and would love to, but I’m sharing a room with my boyfriend and we are staying exactly two floors above this one.  He’s probably worried about where I am.”  You think?  She starts to get dressed and tells me, “If he were in a different hotel or maybe a different room, I wouldn’t have a problem.”  Then she leaves.  I’m still in my briefs with a dumbfounded look on my face.  All that for nothing but a story.  Fuck my liver.