So JF and I hung out last night - Tuesday, January 29th. We decided, "fuck it, we'll go out for one burrito, have a quiet drink back at J's place, and end the night on a calm note". No such luck. Before the night was an hour old, I was choking back JF's moonshine at Picante, a Mexican restaurant by Central Square on Mass. Ave (Cambridge). While my burrito was decidedly sub-standard (the standard being Ana's Taqueria in Davis Square, Somerville), JF brought some nice, harsh whiskey with which to spike our cokes. And right away, the evening took on a new flavor. Barely trying to hide what he was doing, JF spiked our cokes one after the other right in front of two 19- or so year old students, with absolutely no shame whatsoever. This isn't a criticism of J; I was cracking up the entire time, drawing attention to this whole mess. It's amazing we weren't asked to leave. This is after us indulging in a drink or two at his house before even leaving for dinner.
After our burrito and whiskeys are finished, we head back to his place to have a night "on the cheap" - messing around on the computer, playing darts, and drinking a bit. I decide I need a new bottle of Bulleit as I've almost demolished the bottle at home already (after about one week of ownership). We stop at the Route 16 Foodmaster, where we find some nice, quality bourbons - and there it is, bottles of Bulleit on the top shelf.
We return to JF's place and begin drinking and playing darts. Here's the result. The lesson? Never rub another man's rhubarb. Oh wait, that's a movie I saw once...never drink in large quantities and try to play an organized game of darts.
Who says Tuesday nights can't be fun anymore?
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