The Flying Puck

Friday night, me and Marc were going to go to this Ranger’s viewing party at a bar near MSG.  We got there at 6:15 for the 7pm game, and the place was packed.  We squeezed our way up to the bar and got a couple drinks, but the place was so loud and crowded that we both looked at each other and decided to try our luck somewhere else.  The prizes being raffled off during the intermissions could not possibly be worth the discomfort during the game (and Marc, of course, was being his old fatherly self.  He looked so tense and I thought it was because he hates being surrounded by people–which he does–but he told me that half the reason he was tense is that he hated seeing people so near me because it brought out his whole ‘protective’ side.  Sweet, and nothing he wouldn’t do for any one else in the office, but come on.  I’m 21, a guy bumping into me is not going to kill me….)

 

We wander around for a few minutes after we force our way out of the bar and find this place called The Flying Puck, which is wayyyyy less crowded and has like 7 tvs showing the game.  Now, I don’t drink.  Before Friday, I’d had alcohol three times in the past year or so (and one was a glass of wine at EK’s, so that doesn’t count, and the other was two shots at Marc’s wedding, which just barely counts), so Marc thought that after 2 or 3drinks I’d be done.  Well, I showed him.

Aside from the half a drink at the first bar (which was really a whole drink because there was wayyyy more vodka in there than there should have been), I had a shot of tequila, then a Malibu bay breeze (which is my new most favorite drink), then a shot of Jameson, then another Malibu, then another shot of Jameson, and I finished the night off with a third and final Malibu.  Yep, that’s seven drinks all together.  Marc was apparently super impressed that I matched him drink for drink, but that didn’t mean that he trusted me to get home.  I spent the entire walk from the bar to Herald Square convincing him that I wasn’t going to pass out or die.  Up until the last minute he was set on at least riding with me on the train.  I don’t know why he doesn’t trust me.  Sure, I’ve never listened to him when it comes to where I shouldn’t go in Brooklyn, and sure, it might have slipped out that even if I needed help I wouldn’t tell him, but seriously!  I wasn’t slurring my words and I wasn’t stumbling, so clearly I was fine.

 

On the train I forced myself to drink a bottle of water, got a coupon to the NHL store from this random guy because I told him the score, and made it home without a hitch.  Best part of the night?  Well, that was actually the next morning, when I woke up and felt completely fine 🙂

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