Two

R.B. Winters
R.B. Winters
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Typically, I’m not the responsible one when going out. I’m more likely to need a fun-monitor than anything else.
B. Brown and I got our butts in gear and headed into the city where we planned to meet the Animator. Last night we had played at the gay bar and to keep it fair we headed to the straight bar. Joshua Tree is where we founded an impressively hot bartender in May. The hope was that he would be there and B. Brown would get a second chance at their first time.
I sported my Panda mask, provided by the Animator who was dressed as Spock. There were tons of costumes and I just want to point out that no one received attention for their costume like the Animator. Two points for him. The three of us sat at the edge of the bar, two of us all ready tipsy. The bartenders working were ok, but nothing stellar. The cuter of the two was busy being a douche and serving the easy looking girls twenty feet away.
Drink… drink and we were all feeling it. The Animator had headed across the street with his friend that had dropped in. Confident that B. Brown could handle herself for half an hour, I followed. One drink and I was ready to go. There was a chance that London was going to have a free minute and I was more interested in watching my phone than engaging people in the costumed crowd. Phone watching is an activity best done in a dark sit down bar, otherwise people are bumping into you.
I headed back to B. Brown to find her a little riled up. It seems that she had started asking the bartender the questions we never ask. You know, things like: Why aren’t you hitting on me? We’re talking about the nicer of the two bartenders and he wasn’t sure how to handle my B. He looked relieved that I had returned. However, B. Brown was having no part of it. Dumping her drink on the bar she headed for the bathroom. 
When ten minutes had passed and no B had returned, I headed in after her. It seems the friendly bartender had been giving her ‘princess drinks’ and double shots. Sick does not begin to describe what B. Brown was. We spent a solid two hours in the bar bathroom, fortunately they were nice enough not to kick us out. After finding a cab that wasn’t afraid of vomit we made it back to Brooklyn. I was very proud of B. Brown for making it to the bathroom before letting her stomach get the best of her. Unfortunately, the toilet lid was down. I tucked her into bed, wiped myself and the toilet off, and checked my phone once again. No London.
I have a new found respect for my friends. There have been times in years past when they have held my head while I prayed to the toilet for death. Thank you! Tomorrow is Halloween; another chance for London games and vomit filled nights. 

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