At twenty years old, neither girl was legally able to get into any bars. They knew of one bar, however, where the manager sometimes let it slide. The bar was covered in second rate graffiti like you might see in an after-school special. Walking past the windows it was clear the place was empty, Wednesday night after all. The two girls walked up to the bouncer. They stuck their tits and asses out, played with their hair and took their voices up to a higher pitch. The bouncer said it was fifteen dollars cover and, once inside, penny beers all night long. He asked for ID. The girls flirted harder. The bouncer offered indifference. He said he’d ask his manager if he could get the girls in.
A forty-ish black gentleman noticed us from inside the bar. He was sitting alone at the bar, seemingly the only patron. Before the bouncer returned with the verdict, the guy came over to us. He told us he’d just won the lottery. He pointed to his scuffed runners, “jus bought dese today. Cash. Two hundred bones.” Next he lifted up his gold chain, “and dis right here cost me ten large. Bought it today too. Tell you what,” he rubbed his knuckles against his chin, “y’all come inside and drinks is on me all night long.”
“Aren’t drinks only a penny?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Motherfucker, don’t worry about the money, drinks is on me.”
The bouncer stepped outside to inform us it was a no-go for letting the girls in tonight. It was more a relief than anything. Bill was agitated from an early situation involving Kerri-Lynn. He’d asked to exchange numbers with her since they’re both in the Hollywood scene, which she interpreted as an advance. This caused some tension with Nils too, and the whole thing was playing out over text message. The last thing the situation needed was a sketchy guy hovering around us all night paying for our penny beers.
With the bar plan fallen though, the girls invited us back to their apartment. We bought a case of Bud Light on the way. I tried my best to make conversation during the trip, but my body was aching for sleep. I leaned my head against the window. The streetlights drew shadows across our bodies. Eventually we entered a gated community. There was a basketball court on our left.
The short girl pointed, “That’s where the nigs play basketball.”
I lifted my head off the glass, “Nigs? Isn’t that kind of racist?”
“No it’s not racist,” she slapped my leg. “That’s just what we call them.”
“Seriously? That’s what you call them to their face?”
“No,” she pressed her palm against her chest, “we wouldn’t say that to their face.”
“And if you did, do you think that they would be pissed off?”
“Well, duh.”
“Ummm,” I rubbed my temples. “Then doesn’t that make calling them ‘nigs’ racist?”
“No, silly, it’s not racist.” Her friend who was driving called back. Bill laughed from the passenger seat. I pretended to watch out the window until we pulled into a parking spot.
The girls walked us past a few doors until they found their own. “I hope no nigs jump us,” I joked and the girls laughed hard enough for me to believe they didn’t get the sarcasm. Inside the place was nicer than I expected. A large livingroom and kitchen with a bedroom on opposite ends that led to two bathrooms. Ideal for the college experience.
I took a seat on the large chair in the living room. Sitting sideways with my legs draped over the arm, sleep continued to beckon. The shorter girl handed me a Bud Light and took a seat on the floor beside me. Bill and the taller blond sat together on the couch.
“Come on Chris, be more fun,” Bill scolded from across the table.
“I’m trying, man. I really am. Let me get some beer in me.” I took several gulps of the sub par beer.
Bill stood up, “You know what we need to do? A drinking game.” He clapped his hands together. “This will be so much fun.”
“Ooooh,” the girl beside him agreed. “Let’s play Apple and Oranges. It’s an awesome board game.”
Before I agreed to play, I excused myself outside claiming I had to phone Jace to find out how early we left that morning. In reality, I knew that we left at ten in the morning, later than usual. I just needed to get some fresh air. I walked across the lawn, wearing only my socks, over to some bushes to take a leak. I ran around a bit before opening the door in a feeble attempt to restore wakefulness.
Upon returning inside, I see Bill’s girl standing on the chair arm with Bill excitedly calling me over, “dude, dude, you’re just in time. Check this out.” The girl, balancing on one leg, lifted her other leg up until it was perfectly parallel to her body. Then she touched the ceiling with her toes.
“Wow,” I clapped, “Very impressive.”
“Thanks. I’ve been practicing a lot for the cheer squad.” She jumped down.
The next thing I saw was Bill Dawes pointing at this crotch. Apparently, he had dove in the hotel pool with his jeans on. He put dry jeans on before leaving but not dry boxers. Judging by the underwear shaped wetspot soaking through his jeans, they were still wet now. Bill asked the tall girl if he could borrow some shorts and put his jeans and boxers in the dryer. They disappeared into the room together.
The other girl explained the rules of the drinking game we were about to play. Every few seconds I would stop her and pretend I didn’t understand on account of being Canadian.
“Okay, so these cards here mean you have chug half a drink.” She’d say.
“Wait, hold on. Chug? We don’t have that word in Canada. What’s it mean?”
“Oh my god, you don’t have chug? It’s like, drink really fast. You know, chug it.”
“Ohhh, you mean like caribou it. That’s what we call it back home. So that card means caribou half a beer, okay continue…”
Once I understood the game, I went on inventing bullshit facts about Canada. We have skis on our cars instead of tires, our women wear skirts over top their snowpants in the summer – those types of things. The universe immediately decided to reign retribution against me for lying. I heard Bill and the girl coming out of her room. She was laughing hysterically. I turned my head to witness one of the most disturbing travesties in the history of humanity.
Bill Dawes dancing in a black and white woman’s silk thong.
“Jesus christ Bill,” I slapped a hand over my eyes.
“What?” He came closer until I almost fell off the chair. “My pants are drying. I needed something to wear.”
I was laughing and utterly terrified all at once, “I swear to god. If anything touches me…” I said wafting at Bill like he was an airborn virus. Granted, at least I was awake now. Bill was gracious enough to wrap a towel around his bulge, no more images of a zebra puffing its cheek out.
“Well that was just awesome. Let’s have a goddamn drink,” I slapped the table, demanding that cards were dealt. The rules kept changing as we played. Sometimes it was truth or dare. The girls and I competed for who was the most vanilla. Bill Dawes, on the other hand, was putting us to shame. When we were done acting like a bunch of 8th grade shitheads, we got down to business. Each card in the deck represented some form of drinking. My favorite rule was drawing an Ace meant that the first person chugged. The second person couldn’t stop chugging until the first did, and the third until the second, and the fourth until the third had finished. Better yet, Dawes’ girl was next in the rotation after me since we were playing clockwise, and she was seated to Bill’s right. I had man-thong images to erase so I was planning on some heavy drinking. Getting her loaded too was a welcome side-effect for Bill’s cause.
Bill pulled the first Ace. He took three or four big gulps. The girl beside me followed suit, stopping right after him. I kept drinking. And drinking, until the beer was gone. The poor girl beside Bill dropped her Mike’s Hard Lemonade on the table with water pooling under her eyes. It wasn’t long before the next chain-drinking card came up. Another beer down. This time Dawes’ girl had to give up early, which was a clear rules violation. The punishment: more drinking. One deck of cards later, I was four beers deep in a matter of minutes. I was reborn.
We kept drinking until Bill insisted on getting his clothes from the dryer. I also insisted, or more like pleaded. Bill and the tall girl were gone for a few minutes. I was much more talkative now. Although, I was pretty certain I’d stepped in dog shit or something equally as fowl while walking in my socks outside. The girl beside me was a good sport while I bragged on and on about times I got drunk. Meanwhile, I was enjoying my second life by swigging back more Bud Light.
Bill, thankfully wearing pants, and the taller girl emerged from the laundry room. They took a seat and we resumed drinking. Though by this point I didn’t give a shit about the game, but rather concerned myself with pouring as much awful light beer down my throat as possible. The buzz was all the separated me from a total breakdown.
My cell phone signaled a text message in my pocket. I pulled it out, expecting some form of bad news. Instead, it was Bill writing me from five feet away. “Blondie is driving us back. I wanna make a move then.”
I texted back , “Cool. Think she’ll go for it?”
A few seconds later, “We hardcore made out but don’t know.”
“She seems into you.”
“Help”
I saw Bill smile as he pushed send. He said to the girl beside me while pointing at me, “Hey, you guys should kiss or something. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? You both get laid?”
“I’m not getting laid tonight,” the girl proudly announced. “I’ve got a tampon in.”
“Well that’s classy,” I was already opening my phone again.
I sent one final text, “You concentrate on your girl. I’ll distract Tampon.”
We drank some more, but the games had died off. I couldn’t maintain my current level of drunkness without the necessary support systems. When I felt fatigue sinking its claws into me, I suggested we all head back. It was close to four in the morning. Bill and the tall blonde took their seats in the front. I sat in the back with the other girl, conversing politely while thinking about menstration. When we got to the hotel, I bolted for the lobby bathroom to piss. Tampon girl also had to use the facilities in emergency fashion. When I came out, Bill was trying his best to convince his girl to spend the night.
“No I don’t think I can,” the girl whined. “I have class tomorrow and I can’t just leave my friend stranded.”
Bill looked over at me, desperate for assistance.
“Look,” I said, “she can stay in our room. There’s probably an extra bed. And I’m sure we can bother Jaimee for a spare tampon in the morning.” Both girls frowned, and simple pleasantries, hugs and whatnot, were exchanged before they headed out. I was crashing hard. Bill walked over to me, “what the fuck, dude? I’m disappointed in you.”
“Sorry. I tried,” I said, walking in the opposite direction toward my room.
“I’m disappointed in you,” Bill called behind me. “You let me down Griffin.”
“I don’t fucking care,” I shouted without looking back. The only thing I cared about was finding my bed.
8:22 pm on January 28th, 2010
We call that game Circle of Death, the Ace card is a Waterfall. The last time we played, on New Years Eve, my friend Chip made this rule that you had to end everything you said with “in my pants,” and if you didn’t you had to drink. There was a lot of drinking and people screaming “in my pants” throughout the night.
10:57 pm on January 28th, 2010
I bet those girls donated a lot of money to Haiti after the earthquake. And you should hyperlink Rocket’s rag pounding post somewhere towards the end there.
11:47 am on January 29th, 2010
@Jennifer
Yes! Waterfall was the term. I don’t remember if the game was called Circle of Death, though. That sounds like it should somehow involve knife-fighting. And you have a friend named Chip? Holy shit, what’s he like? I imagine him owning a lot cardigans. Is this a correct assumption?
“in my pants” is a great phrase. I say you don’t have to be playing a drinking game to scream it aloud.
@Tremble
I wholeheartedly recommend any of the great posts at http://www.lifeat160.com, including Rocket’s period piece.
Oh and check out this sweet article I found http://www.tremblethedevil.com/2010/01/reporters-make-the-best-terrorists.html
8:58 pm on January 29th, 2010
1. Next time I’m out, I’ll convince my friends that in Canada, they “caribou” their drinks.
2. I don’t know what could be worse for a girl, than to be referred to as “Tampon.”
3. The “zebra puffing its cheeks out” is probably one of the funniest metaphors I’ve come across in a while.
10:34 pm on January 29th, 2010
@Marina
I really have nothing to contribute other than a fist-pump gesture on all three accounts.
6:37 am on January 30th, 2010
Griffin: That comment above about CHip, etc was not mine. Not sure how that happened or who wrote that. Anyhow, I loved this story. Things are getting really interesting as the tour progresses. And your writing is really getting better w/ each post. And for the record, I think KLPratt acted like a presumptious snob! Give me a break.
2:42 pm on January 30th, 2010
“He’d went”? Are you fucking illiterate?
6:50 pm on January 30th, 2010
@Jennifer
Not to worry, I knew the other Jenn wasn’t you. I can tell via my control panel. But I still hope she writes back and explains this Chip guy.
Thanks for the kind words. I think it was a combination of Pratt being presumptuous and Dawes’ reputation proceeding him. Both of them were being overly sensitive. But it was all worked out.
@Peyton
Also acceptable would have been “hey dude, I found a typo,” but thanks.
7:57 pm on February 1st, 2010
Chip is actually an incredibly smart frat-type guy. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him in a cardigan. I can only handle him in small doses when we are drinking together, but when we do get together he never fails to amuse the hell out of me. The reason we called it Circle of Death was because of the Waterfall rule. We are super competitive and would all end up draining our drinks for each Waterfall. Leading to some very drunken nights with the repercussions the next morning of wishing we were dead.
8:28 pm on February 1st, 2010
@Jennifer
Well damn, this Chip sounds like an alright guy. I was curious because I’ve never encountered a Chip, even in passing, during my entire time on this planet. I’m glad to hear that there is a real life Chip out there, and that he’s holding it down for the other Chips.
If I had a dollar for every hungover morning spent wishing I was dead, I’d have enough money for the self-euthanasia machine to correct the problem.
12:26 am on February 2nd, 2010
The game is usually called Kings.
Dawes is pretty open about being a cooch hound, which makes me think that if he was hitting on a girl, she’d know it without a doubt.
It’s the sneaky hounds you gotta watch out for, as a friend, because they’ll go “Oh, I heard about this bitching party across the city. We’ll go over there and have a killer night.” And the party’s four people, one of which is the girl he’s been trying to bone for a week now.
1:56 am on February 2nd, 2010
@Tree Frog
Yessir, Kings was the game. Dawes definitely has a way with the ladies. Even I was left in awe at least once a week on tour. But yeah, sneaky hounds can be pricks. Dawes drug us out to a few questionable locations, but there was always ample entertainment beyond whatever piece(s) of tail he happened to be chasing that night.
6:14 pm on February 2nd, 2010
Where’s ballsack? I hope you’re not blocking his comments. The’s guy’s a grade A douche but he did entertain. Much like the characters on Maury Povich.
8:39 pm on February 2nd, 2010
@Molestor
Yeah, I ended up blocking him. He was entertaining for a while, but man, three comments a day saying the same shit over and over again got annoying. People started emailing me. The comments you all see are only a portion of them. Half the time I don’t post them because they’re so psychotic, or just painfully unfunny that I fear it would depress readers.
If he ever wrote something that was even remotely, 1% funny, I’ll post it. Hopefully he just goes elsewhere.
9:51 am on February 3rd, 2010
I agree w/ Tree Frog. Dawes has an obvious way about him, who cares. I’m a bit surprised that KLPratt reacted that way. I’ve seen exchange of numbers happen on my tour a ton of times..crew members and actors/dancers, including with myself. At times I felt it was a come on, and other times I felt it was just to be friendly because we were all in the business (and I was just a make-up artist). Either way, I would just roll w/ it, like, “yeah, OK, we can exchange #s” to keep the peace and with knowing that I would never be calling/texting the guy nor would I respond. It was just to avoid drama and minimize any stress on the tour manager who was on top of all of the social issues amongst the crew at all times.
10:51 am on February 3rd, 2010
@Grif
Fair enough. But he did have me in stitches at times. Truth is, the kids a fairly sharp writer and with laser like venom. And he can be funny. I just don’t know where all the anger and hatred came from. Anyway, looking forward to the next story. Peace.
11:21 am on February 3rd, 2010
@#1 Jennifer
That’s true. The whole situation could have been avoided if she’d just rolled with it. The Hollywood scene has this extremely weird dynamic to it that I’ll never understand. I suppose it has something to do with people living and dying by reputation, but people are obsessed with the littlest interactions and gestures. It seems to derive a lot from underlying insecurity too, and a constant need for validation.
@Molestor
He can definitely be funny on occasion. But trust me, he misses way more than he hits. I think too there’s some mental illness behind the scenes. His comments come in almost manic-depressive cycles. During the manic ones, I’ll get six in one day. It’s rare they even make sense.
Or he’s just sitting alone on the internet binging on coke. That could be it too.
2:54 am on February 5th, 2010
big miss griffin (and yes, i’m gonna ee cummings this response)
emilee was going to stay the night with me IF you could convince your shorty to stay with you, and you flopped like an italian soccer player. you didn’t even make an effort… it’s like you didn’t even care about the love developing between me and this girl. i had to wait a full three weeks before we could express our true feelings for each other in the privacy of a hotel room. oh the horror…. the horror….
i’m disappointed in you griffin…
3:28 am on February 5th, 2010
@Bill
Dude, I was freaking tired to the point where I was going to die. And I didn’t know that it was contingent on me convincing shorty to stay. I might have invited her up to the room to watch me sleep. Don’t go all emo with this shit. You were living it up boning the girl in New York two weeks later, meanwhile I’m stuck in Lansing fucking Michigan where the average person has less teeth than eyeballs. I still should have made you walk from the airport.
9:45 pm on February 12th, 2010
m-o-a-r
11:38 am on February 13th, 2010
I know I’m late to this game, but I was at the Raleigh premiere. She seemed like a nice girl for the most part, but I will say that I definitely did feel that KL Pratt had an air of pretentiousness about her, and I am not surprised at all about the Dawes/Pratt “incident” (for lack of a better word). Just my two cents…
1:09 pm on February 19th, 2010
@Bryan
Awesome. My first moar comment. I was complaining to Lifeat160 that I never get those. This makes me happy.
@Ruggles
You assessment is pretty bang on. KLP was very sweet, but there was that hint of ego that, I think, is a necessity to survive in the Hollywood scene.