The Paul Buerre coming into NYC Incident

Paul Beurre calls me at 4.

"(other) ALEEEEEXXXX!!!"
"Who is this?"
"(other) ALEEEEXXXXX!!!"
"No it's not."
"PAUUUULLLLLBBUUUUUUERRRRREEEE!!"
"HOLY SHIT! PAULBEURRE!"
"Guess where I am."
"I dunno."
"I am overlooking the retreat."
"Bah?"
"I came to The Old Alma Mater for the Acapella preview concert. Guess how I'm getting home."
"Chinatown bus. You're staying here tonight. We're getting drunk."
"Yeah. I'm going to get all my worldly possessions. I'll call you when I get to NY."
"Rock n' Cock"

He gets here at 8:15. We go to dinner, drink a beer, buy 2 sparks and a 40 each and back to the apartment. I am going to drink on par with Paul Beurre. (Sidenote: Paul Buerre is the 2nd most hardcore drinker I know. He has been quoted "I was either going to make love to a woman or make love to a keg. And I went with the keg.")

We crack the 40s. Take them down. I tear through my 2 sparks. PB is slower than me. I rule. I split the stray sparks. By Austin I meant Married is mocking us. He has only had 2 sparks. What a jerk. I fill a nalgene with 500ml of gin, ice, tonic/lemon lime seltzer and lime juice.

"Alright Paul Buerre. We're marking our arms with how many drinks we have tonight."
"Okay."
"Every 100ml from this nalgene is 1."
(Note: 50 ml is roughly 1 shot [a little more], so a 1/2 n' 1/2 nalgene is going to make each 100 ml 50 gin 50 tonic.")

We start marking. Leave the apt at 11ish. I'm powering through the nalgene, PB is behind.

Arriving at the east village finds the nalgene at 700ml. 1 for each of us. I'm up to 7. We get to a very crowded bar. Immediately leave for Hop Devil. I buy a beer for myself, PB and some random girl. I tip well, I'm hitting the nalgene for the rest of the night, so hopefully the bartender will still like me, I'm wearing a crown so I think he has to.

Here's where the night gets blurry.

During the course of the night I:
~Drink the rest of the nalgene
~Call a girl named Mary Beth, Mary Ann (I had met her before and actually knew her name)
~Scream at the bartender I know causing him to not serve me
~Insult people outside when I don't remember their names either (I met them recently and didn't know them)

Then I got a text message from a girl I met a few nights ago and insulted a whole lot because she had awful taste in music. We text back and forth

Her: (12:14) Boat?
Me: (12:14) Where?
Her: (12:16) Smith and warren
Me: (12:33) Seriously is thing awesome or shitty?
Her: (12:38) Boat is fun. It's a hike though so no problem drinking another time
Me: (1:37) I will drink with you for a million years
Her: (1:39) See, i drink all the time, so it's a match
Me: (1:40) I'll take you any time any place
Her: (1:41) Why, that's suggestive
Me: (1:43) I know

She stopped texting me at that point. In fairness, I do like suggesting things.

The night wasn't all that crazy from then on. Garden variety drinking. I was bombed and at 15 I got another beer, yelled at the bartender for not having anything less than $5.50 basically finished the nalgene and stumlbed home. Other people stayed and had fun.

Apparently, around this point I tried to find Paul Buerre. By calling his phone. At his house. In Rhode Island. Where his parents live. I am certain they were a bit put off by a blitzed friend of their son calling them at 3am and yelling about... something. I am something of a notorious drunk dialer... but oh man... oh man oh man oh man...

Back at home I walked through my roomates room when he was apparently with a girl (so did everyone else in the apt). When I woke up I went for water and found Paul Buerre shirtless and unconscious on the futon with a roomate of mine he had not met on the other futon. Oh Buerre...

Then we went to a diner and came up with the idea that we're better than Hemingway. Which we are. Or will be once I get a better story than this.