Well this was quite the weekend for my poverexic self. Yesterday S hosted an all day bbq, or rather, chili-fest, which was loads of fun. I got there like two hours early to help out S (slash, so I could get a way head start on the chili…), and I can’t even tell you how excited I was at seeing how much meat was going into that humongoid pot of chili. I actually think an entire cow plus a few woodland creatures went in there – there was like 23498234 lbs of ground beef, some steak, some steak tips, some buffalo meat, and probably some bison and bear and deer tossed in there too. The chili was so delicious that I had 6 bowls throughout the day to cover me for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I really think I ate more protein in that one afternoon than I had in the past 12 months combined. And of course to accompany all the protein there was also cornbread and endless flowing beer.
It was a wonderful day of drinking from 12pm to 9pm, at least for me and everyone else. I think for S it was a wonderful day of drinking from 12pm to 9pm and then everything went to shit. We went out for dinner after that (of course I wasn’t going to get anything; I had just purposefully eaten 6 bowls of chili to last me through the rest of the weekend), and it was just a disaster. After S buys a round of scotch for everyone (yessss!), we sat down at the table at this really nice restaurant, and S immediately starts throwing tantrums and making a scene. He demands a double Maker’s Mark from the waiter, who brings it to him in a wine glass with ice with a straw (??????????), which S then two minutes later accidentally knocks off the table, shattering the glass and wasting the entire drink. I wanted to cry; what S had just thrown on the floor was worth like a month’s salary to me. S then proceeded to immediately pass out at the table with his hands behind his head.
When the food came (I didn’t order anything; just kept drinking my glasses of wine and scotch, and eating the free bread at the table), people would cut bits of their steak and place it in front of S who was plateless and still passed out. Every time, I would pat his belly and yell “FOOD, S, FOOD!” and then he would half-wake up just to shove the food in his mouth off the tablecloth, then fall right back asleep in his hands-behind-head position. I really can’t believe all this incredible food went wasted on blackout S, and I can’t believe I encouraged it with this belly patting. Every time F or G would put food in front of S, what I really should have done was grab it away from S and shove it in my face. I would have been much more appreciative of it, but I was just so surprisingly full from those 6 bowls of chili, cornbread, and god knows how many beers. G was still kind enough to offer me her plate of liver and steak and green beans and ravioli — it was all rearry dericious, but I am ashamed to say I did not finish all of the green beans; I felt like such a failure to poverexia, such a fraud, to be so full as to not be able to finish a plate. This will never happen again.
Anyway, in conclusion, the night turned out really expensive for our table of 8 + 1 man bear; luckily I only had wine, though that still turned out quite pricey in comparison to my usual $5.50 Tasty King dinners. I think next week I’ll go back to Tasty King; that is really the best option there is in life.
Poverexic in NYC 