Thanksgiving weekend went by in a blur, and in four days I think I ate enough food to feed all of Africa and consumed enough booze to fill a frat house. For the past 5 years my tradition has been spending Thanksgiving with S, and so on Wednesday night we ran our usual routine of him buying groceries at Food Emporium, him starting to do the cooking prep work, and I sat on my ass and watched TV and ate his leftovers. Since I don’t cook or bake or do anything productive in life, my contribution to this year’s Thanksgiving feast was purchasing $100 worth of wine and beer, since I knew I couldn’t go wrong there. Although I did wake up at 8am to help S cook, and by cook I mean I mashed some yams, crumbled bacon on top of green beans and poured chicken broth into the sausage stuffing — so I was pretty proud of myself for that. Meanwhile S seriously fingered the shit out of the turkey with some duck fat:
Duck Fat in Turkey
Thanksgiving was quite the feast with a humongoid turkey, green bean casserole, candied yams, two kinds of stuffing, courtesy of S. Here’s what other people brought:
- AC, who is also quite the chef, made bacon mashed potatoes, brussels sprouts hash, chocolate mousse pie, pumpkin pie, pecan pie, and boiled custard
- G, who apparently loves making ice cream, brought homemade vanilla and butter pecan ice cream
- AP, who is black, of course made collard greens
- M, who is S’s lady friend, brought a cheap bouquet of flowers that no one knew what to do with
- F, who loves to party, brought one bottle of wine
- AB, who somehow got blackout at dinner on 2 glasses of wine, brought a bag of rolls
The feast was incred:
Turkey
Candied Yams
Sausage Stuffing
Green Bean Casserole
Thanksgiving Buffet
Pies
Here was my plate #1:
Plate #1
Here was my plate #2:
Plate #2
Ok that was the same picture, but I did in fact have 2 identical plates of Thanksgiving feast. And then a dessert sampler plate of all 3 pies, ice cream and boiled custard, which is maybe one of the most delicious things I’ve ever had in my entire life. I’m pretty sure it’s just heavy cream and eggs, and I could literally feel my left arm getting tingly and a stroke coming on, but I couldn’t stop drinking it. I drank half the Nalgene bottle of boiled custard for dessert, then the other half for breakfast the next morning. I still have a tingly sensation in my left forearm from my arteries clogging up.
Boiled Custard
I was feeling great during Thursday’s dinner until all the food suddenly hit me, and I desperately needed to go start World War III in S’s bathroom, but I just held it in painfully out of respect for all the guests in the living room. In order to assuage my abdominal discomfort, I just continued to chug glass after glass of red wine, and by the end of the night, AC and I had gone through 4 bottles of red wine by ourselves — a Layer Cake wine, a Malbec, a Chilean wine, and a Rioja. I looked in the mirror and I had a striking resemblance to a character out of Twilight with this purple/black ring all around my inner mouth. At least I had scared everyone off with my gothic looks instead of with my Thanksgiving bowel movements.
Friday afternoon I think everyone woke up with the worst tryptophan hangover. I couldn’t do anything all day except continue to drink more booze and boiled custard and eat Thanksgiving leftovers.
Thanksgiving Leftovers
After some motivation, S, G, AC and I headed to the bars later that afternoon for some day drinking and football watching that I didn’t give a shit about, followed by some more drinking and dancing at Bro J’s and Solas.
Saturday afternoon I think everyone woke up with the worst booze hangover. I couldn’t do anything all day except continue to drink more booze and watch the Iron Bowl at Bar 515. I didn’t necessarily keep track of how many pitchers of Miller Lite we went through, but I was feeling pretty good all afternoon. After one of the teams I didn’t give a shit about lost, S, G, B and I headed to Rodeo Bar, where I had one long island ice tea, and I was still feeling pretty good.
It was only when I left Rodeo Bar around 8pm that all the booze suddenly hit me. I was just a block away from home, but all of the sudden I desperately needed to pee and I knew I couldn’t make the extra block to my apartment. Not again. Over the past year, public urination had become more and more of a frequent occurrence for me, but I just couldn’t help it. I looked around to make sure no one was looking, pulled down my tights, and peed on the sidewalk right in front of one of those really beautiful $4M apartments on 18th Street between 1st and 2nd Ave. I instantly felt 10 times better, until I got home and suddenly needed to rush to the bathroom to puke up all the chicken nachos and quesadillas and one too many pitchers of Miller Lite that I had consumed earlier in the afternoon. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had thrown up food day-of, but I was really upset with myself.
S, B and I were supposed to meet up again at 9:30pm to start pregaming, but clearly that didn’t happen since I was completely blacked out on my couch until I woke up at 1:30am to find 5 missed calls from S, B and M. I felt like dying but knew I had to rally, and somehow made it out to DBA Bar to meet up with them 15 minutes later at 1:45am. I threw up some more liquid on 3rd Street on my way to the bar, ordered some water at the bar, then immediately threw up the full glass of water I had consumed 10 minutes later in the bar bathroom. My projectile liquid vomit was truly impressive. I was a mess.
I knew I needed to leave, but B convinced me to stay, and he was quickly becoming 10 times more blackout than I already was. While I sat there trying to keep down a glass of water, B was sitting there taking shot after shot of Jameson with the bartender. By 3:30am, B had taken about a dozen shots of Jameson and then tried to close out his tab but drew boobs on his credit card slip instead of writing in the tip. Given his blackout state, for a split second I contemplated how easy it would be to take advantage of him, but I decided tonight was not the night to become a 4-time friend rapist. Instead, I put him in a cab, tried to stop him as he too urinated on the streets of Manhattan, then gave up and walked the 2 blocks home.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone.
Poverexic in NYC 