I Lost a Friend, But I Gained A Not Very Interesting Story

Early last February, the Saturday before the Super Bowl to be exact, I received a call from my then-friend Meagan. She had the hook-up at House of Blues Foundation Room at Mandalay Bay and invited me to go that night with her and a few friends. Little did I know when I accepted the invitation it would lead to the end of our friendship.

When I got to Meagan's house she was already half lit. She met me at the door with a shot. I did it, some sort of nasty shit, and gave her a hug. She slurred that she was celebrating no longer being with her boyfriend and had already done several shots with her roommate, who had just left to work a bartending shift.

Then she asked me to go to the store and get her a pack of cigarettes, which I did because I'm a sucker. I picked up her pack of rolled emphysema, some gum, a 2-liter of Coke for a mixer, and a few other items. The lady in front of me was kind of attractive and was probably really good looking ten or so years ago before the drugs and hard living left their marks. She was talking about being a millionaire and losing all her money; she was Vegas personified. Then she bought my groceries, just like that. I think when I spoke I reminded her of one of the voices in her head.

When I got back to Meagan's house I began drinking heavily, relying on her insistence that one of her co-workers would drive us to the Strip. I did a few shots with Meagan and then drank a vanilla vodka and Coke in a glass so large the drink actually had a tide. One of her co-workers came by and also started drinking like Courtney Love at an open bar, so it was decided that Susan (I don't remember her real name) would drive since she no longer indulged.

About an hour later, after I've drunkenly professed my love to Meagan and she's shown me her beautiful tits, Susan's boyfriend drops her off. Yeah, it seems Susan had lost her license about a year prior for driving drunk. That was the last night she ever had alcohol.

I don't know how we did it, but our sloshed asses talked Susan into driving us to the Strip, sans license, on one of the busiest Saturday nights of the year. We piled into Meagan's Nissan and took off. We got on the expressway and as soon as the speedometer read fifty the car started shaking violently. Susan freaked the fuck out. Here's the conversation:

Susan: "Holy fuck! MEAGAN, WHAT THE FUCK'S WRONG WITH YOUR FUCKING CAR?"

Meagan (stump drunk): "There's nothing wrong with my car. Quit moving the steering wheel so much."

Me (also quite drunk, but able to reason): "She's 'moving the steering wheel' to keep the car on the road."

Meagan: "She's nervous. It's making the car shake."

Me: "God damn it, Michael J. Fox with icecubes down his pants couldn't make the car shake like this."

So Susan gets off the freeway and we take the surface streets to Mandalay Bay. As long as the car stays under fifty mph, it's okay. We pass about a million cop cars on the way, and every time we do, Susan hyperventilates. We make it there, somehow.

The lobby outside of the Foundation Room was packed, but we just walked right in to the place. I love walking through a crowd of people younger, richer, and better looking than me and getting in while they have to wait.

To make a long story short, and because I'm tired and want to get some sleep, the night had its highs and lows. I had many more drinks, all courtesy of a bartender friend of Meagan's; Meagan and I made out near the bar; she said despite that she only wanted to be friends; I said in that case I didn't want to see her again; and when I sobered up and realized I still valued our friendship, it was too late. She never returned my phone calls and after awhile I stopped calling. I haven't seen her since that night.

The moral of the story is: Never say "I never want to see you again" unless you really mean it.