It all started as an average Saturday. I woke up exhausted from the night before and naturally couldn’t get back to sleep thanks to the slight hangover I was nursing. It was around midday and Stifler gives me a call. He tells me there’s a Superhero Street Festival happening toda-… before he can even finish I am sprinting out the door to get ready.

If there is one thing I am a huge fan of its Superheroes and if there is another thing I’m a fan of its costumed themed parties with hot drunk women. When the two combine you can bet your ass that mine will be there. However there was an issue: I had no costume prepared and the festival was that day. No problem, I walk into the nearest thrift store and am able to create a badass costume in no less than 15 minutes. With my blue tights, cape and red undies I was ready to get drunk, rage, hit on girls and fight crime.

I am ready but Stifler is not. In fact he takes about an additional two hours to get ready. While I question Stifler’s gender affiliation I begin to pound shots. By the time the two hours are up I have inhaled at least 10. Now this might have seemed like a bad idea (and it was), but I was so bored waiting that I blame Stifler and his tardiness for my excessive inebriation. So as you can imagine as we entered the festival I began to feel the effects of the alcohol. Rather than take heed to the warnings my body was giving to me, I decided to step it up a notch and took two handle pulls of bacardi, followed by purchasing a 40oz beer to back it up.

I begin my rampage. Every girl that passes by me I’m bringing in. Even girls that don’t like me initially slowly realize my awesomeness and succumb to my charm. At least that’s how I remember it. Either way I am winning at this festival.

After making out with a bunch of random girls in rapid succession my luck appears to have run out and things take a turn for the worse. The additional alcohol I drank upon entry begins to set in. I’m not really sure what happened after that but I distinctly remember getting my face painted and some girls fighting for my attention. By this time I have lost Stifler, my friends and my phone. Confused and alone I then decide, for some reason, it would be a good idea to run 10 blocks all the way back to my place. And as far as I know I just passed out there.

When I wake up, there is a girl laying next to me.  I quickly recognize her as one of my irregular booty calls but am very confused as to how she got she got there because I had no phone to call her. I cannot locate my wallet and am confused about my general existence so I decide to shut my eyes and hope it all goes away. When I open them again the girl is gone and my head feels as if a Rhino had stamped on it. I cannot remember the last 12 hours and simply assumed that I was passed out for all of them. However I was not.

On Monday I went to El Rio for dollar drink night. I high fived the doorman and walked in without paying cover or waiting in line, as I usually do. I was hoping I’d be able to get some free drinks as well because I had no money but the bouncer stopped me and told me to wait outside. This is unusual, I am a regular and know a good amount of the staff so I never pay for cover or wait in lines. He comes out and brings me my wallet. I was ecstatic at first but then am immediately concerned. Why was my wallet there? The bouncer who I knew pretty well by that point tells me that I upset a lot of the patrons at the bar on Saturday. I tell him this is impossible because I wasn’t there Saturday and just passed out early that night. But he tells me I WAS there. He tells me I came in tights on with my face adorned with paint and proceeded to piss off every single girl in the bar and offend all the others. This was so egregious in their eyes that I am banned from the establishment for life.

As I write this I can’t stop laughing about it because I literally have no recollection of this, not one. I don’t remember entering or even thinking about entering that bar on Saturday. However upon hearing the news I was pretty upset. El Rio had been my favorite bar and I was cool with most of the people inside so I couldn’t understand how one night completely derailed that. Now I think I do.

I always suspected that the bouncer who told me I couldn’t come back didn’t like me. It makes sense he’s married and working at a bar owned by lesbians and has seen me walk in and out of that place with I don’t know how many girls in the past 8 months. He’s probably seen me make out with even more there. My guess is, seeing as how I am still cool with all the other staff, that HE was the one that got me kicked out because he was player hating. What a fucking cunt. But whatever I figure if you aren’t getting kicked out of places in your 20’s you’re doing something wrong.