This one time when I was drunk, I hugged the bar’s manager

This will most likely be a recurring subject because I have a lot of this-one-time-when-I-was-drunk stories, and given my penchant for drinking whiskey, I tend to make new ones rather frequently.  Some are funny, some are embarrassing, and a few are pathetic, but I like to tell them all.

Hanging out with Brittany and Brandon (Not Brian)

This one time when I was drunk, I was hanging out with my friend Brittany and my other friend Brian.  We had gone to a club that had a karaoke lounge and three different dance floors, and the reason we chose that particular club is because they had advertised a wet T-shirt contest on a local radio station.

I had been singing karaoke all night, and I was eager to see some ice-hardened nipples poking through wet cotton.  Naturally, I had already had more to drink than was good for me.  However, I have this thing where if someone buys me  a drink, I respect their generosity by drinking it; it’s just polite.  So the fact that Brittany continued buying rounds was only getting me drunker.

A lot of the details of the night are fuzzy, but I can fuzzily remember approaching the bartender.  I was drunk, so I recall that she was really gorgeous: She had short blond hair and a shapely face, and she also had some boobs, which were exponentially more attractive because they were partially exposed by her low-cut top.  (I’m going to leave that memory alone and not consider that she probably had jacked-up teeth and acne.)  I asked her when they were planning to start the wet T-shirt contest.  When she informed me that the establishment was unable to find enough young women who were inclined to exhibit their goods, I must have been quite vocal about my disappointment, because she referred me to the manager.

The manager was a middle-aged woman with long, curly brown hair.  She was a little heavy, but she looked very important in her women’s business suit.  I eloquently slurred to her my disappointment that the wet T-shirt contest had been cancelled.  She described to me–as the bartender had–their predicament.  It must have been a great explanation, but I don’t remember her exact words.  What I do remember, however, is that I told her she was a great manager, and I gave her a hug.  Then I showed her my handprint tattoo and explained to her that it was supposed to be Jesus’s handprint.  (When I got it, I intentionally asked the artists to shrink it so my diminutive chest wouldn’t look any smaller.)  She said it was a nice baby Jesus handprint and laughed.  I guess I was good-natured enough about the cancellation of the competition because she didn’t see fit to kick me out.

Baby Jesus Handprint Tattoo

Brian told me about it days later and said that I had been hitting on the manager pretty heavily, and that I took my shirt off for her, and that’s when most of the details that I can remember came back to me.  It was definitely a good time.

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