The Night I Declared War on My Own Dignity

So, where do I even fucking begin with what happened last night? I mean, you guys know, right? Life’s already been kicking me in the balls for the past few months. Lost my job, my apartment, my girlfriend. Fuck me, right? Might as well add friend to that list. Carl, you absolute donkey, you’ve made the list.

I was supposed to have a fucking chill night. A few beers, some pizza, hashed out plans to finally rewatch Firefly (best fucking show, am I right?), but nope. Carl had to goblin up the evening with his high-drama bullshit.

I gotta paint the picture here: our gathering spot is this janky, old basement in my friend's decrepit suburban house. It's filled with moldy books, sagging couches, and this creepily smiling Ronald Mcdonald statue. Why's that fucker there, you ask? Carl, that's why.

Anyway, we're a few beers down and Carl's already into his weird mood swings. He’s pissed because Jerry didn't share his 7-layer dip recipe. Fucking Jerry. Always holding out on us with his gourmet snack recipes.

I’m just chilling in a corner, trying to keep my vibes together. A bite of pizza here, occasional sip of my beer there, and hoping nobody gonna bring up my recent string of shit luck.

Then enter Hank, stage left, wearing his iconic Hawaiian shirt one can spot from a mile away. Hank, for some reason I will never understand, decides to bring his new girlfriend Lucy. Now, Lucy is this gorgeous, funny and an absolute sweetheart of a girl. She definitely doesn’t deserve to be with Hank or stuck in this weird space with us.

Hank goes around introducing her, people are having laughs and then they came to me. I had met Lucy at a friend’s gig, some weeks ago. I was shit drunk that night and don’t remember much but something in her attitude told me she remembered me.

Maybe it was too much booze or just the low point my life was at, I committed a fuck-up of epic proportions. In my haze of embarrassment and idiocy, I blurted out, “Ohhh yeah! You're that cute chick I barfed on at the gig.”

The room went fucking quiet. Even that Ronald McDonald statue seemed to stop smiling. I could see Hank’s face going from surprise to anger and fuck-me, I wished the old decrepit house would just collapse on me then and there.

Now, Hank’s a big guy, built like a rugby player. So you can guess my surprise when Carl, 170 lbs dripping wet, leaped like a gazelle and tackled Hank before he could give me a solid Hawaiian punch.

Carl, my saviour, my hero, the guy who brought that creepy statue and caused the night to go to shit in the first place, was now protecting my sorry ass.

I’d never seen a fight break out in our decrepit den of chill before. Amidst flying dip containers, broken beer bottles, and Ronald the Clown looking on as the world burned, I slinked out, more than a little ashamed, a lot drunk, and absolutely sure that I was no longer invited to boys’ night.

So here I am, typing this out in the cold, sober light of day, realising that I need to move my ass out of town, get my shit together, maybe develop a sudden case of selective amnesia –or just die of shame.

Honestly, I think I preferred losing my job and flat over what I've lost tonight. At least then, I could drown my sorrows in Jerry's fucking seven-layer dip.

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