Y'know, it's funny how 6 hours can completely revitalize you.

Around 9 p.m., The Ford, out of bed for about 90 minutes, was feeling like crap, willing to cede the battle to uber-cold, in hopes of feeling healthy in a couple of days. Even pondering the possiblity of calling in sick tomorrow, the first time he'd have called in sick in 5 years as a pro.

Put simply, The Ford's a gamer.

And yet, after a failed attempt to read comic books (the Borders in Oakland closes at 9 p.m. on Wednesdays -- who knew?), a slow, slow, slow burger at Steak 'N'Shake (When the waitress starts yelling at the cook about how long it's taking to get you a burger -- five feet away from you -- without you saying anything, you know the food's coming slowly), a viewing of X-Men 3 (thouroughly mediocre, but it's a good comic-book-geek fix in any event, and the cognitive dissonance cause by trying to figure out how old Kitty Pryde is in the movie is fascinating), and, of course, a stop at The Official Bar, The Ford's feeling pretty good.

Of course, this may because, well, he was packing away the alcohol. His count? 5 beers and 3 shorts in 90 minutes.

Now, at this point, you're probably thinking The Ford's a bit of a lush. Especially if you're a regular reader of The Official Blog.

But it didn't go down like that, eh?

Here's the official recap of The Ford's drinking exploits*:

Beer 1: The opener, sucked down at a moderate pace while The Ford tried to figure out if he was more interested in Frasier (and still felling the Kelsey-Grammer-vibe after X3) or SportsCenter.

Beer 2: Middle relief, as The Ford decides that he's going to focus on SportsCenter, with occasional eyes on Frasier, just to assuage the Seattle homesickness.

Shot 1: A remnant from last week, Hot Bartendress' ode to The Official Birthday, delayed only by The Ford's refusal to bring up said birthday with folks not in the know unless there's a reason. He believes the shot was some sort of "Pucker Fucker." It was green. And full of alcohol. And that's all The Ford cared about.

Beer 3: Originally planned as the closer -- the beer that would take The Ford to closing time -- Beer 3 was milked for a bit, until sudden developments necessitated a change in plans.

Shot 2: "Sex at Scarlett's House." Gratis from the crew of dealers/pit bosses at the MGM Grand who appreciated The Ford's willingness to relocate himself one stool over. The Ford recognized it only by its orange color as it was shoved into his hand by a female dealer, moments before drinking. (The Ford, were he a woman, aside from being massively confused by his/her sexuality, would be a prime roofie candidate.) It's at this point that The Ford got drawn into a conversation with said female dealer about the hotness of Hot Bartendress. There was a consensus, needless to say.

Beer 4: Ditto.

Shot 3: Ditto. Also, some appreciation for The Ford's tolerance for cigarette smoke. Though, at this point, The Ford was beginning to feel like whatever the male equivalent of a bar floozy is. A "himbo," even, relying on the kindness of others to keep him inebriated, friendly, and possibly an easy lay. (The Ford tries not to let on he's a pretty easy lay in any event, free alcohol or not.) This one was a Washington Apple, which apparenly contains cranberry juice, apple pucker, and vodka. Really, it's The Ford's ideal drink, aside from the vodka. And the being done in 5 seconds.
Though the speed-of-consumption of said drink was the main reason The Ford ordered it as his free drink, since he was already nursing what he thought would be his final beer.

Beer 5: But it was not his final beer! Instead, The Ford's attempt to reclaim his drinking destiny, as "last call" hangs over his head like the sword of Damocles, resulted in the ordering of one final beer, a beer to call his own. Sure, it might have been a beer too far. Sure, he'd already had plenty of beer, and plenty of shots to boot. But damn it, The Ford will leave the bar on a beer. And a beer he's paid for, regardless of anything else. It's the sort of thing that leaves him OK with being able to ID porn starlets moonlighting in phone sex ads at the bar.

And there you have it. The blueprint for how a perfectly ordinary night for a guy coming off a massive cold can go horribly wrong, and yet turn our all right in the end.




*Don't try this at home; The Ford's a quasi-experienced drinker, with years at high altitude before returning to sea level.