"Lemme see some identification"

Going out with my girl Elise, I can be sure of only a few things: I'll be telling ya'll about it the next day, there will be tons of whiskey involved, somebody will fall and start bleeding, there will be approximately 7-9 high intensity situations with perfect strangers, and I'll have a great fucking time.

A few nights ago, we caught news of a bar named Blood Hound on 7th and Folsom that was having a fundraising art gallery called the Tenderloin Project. Since "giving back" is our number one priority on a Friday night: we just needed 10 minutes to find a babysitter for our self-respect and dignity for the night, before heading over.

We get inside, with our girl Emma, and open a tab. Uh oh. The crowd is a pile of mid-20s crap, who are desperately trying to "live it up" because their jobs have been driving them up the wall all week. Elise and I have a grand old time running into circles of strangers, insulting one of them and running away before they have a chance to be offended or humored.

Here it gets good. I lose Elise and find her outside complimenting the 6'5" black bouncer, Damien, on how "strong his arms" are. Elise then single handedly convinces Damien to go inside and hangout while she mans the door. LET ME TELL YOU: the sight of my 120 pound, 5'7" friend with a cigarette in one hand and a can of beer in the other, acting as a bouncer is completely priceless. No one was let in or OUT of the bar without getting carded. People walking by on the sidewalk (or across the street) were subject to a "LEMME SEE YOUR FUCKING ID!" People walking in couldn't help laughing to themselves, but you better believe they got their IDs out and quick.

One guy gives her his ID. After squinting for a second Elise belts out, "1969!? This is FAKE. Definitely FAKE. GET THE SCISSORS OUT!" Dumbfounded and confused, this innocent bystander shuffled into the bar.

Now come on that is some funny shit. After one reggae bar, one lap dance (for me, curtsey of Elise), we get on the bus headed back to sanity, so I think. Let me say that this bus carried about 15 people: perfect, an audience. Elise, without informing me, decides to have a slapping contest. She starts hysterically laughing with her head down, while trying to simultaneously slap me in the face. Her motions are slow and misguided. I easily block each slap and return her one for one. The only difference is that I am actually hitting my target. After about 5 minutes of stop-start slapping and laughing, Elise finally gives up. The couples surrounding us are horrified, some at this guy beating up this drunk girl and some at how drunk and loud this girl was.

Close to home, it gets interesting:

Elise: "You tooootally want to fuck me."

Sina: "Elise, you WISH I would ever want to fuck you."

Strange Man: "DOES THIS BUS COME WITH EARPLUGS?"

Elise & Sina: "NO!"

Strange Man: "If he won't fuck you, I'll fuck you."

Elise: "NEVER! Drink your 40 by yourself, lonely boy."

Strange Man: "I AM lonely."

Wow, sad, awkward. Thankfully we're properly shit-housed enough to not care. The night capped off with us getting off the bus one stop too soon and subsequently being on the wrong street. We obviously freak out although where only one block from where we should be. We each pee on the sidewalk before deciding its a good idea to walk the rest of the way home and into Elise's highly populated living room, with our pants at our knees.

And another one bites the dust.