The Man-Gina Story (Sushibar Xmas party: Round 2, Ding Ding!)

Occurred-December 2008

            It’s hard to classify this story. Technically it can be classified as either a Sushibar story or a Brett Baskin story. Shit, it’s almost a HotTeacher story (I honestly need to stop classifying this shit, because it defeats the purpose of these stories if they in fact do have a purpose. A Ginger making no sense? Go figure). This night was the conglomeration of multiple elements of my life and pretty much sums up what happens when you mix mass amounts of alcohol, good friends (except for CadetDouche), and massive mix of personality disorders (including mine and yes, I actually used the word conglomeration to sound more intellectual). If you do a comprehensive (damn another big word, I’m on a roll) search on Brett Baskin’s Facebook page (which means you have to add him, which is a scary thought when you think about it because he could possibly discover where you live and show up at your house with a 12 pack of Natty Light and fun times; for him, not you. Ever watch a shocking stunt on Jackass that didn’t involve human feces or massive amounts of schlong in plain view? Exactly.) Here’s the story.

              Sushibar was having their annual Christmas party and my actions from the previous party, I.e. violently vomiting by the front door, almost getting into a fight with a guy over him wearing a cowboy hat (its not my fault he didn’t realize that he wasn’t in Texas), and passing out on a hibachi table, wasn’t enough for the owners to ban me from the party and put up a huge wooden cross or whatever sacred artifact (wow, another fancy word) that Buddhists use to ward off evil. Instead I got an invite and was allowed to invite guests. Apparently MrChow and his brother, Sammo, (the owners) were the forgiving type (not bad for supposed Triads who allegedly keep machine guns in one of the upstairs offices of Sushibar). 

      I decided to invite HotTeacher and her friends (ButtonNose and BrownBag) to the party. On the night of the party we arrived (despite HotTeacher’s condescension, seriously when you’re trust fund baby friends have to tell you loosen up you know you have a problem, I should have) and Hootie was working (no it wasn’t Darius Rucker even though he was good at busting racial stereotypes just like Rucker does). Hootie was pretty chill for having to work a party like this even though it wasn’t that surprising given the fact that he was like Mace Windu from Star Wars (episodes 2 and 3) whilst on the clock, I.e. calm no matter what whether it be dealing with drunken douche bags or the droid army (in a galaxy far, far away or your nearby watering hole). He was cooler than Stuart Scott’s commentary on Sportscenter (seriously, stealing rap lyrics doesn’t make you ghetto fabulous and/or witty).