Pianos Margaritas Are Dangerous…

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, Pianos margaritas are dangerous….for some reason, I keep going back for more. Maybe it’s the fact that they’re $3, maybe it’s the fact that no matter who you are and what your tolerance is, 2 of these will take care of you for the night. I went last night with Dave Thomas Junior and met up with Tommy, Dean, and Wes Hutchinson, who was playing Cross Pollination upstairs. We each had two….hilarity ensued.

It wasn’t until I woke up on the subway at Queens Plaza that I realized my third big mistake of the night….the first one being the margaritas, the second being the beer and whiskey that followed. Not only is Queens Plaza an hour away from the Lower East Side, but an hour the wrong direction. Holy shit…I gathered my drunken thoughts, jumped out of the train and crossed the platform and to my excitement another train pulled up right away….Mistake number 4 was made but not realized. It wasn’t until the train started moving and the conductor said, “next stop, Jackson Heights“  that I realized just how big of a moron I am. If there is such thing as survival of the fittest or natural selection or whatever you want to call it, I should be dead. Clearly Darwin has nothing on me.

Now on an express train going further into Queens I had a bit of time to think how the hell I should get back to Park Slope before daylight. It was then I checked my phone for the time…it was only midnight….not bad. Ok Casey, pull yourself together, you can do this!  And then came the text…..from none other than the The Dutch Master himself. It read, “you left your bag, I’m taking it home.” WOW. Ok, so now I have no keys….this is actually getting impressive. I started imagining Langhorne ripping my head off with her teeth when I have to call and wake her up to let me in…she’s going to kill me.

Fast forward an hour and a half later. Once again I woke up on the F train, this time as the doors were closing at 15th street and Prospect Park….one stop too far, now going two.  DAMN YOU CASEY.  I continued on to Fort Hamilton, changed trains AGAIN, and headed BACK to the 7th Avenue stop.

Langhorne is not picking up her phone, probably because it’s 2 am….the buzzer to our apartment is out, and I have no keys. Hmmm, luckily for me the Bar 4 open mic was still going strong, so I headed there where I first ran into Steve Waitt, Chelsea Lynn La Bate, and Lowry’s drummer, Crash. This was the first time I tried to speak in about 4 hours. As the words slurred out of my mouth, I had a bit of an out of body experience, listening to the words coming out and thinking, “man, this guy is drunk…he’s not making a bit of sense….he should probably stop talking.” They assured me I’d have a floor to sleep on somewhere. Phew.

A few more conversations later, my phone finally rang…..I’ve never been happier to be scolded.  I was just happy to be home…and alive.

9 Comments Add Yours

  1. rachael

    when i lived in brooklyn I did this exact thing at least once a week. it doesn’t get any easier, especially with those crackargitas (thats what i like to call them) in the mix. glad you made it home ok in the end!

  2. wes

    I’d like to also point out the bag, sitting lonely in the middle of pianos until I found it, open, contained an iPod, house keys, a bunch of harmonicas, and a camera. and a framed picture of langs of course

  3. tommy

    Wow!! I had no idea that your night would end up that way….Have you spoken to Dean about his date that he went to at 9:00 after drinking those “crackargitas?” Can you imagine?? I know I stole the crackargitas, but what a great description! WORD!!!!

  4. petey b.

    probably best to get your life back on track.

  5. Wes Hutchinson

    Probably shouldn’t hang out with me anymore:)
    i feel mostly responsible. sorry langs…again.