We played "The Game" tonight, for the first time in ages. Good times.
Pete brought a bottle of bourbon, and I had the usual stash of vodka in my purse. We made it through almost half an hour before we were wasted, which is something of a record, I think. Jason got there first, big surprise. Who's bright idea was it to insist we take a drink whenever something we'd been through poppped up on screen?
"Impersonating a churchman, take a drink, Marlena."
"I was a nun. Huge difference"
"Oh yeah, 'course."
Total sympathy for Jason and the base-jump gone wrong, of course. Pete was pissing and moaning about that bloody rifle on the highway, and Marlena just about laughed up a lung at the "disguise-o-matic". It was around then that security tried to throw us out, but Marlena had a word with them and they left us alone.
"What did you show 'em?" Pete asked between snorting contemptuously at the screen and swigging from the bottle.
"The one that says I'm a former FLOTUS."
"Nice one." Pause. "Hey, you're blonde today."
"Thanks for noticing. Stop hogging the bottle."
There was the inevitable sniggering at the old bomb-in-the-cranium routine. Geeze, who does that anymore?
"Why is Pete staring at that chick's dress?"
"Sure, but he's drinking. I'm not."
"Hey, Pete, is there something you wanna tell - OW!"
It was that kind of night. Like I said, I'm amazed we lasted as long as we did. We usually end up so shitfaced we can't remember the last, oh, hour or so of any action movie we go to. Jason had to carry me back to the car after The Bourne Identity. The Rock was a good one, too, but we got into more trouble afterwards than we did at the theater. Pete says he hardly felt the concussion he got after walking past the old man's office whistling that song about San Francisco, but he's a liar.