Let’s Get LIIT!

Let’s Get LIIT!

No, I didn’t spell that wrong.  It’s an acronym that stands for Long Island Iced Tea.  A more accurate title would be Let’s NOT Get LIIT Ever Again!  Tanya, from The Incurable Dreamer, recently made a comment on one of my posts that mentioned LIIT, and that got me thinking about a good story.

I can already hear you thinking, “What did you do Ari?”  I can’t blame you for that.  Usually I am the one front and center (read guilty) in these types of stories.  But not this time!  No, no, no.  This time it was someone else.  That someone is often my judge, jury, and executioner when I fuck up after sampling sufficient quantities of fermented beverages that shift me into an inebriated state.  That person would be my wife!  She is not one to give me fodder for such stories so I am really going to enjoy telling this one.

When we first moved to Virginia my wife wasn’t working outside the home.  We rescued a Jack Russell Terrier dog from the animal shelter that had been abused.  Rehabilitating the dog, whose name is Dexter, became my wife’s job.  Being home and working with him every day cemented a very strong bond between the two.  I was on friendly terms with Dexter, but there was no doubt, she was (and still is) her favorite.

My wife is Canadian and although I liked hockey before I met her, I really got into it after we got together.  In our new home there was a local minor league team and we started going to the games quite a bit.  What does all this have to do with LIIT?  It’s just a little exposition.  Hold your horses (or doggies, or pucks).

One Friday night we were attending a hockey game and we bought a few tickets to the 50/50 raffle.  For those of you who don’t know what that is, it’s when they sell tickets and have a drawing.  The winner gets half the pot and the organizers keep the other half.  We’d played this several times before at these hockey games and other events, but we had never even come close to winning.  Tonight, during the third period, with the clock winding down, they announced they 50/50 winning ticket number.  This event had lost all suspense for me because, as I said before, we had never won.  So this didn’t even get me excited anymore and I wasn’t even paying attention.  Then I heard her gasp.  I looked over to her staring at one of the little blue tickets like she had seen a ghost.  Then she shoved it in my face and declared that we won!

Now my excitement level ratcheted right back up to HELL YEAH levels!  I didn’t even care what the outcome of the game was now.  I just wanted to get down to the ticket booth to see how much we had won.  When we got there they informed us we had won $300something.  $300something on a $5 investment.  That was a hell of a profit margin!  Don’t ask me for a percentage.  Ari and math are not buddies.Long Island Iced Tea

On the ride back home we decided that we had to celebrate.  What better place to do that than a bar?  There was one not far from our condo (thankfully as you’ll see) so we stopped off.  We bellied up and smacked that $300something down on the bar.  I drank beer.  My wife, not so much.  Yeah, you know, she ordered that Long Island Iced Tea.  Here is a typical recipe for a LIIT.  But you really don’t need to read it.  Let me tell you how it goes.  Take a tall glass, pour every fucking liquor you can find behind the bar in it, throw some ice in it, and make it look like tea.  There you go and my wife, who is not a heavy drinker, was downing them left and right that night.  I was feeling no pain either but I was in no way getting to the state she was.  The bar tender even started making them stronger than usual because we kept buying her shots with our $300something.

Come closing time our $300something was reduced to $0something.  A lot of money spent on A LOT of LIITs, beer, and shots.  We stumbled out of the bar and began our journey home.  I forgot to mention that this was in January and the temp was near freezing.  I managed to get my wife headed in the right direction and kept her from walking out in traffic.  However, when we arrived at home about ten minutes later she decided that the journey was going to end on the little spit of grass that served as our front lawn of the condo.  Plop!  Down she went and informed me that she was going to sleep there for the night.  I made a feeble attempt to pick her up but when she didn’t cooperate I went inside because I had to take a wicked leak.  I also figured she would get cold pretty soon and be bumbling her way through the front door.

After finishing my business, she still hadn’t come inside.  I sat on the couch and watched TV for about ten minutes before I started to get worried that she was going to freeze to death.  Dexter was also giving me some questioning looks because he could tell something was going on.  I went back out and found her sleeping soundly in the grass.  I tried several times to get her to her feet but she was having nothing to do with it.  She started yelling at me to leave her alone so I got pissed and told her to have it her way and freeze!  Back inside I went to find Dexter freaking out because he had heard her yelling.  I was determined to leave her out there this time.  Yeah, that lasted about 15 minutes.

On the way back out the door, Dexter darted between my legs and ran outside.  He was standing guard over her inert body when I started trying to get her up again.  Again she started yelling at me to leave her alone.  Dexter interpreted this as a hostile move on my part and was having none of it.  Jack Russell Terriers are on the small side and I always call small dogs ankle biters.  He was really good at ankle biting.  It was his go to move.  So that’s where he started his attack on me as I was trying to drag my LIIT wife to her feet.  Jack Russell Terriers are also very good jumpers.  So when the ankle biting didn’t really slow me down that much, he started launching in the air and delivering chomps to any available part of my anatomy he happened to find himself aligned with on the apex of his jump.  These areas included calves, arms, back, and yes, the nads were not spared.  Picture this.  Here I am stooped over trying to drag my wife from under her armpits while I had the Tasmanian Devil dog whirring all over my body with the teeth of a thousand cuts.  All of this taking place at three in the morning in a condominium complex.  All that noise and commotion.  Not one single person came outside to see what was going on.  At first I was worried about waking somebody up but by this time I was hoping someone would just come outside and help me.

After only managing to move her a couple of feet I gave up and started chasing Dexter all around the complex.  I finally managed to get him corralled and back in the house.  I was done this time.  I went upstairs and got in bed.  She had made her (grass) bed and she could lie in it.  I held out a whole 30 minutes this time.  I went back out, managing to keep Dexter inside, and went next door.  We were on friendly terms with our neighbors, which were a young couple in their 20’s.  I didn’t care what time it was.  I needed help.  I rang their doorbell.  Waited.  Waited some more.  Rang their doorbell some more.  Waited a lot more.  Rang their doorbell a lot more.  Got pissed a lot more.  Nobody ever answered the door.  I’d had enough.  My increasing anger triggered a mutation caused by a gamma ray incident from years earlier, and err, yeah, not really buying that Bruce Banner hulking out thing are you?  Well I didn’t turn green and grow muscles that ripped all my clothes.  Speaking of that, did you ever noticed on the old Hulk TV show that all his clothes tore off except for his pants in the crotchal region, leaving him with some raggedy ass blue jean shorts?  Spell checker says crotchal is not a word but I’ll use it anyway.  This has gone a bit off the rails.  Let’s get back on track.

No, I didn’t turn green and I didn’t sprout huge muscles that tore my clothes off.  But I did get a burst of energy and with that, I grabbed my wife by the ankles and started dragging her across the grass to the front door.  That’s when she yelled out at the top of her voice, repeatedly, this lil’ gem, HE’S RAPING ME!  Oh my gawd!  Really?  I was sure that someone would wake up now and call the police.  This only spurred me on to drag her faster, while the whole time she is repeating this accusation.  I managed to get her inside the foyer of the condo and here I suffered a few more Dexter chomps.  This served as my mic drop moment.  Only I wasn’t dropping a mic.  I was dropping two legs to the floor.  That floor is where she slept the rest of the night.

Sometime much later she woke up and came upstairs where I was sleeping, wanting to know why she woke up on the floor of the foyer.  I regaled her with the tale I’m spinning right now and she, of course, had no memory of it.  What she did have though where several bruises all up and down her arms and ankles where I had attempted to pull her up and then finally ended up dragging her.  It honestly looked like she had been beaten.  Not the best timing for peach bruises either, since just a few days before she had gotten a job working at a law office and her first day was Monday.  Yeah, she wore long sleeve shirts and knee high socks all that next week.  To this day if she even as much as sees a LIIT it will make her queasy.

How about you?  Had a LIIT run in before or maybe another poison libation story?  Tell me all about it!  I’ve been banned from tequila for several years now, but that’s a story for another time.


Share this shit y'all!

11 thoughts on “Let’s Get LIIT!

  1. Stories like this always make me cringe because I’ll never forget the night I emptied an entire bottle of Jack Daniel’s. No one at that particular pub ever drank the stuff and I think at a certain point the bartender stopped charging me and out of morbid curiosity wanted to see if I’d drink the whole thing.
    Fortunately I had friends who, inexplicably, wanted me to live.
    I remember too much of that night. What I don’t remember is that I was up bright and early the next morning and ate a large plate of scrambled eggs. Or anything else from that day.
    You know you’ve had too much when you don’t remember anything that happened the day after.
    Christopher recently posted…Morning Dew.My Profile

  2. I have so many drunken stories that I can’t pick one to share, but I am a fan of the LIIT and the LIL (Long Island Lemonade). I went through a period where that was all I would drink. One night I slept on my living room floor because I couldn’t get to bed. Man that stuff is good.

    1. I’ve never tried a LIL. That sounds pretty good actually, so I should prolly stay far away, hehe. I have been enjoying my summer shandy beers lately though.

    1. Ha! Too funny and scary at the same time. I was recently eating dinner with a female co-worker on a business trip. She was not a big drinker but decided to have one that night. She ordered a LIIT because she likes ice tea. After I explained to her what it really was she changed her mind.

  3. hehehe Reminds me of the good ol’ days. I’m not ashamed (not tooo ashamed anyway), to admit that LIIT were a regular part of my drinking diet.
    Still remember proudly telling friends that we were gonna get “LIIT Up!”
    I think I still have some growing up to do…
    Gabe recently posted…Where have all the good men gone?My Profile

  4. OH DEAR GOD!!! You are a goddamn hero, Ari, for dealing with your LIIT wife! HA! So glad to hear you were able to get her safely into the foyer before the fuzz came to arrest you. Wow! We have all been there, either as the one laying on the grass or the one trying to help someone’s drunk-ass home! UGH! I am so glad my comment unlocked this memory for you to share. Maybe your wife is not thanking me so much, though! You have told some great tales, and I am looking forward to the next ones to come! You are hilarious!
    Tanya recently posted…not so stupid after allMy Profile

    1. There you go again calling me a hero. You are making my head swell to enormous proportions. I should be calling you a hero for giving me the high I get when I see a comment like this.

      My wife may not be thanking you for reminding me of this story but she can take comfort in the fact that I, by far, have been the one laying on the grass WAY MORE often than she.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

CommentLuv badge

%d bloggers like this: