Amazing Race
TARcon 5: Twenty Things

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Open Bars and Big TVs

One

Couch Baron and I agree to go to the party together, and about thirty seconds after he picks me up, I say this to him: "When it is 1:00 in the morning and I am cursing myself for wearing these shoes, you should feel free to remind me of this moment, which was my opportunity to go back to the hotel room and put on the perfectly sensible pair of black pumps that are under the edge of the bed right now."

"Got it," he says.

I finger my skirt. "I'm also concerned that I will take abuse about this." He looks down. "Ohhh," he says. "That's leather." "Mm," I agree. We wait for a cab. And we wait for a cab. And we wait for a cab. And we wait for a cab. "Uh, this is a theme with us," I finally say.

When we get to Madison Square Garden, we work our way through the throng of Gloria Estefan fans lining up outside, and we quickly realize we don't know exactly where we're going. "[Couch Baron]," I say in despair, "We are lost again. We are in last place again." "I know," he says.

Two

I go into the evening with a very specific theory about drinking. Following a visit to Tipsyville at TARcon 4 followed by a careening crash into the Town That Crazy-Ass Embarrassing Drunk Girl Totally Forgot (No, Really, I'm Saying Totally Forgot) at the premiere party in Las Vegas in July, I am determined to remain upright without assistance all evening, in spite of my impractically tall shoes. My theory is that I will alternate alcoholic and nonalcoholic drinks. I will make myself drink a Diet Coke in between beers, essentially. Of course, when you're alternating drinks, it doesn't matter which goes first, right? So when the Couch Baron goes to the bar and brings back a beer, it seems fine to start with that.

When people begin to gather at the table, they are highly skeptical of my plan. Not skeptical in the "I don't think that would work" sense, but skeptical in the "I do not believe this will actually occur" sense. I spill the plan to Suga Wuga, and she looks at me like I have just revealed my secret intentions to enter the Miss Alabama pageant. At first, she is merely silently skeptical, but five minutes later, she is back at the table. She has a beer in one hand, and she has a Diet Coke in the other. She slides them onto the table in front of me, where the first beer is almost gone. "We'll just see which of these goes next," she says.

I drink the Diet Coke.

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