When I went to Detroit, Sandra and I got drunk.

A few times.

One of the more notable was when we visited The Sugar House in Corktown. We came for the fancy drinks, we stayed because we were too sloshed to go anywhere else.

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We quickly made friends with the bartender (I’m sure he had a name), as he guided us through the very extensive Carnival themed bar menu. Illustrations and all.

But apparently, they don’t serve wine here.

“Can I just get a glass of red wine?” I blurted out.

What’shisface winced.

“Yeah, we actually don’t have wine. With all of the cocktail selections, no one ever wanted to get a glass!” He explained, chuckling.

This was basically me trying to process that information.

I look at him, skeptical, then order something called a Champagne Fizz.

After Sandra got a drink (turns out, they didn’t have olive juice either), we started to watch the series of elaborate beverages come from behind the bar. They got more and more extravagant, some including fire.

The tipping point for me was a pink beverage, garnished with a clipped on piece of cotton candy. They literally had tiny clothespins to hold the cotton candy on, which resembled medical gauze.

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I’m not one for super sweet drinks, so I looked around the room and speculated which girl had ordered the drink. The stranger next to me, who I’d soon learn was named Amanda, joined me in my salty judging.

Amanda turned out to be a stand-up comic as well (though, she’s much more experienced than I). Sandra and I spent the next two hours engaging her in conversation, talking about boys, and making vague plans about meeting up the next time I came to town.

Amanda was awesome. Be like Amanda.