Wednesday, October 22, 2008

gnome coming


Prologue: I know this and the previous story may display and/or encourage belligerent binge drinking, but my friends and I are not alcoholics. We don't/won't go to AA meetings, we still get hangovers, and we don't have real jobs to fuck up and get fired from yet. So stop judging us.

Where to begin? This weekend I went to visit my best friend at her school. This was exciting for me, because I go to a lame hole-in-the-wall, small, private, stupid college in the south, and she goes to a big school with fun things to do, and really awesome peeps in the north. Also, it was their homecoming weekend, and the north is better, so whatevs.

As soon as I got there, (which was at like 2:30PM) I noticed people were starting to get a pretty heavy pre-game on. I couldn't wait to start boozing too, but there was something I had to do first...

...go to the liquor store, DUH! Well, we went, and they were having a liquor tasting. But! The best part was that the liquor they were sampling was a generic brand of Captain Morgan-esque spiced rum, called like, Sailor Scotty's Spicy Rum Drink. Or something equally clever and not flamboyant at all.

And we OBVIOUSLY bought a bottle of it! Because of aforementioned reasons, and it cost like 13 bucks.

Later on, when we'd come home from dinner and finally started drinking I poured myself a G & T, and nursed it for about 30-45 minutes, because I am apparently a huge pussy. Meanwhile, however, I did not realize that my lovely best friend and hostess, was getting completely shitfaced in the kitchen from people challenging her to take shots... which for the record, she will never turn down.

I finished my ONE cocktail by the time we were walking out the door, but wanted to make a stop-by at another friend's house on the way to the party, so BFF agreed to go with me. I was so grateful to be accompanied by someone, I didn't notice her eyes were completely glazed over and she wasn't speaking in full sentences, mostly just sounds.

We arrived at my friend's house, and walked inside. BFF stumbles over to my friend, grabs him by the hair and stammers loudly, "I LoVE yOUr HaIR... iT'S sO NaTuRaLLL..." among other eloquent comments. Over the next half hour, I drank a few beers and watched her with admiring eyes as she fell into not one, but two potted plants, and tried to dance, but felt it would be best to use the wall for support. After a few rounds of drinks, I thought this was all too wonderful to be true, but I had to pee, so I dragged her upstairs with me. Two very young and impressionable girls were walking out of the bathroom as we approached, and BFF lunged in like a maniac. The girls then watched in naive horror as my dear friend fell ass-first into the bathtub, legs sprawled, and arms flailing. I watched, breathless from laughing, as she scrambled desperately, like an eel out of water, to get out of the tub.

We "walked" downstairs after that, and BFF finally decided she wanted to go to the original party. I wasn't quite ready to leave yet, but the young girls from before looked very concerned that she wanted to escort herself somewhere alone, and said so in very audible whispers. I, however, had now enjoyed more than my fair share of the keg, and assured everyone, "She's fine. She's only drunk when she's inside."

And so, with that, BFF teetered out onto the sidewalk, and everyone's eyes followed her into the night, watching under the yellow glow of streetlights, until she reached the end of the block and blundered out of sight. And probably into some bushes.

Epilogue: BFF made it to the party, whereupon she continued her antics. I arrived a little while later, and checked in on her. She was alive, and even though she totally vommed all night, she was a total bamf and went out the next day AND night, with only a brief 3 hour nap to cure her.

Author's note: Many thanks to the wonderful posse at University of Delaware for making this story possible.


Saturday, October 11, 2008

obvs.

The other night, a bunch of my friends and I went to see this band play at a bar near our school. This place is a redneck Mecca like no other. It's a renovated BARN that now serves alcohol... but mostly just moonshine that Cletus the bouncer made in his bathtub. 

As the story goes, I had $4.11 in my bank account so I wasn't trying to buy my own drinks, which meant I had to forego my dignity and flirt shamelessly with mullets. One particular gentleman fell for my charms. Allow me to describe:
-black Jack Daniels baseball cap
-black mock turtleneck t-shirt that read, 
"No job, No money, No car... BUT I'M IN A BAND! (sign me up.)
-long blonde hair, a la Bret Michaels. 
(I told him he looked like Bret Michaels and he said, "Aw, y'all know people say that to me all tha' tahm.")

After that examination, he proceeded to buy my two friends and me rail tequila shots (klassy) and whips out a pack of Dorals (vom) and was ripping cigs for the next 15 minutes. I had to wash my hair TWICE to get the smell from the second hand smoke out.

Anyway, this isn't even the better part of the night. My friend, who we will refer to as Imperial Binge Drinker 2008 (IBD for short), decided to run with the idea of getting hillbillies to pay for her alcohol... so naturally she parked herself next to some dude with a chin strap and Nascar tee, and let him booze her up. 

Now, I seriously watched her sit down with a slight to medium buzz on. I walked away and came back no more than 20 minutes later, and she was absolutely destroyed. I casually decided it was best to leave her in her element, so I went off to listen to the band, not really dwelling on it. 

Moments later she came hobbling over to me in the crowd and proclaimed (in impressively slurred vocals), "I just threw up on the bar."

This did not register with me for some reason, so I just said, "That sucks" and went back to dancing with my beer. However, the absurdity of what had happened finally made an impact when the manager came over to me and said, "You need to take your friend home, she just vomited. On the bar." I looked over, and IBD was totally slackjawed, and lurching precariously in a psuedo standing/hunching position with her eyes occasionally rolling back in her head.

Needless to say, we left the bar at that point. But, as a grand finale to responsible drinking, we solicited a ride from some random hick teenagers in a pick-up truck, and they drove us home. AND they totally hated us, probs because we talked about "the north" the entire time.

Loves casual Thursday nights!