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!

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