Drunken Escapades: Issue #2

Hmmm....where to go with this action packed second issue of "Drunken Escapades"? The President's box? 22nd birthday? Halloween not involving a cheerleading outfit?

Ah ha! What's one thing that I love almost more than drinking? Wait, um, I mean what's one of the things that I like almost more than drinking? (you guys probably guessed my original answer, but that's not the one I was gonna go with) You betcha, college football.

And what better way is there to combine two of my favorite loves that will never, ever abandon me? TAILGATING!!!! (and this is all drawn from bits and pieces, so some pieces may be out of order in actuality)

Ah, it was the Fall of my first senior year. I was soundly unconscious in my bed after a looong night of carousing and debauchery (typical Friday night) and managed to fall into my bed on the first try at around, oh I think maybe 3 or 4 that morning. No problem. I still had plenty of time to sleep in until the 1:30 game.

Until the goddamned phone rang. And rang. And fucking rang. At 8:00 AM!!!!

So because I managed to drink all of my roommates into a coma, I was the only one in any shape to operate an irritating piece of electronics like a telephone. I wish I hadn't been.

I answer and it's Larson on the other line.
L: "Hey!"
D: "*gurgle*"
L: "What are you doing?"
D: "*gurgle* Sleeping. What the fuck do you think I'm doing?"
L: "Well come over right now and start drinking for the game!"
D: "Huh? Man.... it's like...8:00?!?!? I just finished last night like 5 minutes ago. So, no."
L: "......If you don't come over now I'm sending Jim to get you."

Sidebar, Your Honour: Larson saying this was the equivalent of the little, Indian pimp saying he was gonna send Milt in Bachelor Party.

D: "Fuck. Alright. Gimme like half an hour." *hang up phone* "FUCK!!!!"

I shower, dress, yell at the bastards living in the apartment (and on the couch) to saddle up 'cause we gotta go again, and head on over to Larson's.

• Start the day off with breakfast: a few screwdrivers. (I have to have orange juice in the morning).
• Follow up with a few Bloody Marys for the veggies.
• Then some beer in the fridge.
• A wine toss ensues and I have about 2 bottles worth. Half a bottle at a time.
• We run out of wine.
• Jim, in his infinite wisdom, suggests we do an Evan Williams toss. We, in our retarded state of being, agree. An Evan Williams toss begins.

It's now about 11:30. I have yet to eat. Or throw up. I wish I had. Either of them.

I come back from the bathroom to find I'm pretty much alone in the house. I grab a stray person and ask (to the best of my ability) where everyone went. Buffalo's. Perfect. They have beer there.

I stumble (and I mean that in every sense of the word) from Sherwood Forrest to Buffalo's. Make it inside and sit down at the right table (after being guided like a blind man). Order a beer, and they actually bring it. I drink it. I black out.

Next thing I know, I'm being hauled out of Buffalo's by my friends and set outside. As I'm being carried out, I wave to a girl I know from one of my classes. Classic.

I decide it's time to go to the game. But I have to cross the street. No problemo. I almost get hit 3 times crossing the 2-way street 1 way. No injuries acquired, I decide to jump across the big trench at Oxford Fields for no apparent reason (it's not even on the way to the game). I don't make it. I climb out, begin to walk a little bit...and fall. Unconscious.

Next thing I know, a couple of my friends are trying to get me to get up and get home instead of the game. Probably a good idea, but I think I'm just fine where I am. Until they remind me of the cops that might come by and haul me off. Still not wanting to get up, my friend says "Hey, there's a cute girl who wants you to get in her car and go home with her." I look up and say "Ah, that's just Jill." Jill kicks me in the gut. I barf. I make my way to the car and she takes me home and puts me to bed.

I later wake up, shower, dress and head back to Buffalo's. I arrived to rousing applause and exclamations of "Holy shit, you're not dead?" I pass on all further drinks for the evening.


And I swear that there's a section of memory I have where I walked up to the ticket booth and grabbed the shatter/bullet proof glass and just rip a chunk out of it like it was nothing. But I cannot for the life of me remember where that goes in that day. I think maybe right before the first trip to Buffalo's. But the story works just fine without it, so I didn't bother to try really hard to remember where it went.

Ah, memories. Well, what littles ones I have.

D