You know that feeling when you wake up and wonder how you got home and why every single cell in your body feels like it's dying? Wait, what did you say? You're a responsible young adult and you never drink too much. Well, that can't be fun. Except for avoiding the hangover part.
Forewarning for this blog post: if you are actually a responsible adult or my mother, you will probably frown upon my behavior and be tsk-tsking me into oblivion. Sorry, I'm not that sorry.
Needless to say, I am young and I like to go out with my friends. Apparently my body doesn't agree with me though, because it thinks I'm 50 years old and need an entire day following my excessive alcohol consumption to recover. I'm sure spending that recovery day in an Indian food cook-off with my brown friends as a treat for their Danish friends doesn't really help speed the recovery, though. (That's a whole nother story and, probably much to your dismay, I won't get too much into it. Except me and mah girls definitely made the better dish, and got to enjoy the beauty of foreign men whilst consuming our savory meal. Booyah!)
A recap of events that occurred (and that I remember) from my Saturday night include, but are most definitely not limited to:
- getting 'iced' by a friend immediately upon arrival at the place of pre-gaming
- chugging a freshly opened beer because our cab arrived ridiculously fast (I swear the driver was already outside before my friend hung up his phone... he probably worked at Jimmy John's before becoming a cab driver)
- riding on the lap of a friend of a friend (she's awesome) at an awkward angle on the way to the bar in the front seat of the cab because we had too many people
- having a creepy conversation with our freaky fast cab driver on various explicit topics
- devouring cheese curds, 2 vodka lemonades, 2 rum and cokes, a jaegerbomb & irish car bomb (aka a bear fight) within 2 hours
- arriving at the next bar
Note that I do not remember anything after arriving at the second watering hole. I'm sure it was fun, and that I had a lovely time, but apparently I walked home alone whilst blacked out. I'm alive, so that's good, but having a college education clearly doesn't stop me from making potentially disastrous decisions. However, I do vaguely remember having a conversation with some people at a crosswalk and exclaiming "I love my children" repeatedly. I don't remember mentioning that this was in reference to the kids I work with, so they probably all thought I was a horrible mother that was avoiding parenting by getting smashed.
Alas, I awoke the next morning and took a solid 20 minutes before moving a muscle, probably because I couldn't. My thoughts immediately strayed to my purse and jacket, hoping that all of their contents were intact. Upon a first inspection, I was upset with myself over $40 missing from my wallet. There was still $15 inside, so my hazy confusion was especially great. I thought maybe I dropped it after pulling it out to pay for something or maybe someone took it, or maybe I just went batshit crazy and spent $40 at the bar.
An hour later I reached for my gum in said party purse (probably hoping the mint would sooth my pounding head), and low and behold, my $40 was safely tucked in next to Shawn White's face (I have an addiction to the Stride Whitemint gum with the redheaded athlete, whom I can't decide is attractive or not). How my cash ended up next to my minty sticks of deliciousness will always be a mystery to me, but I have a conspiracy theory that I was so drunk I probably tried to pay little cardboard Shawn White's face to take me on a real date.
Oh, the majesty of alcohol.
P.S. Be better than me and don't drink past your blackout limit. It's probably not a good idea.
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