Bringing the A-Game.

3 Feb

What’s happening, team. I chose not to use a question mark at the end of that sentence, because in my head, the way I said it would not require one. Now you know.

I avoided a hang over like the champion that I am today, which is remarkable when you assess the large volume of alcohol that I consumed last night. My day began by opting not to tailgate on account of my lack of sleep the previous night (Kehly), hibernating my way through the afternoon and well into the evening, and then getting the F up and drinking like I was getting paid to do it.

It was one of those nights. I was approaching drunk after only three shots and was in a brilliantly delightful mood. I was in an even better mood after a baker’s dozen more. Jeremy, Gabe, Laurel, Susie, K-Pak and myself pregamed at the apartment for some time before hauling ass to Jefferson & Lucas to suck the kegs dry.

It was one of the more lively kegs I’ve been to in some time. There were hoards of drunkards getting sloppy everywhere I went. It was an obstacle getting to the keg and an even bigger one getting your cup filled, so I elected to pull the, “I’M A LADY!!” move to the tap-master. It worked. It worked every time. Naturally, I was thrilled, and drunker than everyone around me because I could get beer ten times as fast. The night quickly improved.

I find Cole and Josh, and we boisterously discuss our plans to get Taco Bell before calling it a night, which we never do. We watch Kehly stand at the bar for an unnecessary amount of time with her tit out attempting to get free shots, which works once or twice. Once because she showed her boob, and then again so she’d put it away. Two girls bumble over and act excited to see me: “BECCA!! Heeey! Do you remember us??” I lie. “Yeah, yeah–Megan.” She looks hurt and corrects me: “..Katie.” I don’t care and don’t make any effort to pretend that I do. “Right, right.” I turn around and chug my beer.

Cole and I venture into the great outdoors and make friends with a disgruntled Rastafarian named Avery who insisted I was a “hater,” a friendly gentleman named Lee and his companion Karl, and then some other man named “J.D.” or “P.J.” or some shit; I can’t remember. I’m firing insults left and right, and people are enjoying it. I am pleased. Eventually I find myself on an excursion involving climbing atop the roof of the house. I’m not 100% convinced that this was a safe activity for a person of my athleticism level to be doing, especially when I was unable to even pass a field sobriety test. A crane, a harness, and a Bobcat later, and I’m up. That adventure ends, and some time later, so does my night.

Today I awoke covered in battle wounds and mud, and in addition my throat feels like I swallowed a lit cigarette. I have more cuts, scrapes, scratches and bruises than a trailer park wife. I apparently got my ass handed to me last night. I’m sure it was worth it. The group decided to go to Applebee’s where I consumed a smorgasbord of food ($17 worth–I’m embarrassed) and harassed our waiter for gallons upon gallons of water to hydrate my post-drunk body. Upon my arrival home, I pass out on the couch and wake up sweating. Now I’m guzzling diet cream soda, and for some reason it tastes oddly like keg beer.

I’m not mad.

WELL, I’m off to not do homework.

“I don’t see any signs that say ‘keep your voices down’ or ‘be quiet,’ Kehly.”

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