Yo Quiero Taco Bell.

3 Feb

I think I have finally recovered enough from the weekend to finally sit down and illustrate in artistic detail the play-by-play of the Ames trip. That, and I have 30 minutes to kill before my next class. Let us begin.

Kehly, Cole and I plan to leave by 4:30. This is as good as planning to leave by 6:30 if we’re going to be realistic about things. Around 5, my phone cashes. The screen is simply a blank, blue illumination, and just to be an ass, it still lets me know when I receive text messages, but I can’t read them. Nine texts later, I become very angry and chuck it at the wall and ceiling several times.

5:45 sneaks up on us and we gather our shit and storm out the door full force, ready to haul ass to Ames and get the party started. Before leaving the city limits, however, we journey to Liquor House to purchase our party favors (a.k.a. gallon of Hawkeye), a key ingredient for any successful trip recipe, then hit up Quik Stop to fill the Dykemobile with gas. Meanwhile, Cole and I purchase multiple chasers. I return to the car and then decide I should “empty the tank” before we hit the road. Obstacles are arising.

I rush back into the gas station and take care of it. On my arrival to the car, I realize I had forgotten my birth control, and I was in no way supportive of starting a freak menstrual cycle mid-tailgate the next day, so I heckle Kehly to go back to the apartment so I can pick it up. Kehly has to park a good block away from the building, so I jog up the hill and into the building only to discover a locked door with no one to let me in. I run back to the car and retrieve the key, and then go BACK to the apartment and get my shit.

It’s about 6:20 now, and we are significantly behind schedule. We tell Kehly to floor it, who by the way had to be the driver while Cole and I philandered in the back seat drawing pictures and screaming Celine Dion songs at inappropriate decibels.

7:00pm. Cole and I decide to start drinking, but not before I create a birthday card for Richard and Laurel whose birthdays were mere hours away. In addition, I announce that I think it would be an interesting experiment and project to write Richard a birthday poem of sorts during our drunkening drive up to Ames.

7:02. Shot #1, stanzas 1-2 are written, legibly and sensibly.

7:11. Shot #2. We are slacking. Stanza 3 is written, just as neatly as 1-2.

7:26. Shot #5. We are feeling squirrely at this point, and the lines of our poem are becoming a little more abstract.

7:40. Shot #8. We are drunk. The lines no longer make any sense, and most of them don’t rhyme. We decide to add illustrations in the margins of the page.

7:58. Shot #11. The poem is two pages long and is covered in spills of orange soda and Phillips vodka. We are very drunk and keep accidentally flashing our fifth out the window to passersby on the interstate.

Around 8:15 we reach Ames, which I don’t clearly remember. We enter Katie, Kayla and Kelli’s apartment. We are greeted by a crowd of people including Jamie, R-Grandy, Rich, the inhabitants of the house, Jeff, Jesse, and many, many more. We present our literary work of art to Richard who is very excited about it and announces he will be framing each page upon his return home. We continue to drink and stuff birthday cupcakes in our faces, which were delicious by the way. Eventually we head out, and end up at a party where Josh Appel is at. Cole is literally unconscious and makes friendly with a lazy boy immediately upon arrival, closing his eyes and passing out. Moments later, I decide we should just leave and get Taco Bell.

“Cole, you wanna get Taco Bell?”
“Okay, well you’re passing out. Do you want to go back?”

We begin “walking” down the street, and Cole yells, “I WANT FOOOOOD!”

“Okay, well do you want to go to Taco Bell?”

“Fuck yeah I do.”

…Okay. So, we near Taco Bell and find Richard and Jamie stumbling about. “They’re not open!” Richard says. I choose not to believe this, and locate the brightly lit “OPEN” sign in the window. I charge the drive-thru, and out of the woodwork comes literally a dozen other drunks who join me. We’re all hootin’ and hollerin’ into the speaker when a Taco Bell employee opens the door and says, “We can’t serve you in the drive-thru unless you’re in a car; the sensors won’t go off.”

Telling a congregation of drunks that they are not allowed to get their underpriced Mexican cuisine while the store is open and running is not the thing to do in situations like these. We all start yelling and plotting, and decide to jump, in unison, on the sensor and set it off. “OOOOONE, TWOOOO, THREEEEEE!!!” We jump and stomp on the pavement, accomplishing nothing but cramping our joints and looking like agitated monkeys.

I look across the street at a gas station where a couple of cars are parked. “Cole, I’ve got a plan. Come hither.” I leave the drunks behind who are quickly giving up and trekking it to Jimmy John’s, and run over to the parking lot of the gas station where a car is parked with a black man and his hooker girlfriend inside. I knock on the window.

“Hi–what’s happening. This is really crossing the line, but Taco Bell won’t let us order through the drive thru unless we’re in a vehicle, but we’re drunk as tits and NEED a quesadilla. Would you drive us through so we can get it?”

Tyrone agrees, and Cole and I pile into the back seat. Meanwhile, Lady Lumps in the passenger seat does not seem pleased with her sugar daddy’s decision to oblige us in our drunkenness and seems very irritated with our chatter. Cole and I are thrilled, and we proceed to get our Taco Bell, return to Katie’s, and indulge.

I head to bed and begin to go unconscious when I hear Drew Henderson’s voice in the apartment, which springs me into “second wind” mode. After lunging out of bed in an intoxicated and excited state, I enthusiastically greet the newcomers as they proceed to consume alcohol. Suddenly I remember that my phone doesn’t work. I spend the next fifteen minutes hurling it at the ceiling fan and front door until it does nothing more than flicker spastically. My phone was now a vegetable.

Many terrible pictures later, I begin sparring with Kevin who I decided to adamantly hate with no remorse. I repeatedly tell him what a faggot I think he is while simultaneously belittling him by mockingly pointing out the beer bong he has been “babysitting” for the past ten minutes. After pushing all the buttons I could possibly think of, he makes an incomprehensible attempt to gain my friendship and end my outward hatred toward him. I refuse, and continue to ruthlessly insult and embarrass him in front of company. All this hating took the life out of me, and soon I go to bed, looking forward to tailgating the next day.

7:00 a.m.: I am awoken by DMX blaring from the sterio in the kitchen and Kelli screaming “LET’S DO THIS!!” I am very angry because I didn’t want to get up until 8. I lay on the couch and attempt to block it out until proclaiming “Fuck it, let’s drink,” and getting up and consuming many shots and many Bud Ices. The group quickly grows, and before I know it, we’ve got probably 20 people in the living room taking beer bongs, throwing back shots, smoking bowls and chugging beers like it’s going out of style.

Sin City finally packs up camp and heads out into the wonderful world of tailgating. At this point I am feverishly excited to reach our destination and cook a fat weiner on the grill and drown myself in the likes of Heinz; we could not get there fast enough. After riding the bus and taking pictures with strangers, Laurel, Jamie, Richard and I start the hike toward Kayla’s mom’s tailgate.

On the way, Laurel and I realize we need to pee, and we need to pee badly. For a reason unclear to me, we chose to walk twenty steps up onto the entrance of the Colosseum, which by the way was elevated like a stage, overlooking the entire west side of the area, in plain view of literally hundreds of people, and pee there. And pee we did, especially Laurel. We look over and see a giant wet splatter that is not simply on the ground, but has sprayed up against the wall and was covering at least five square feet of cement.

Laughing ensues. Much, much laughing. I have never laughed so hard in my life, and I don’t think Jamie or Rich had, either. We take incriminating pictures and continue to laugh hysterically before continuing our voyage.

En route to the tailgate, I make many-a-pit-stop at every tent and camper we pass, pillaging cookies, cupcakes, potato salad, scalloped potatoes, and other tasty goodies from people I don’t know. Everyone was very nice, and gave me generous heaps of food. I was very excited.

We finally reach our venue. I’m wasted. I grill my cheesy hot dog and eat one thousand oreos, and then take my place in the circle of folding chairs with everyone else. Richard theives the ingredients for S’mores from an unoccupied tailgate camp next to us, and we make them. I noticed that there was an unidentified man wearing one of those stocking hats with the “dreds” coming from them looming around our group who had been there the entire time. I looked questioningly at him and gave Cole the “who the fack is that” glance, receiving a “I have no idea, get this man away from me” look right back. The man raises his arms, and I notice he has a horrifyingly hairy belly. “You have a hairy ass stomach, man,” I say.

Laurel pipes up, “Why are you wearing that hat? Your head looks like a Pasta Maker.”

Unidentified man, who we have dubbed “Noodle” on account of his hat, becomes horribly offended by this harmless question and says, “Why are you being a bitch?”

We are confused by his contempt, and Laurel says, “Why are you offended by that? People love pasta!”

Noodle keeps looking offended, but continues to leer just outside of our circle. I become absorbed in my smorgasbord of food and quit paying attention for some time. A while later, I look up and realize Noodle is still hanging around like a housefly in a kitchen. I turn to Cole. “Who the hell is that guy?”

“I have no idea, he’s been here the whole time.”

I become very forward under the influence of alcohol, and this was no exception. I address Noodle in a demanding tone. “Who the hell are you in relation to this group?”

He looks dumbfounded and aloof, and remains silent.

“Seriously, you like came out of the woods. Do you know anyone here?”

Noodle: “..Yeah..”

“Okay, who’s that?” I point at Kayla. No response. “Who’s this over here?” I point at Kayla’s mom. Still no response; just a ‘I’m about to cry’ look. “WELL? Do you know who ANY of these people are?!”

Noodle: “They’re people who like to deny things.”

Now I am not only irritated by Noodle’s presence, but I am officially creeped out by him in addition.

I bombard him with uncomfortable questions until he slinks away in embarrassment and unwelcomedness, and we take a breath of relief and continue to banter about how much of a weird ass Noodle was and how he literally came out of the brush and joined our group without invitation. We look a couple hundred feet to our left and see his hat hovering above the top of a car. He is still watching us from afar. What, a, freak.

Anyway, I’m trashed and full and quickly becoming tired. I decide to seek refuge in a minivan and take a nap until the game ended. When I am awoken an hour or two later, I am informed that the van I had been snoozing in was not our van. Haha. I laugh. Iowa loses and we go back to Katie’s where I continue to sleep until 7 p.m.

I wake up, and discover that I am extremely hung over. This isn’t good. Everyone around me is starting to drink again or is continuing to drink because they haven’t stopped. I pop four Advils and lay on the floor for half an hour until I become nauseous. Cole, Laurel, Kelli, Ashley and a few others end up in the room with me, and I sit with a trash can between my knees, ready to hurl at any moment. That magic moment never comes, so Laurel and I go to the bathroom and vomit together, side by side. It was gross. However we felt much better after this episode and go out to join the party. Unfortunately I never reached a healthy enough level to drink again, so Katie and I watched Hocus Pocus and ate PB&J in our underpants instead.

Oh, and I almost got a harassment charge. Ha.

Ames was a success, all in all. And if anyone is curious as to what happened with the cell phone situation, I bought a new one in Jordan Creek on my way back and then drenched my old one in vodka and set fire to it afterward.

This is a very long story. Very long. In fact, it took so long for me to write this that it is now dark outside, and I will be risking being attacked by rapists on my way home. Thank me later.

“Adoption: the alternative to birth.”


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