I’m sober as a kite!

4 Feb

It’s safe to say that this was probably the greatest Halloween weekend I’ve ever experienced, except for of course 4th grade when the Bordman’s were handing out king-sized Milky Ways. Midge, Jamie, Rich, Kelli, and Kayla came up to celebrate All Hallow’s Eve Iowa City style. Friday night, I donned my tourist outfit, which became when Jeremy, Kehly and I hit up Goodwill for costume ideas. I located a Goofy hat and the costume was birthed from there. Complete with $2.99 K-Mart women’s long shorts, tube socks with flip flops, pink unicorn tee with a USA banner underneath, flamboyantly bright Hawaiian over-shirt, old school camera, miniature American flag, and fanny pack, I successfully made it through the entire weekend without making a single friend on account of how unsightly I appeared. Things could not have gone better.

Midge, Jamie and Richie arrived Friday evening, and MY were the beverages flowing. Everybody became shitfaced and wandered off to what was referred to as “The Flintstone Party.” Apparently I was there for fifteen minutes and then went back home with Jamie, where she passed out face-down on the living room floor. I remember nothing else.

Saturday morning, we awake bright and early to tailgate. After rapidly consuming a solid quart of Hawkeye, I stumbled with the rest of the group throughout Iowa City to reach Melrose. On the way, I receive a phone call from Bailey who says she just saw us and offered to drive us to our destination. During the conversation, I thought she said she was in a limo, which I became very excited about. When a green Alero began honking at me from behind moments later, I was very confused. Eventually I recognized the driver to be Bailey, and approached the car, baffled. “Where’s the limo?!”

“…I said ‘Alero.'”


Cole, Richard, Jamie, Katie, Jeremy, Kehly, Amy and myself pile into the car. After we reached Melrose, we got out and started walking again to the tailgate. En route, I thieve monkey bread from some old men on the sidewalk. It was delicious. We finally get to our destination and begin drinking more.

I meet a middle-aged woman named Kathy who is carrying around a paper cut-out of a boy in football equipment. She takes a liking to me after I mention we have the same colored hair, and introduces me to her son who she tells should “pursue me.” I am flattered but suggest instead she give me a cigarette. She does. I then take advantage of my new friendship with Kathy to gain a rite of passage into the house to use the bathroom so I wouldn’t have to piss in the forest. It works. I pat myself on the back for being so resourceful as always.

Richard proclaims he is going to take a 4 beer, two story beer bong. Everybody crowds around and observes in wonder as he succeeds, downing four entire beers in 4 gulps and about 1.5 seconds. He does NOT throw up. Proud as a peacock, he declares that in due time, he will do a five beer, two story beer bong, in about twenty minutes or so.

I mingle with my fellow alcoholics for a bit, until Richard runs up without his shirt on. “Richard, where’s your shirt??”

“I sold it for twenty dollars! That’s a net gain of ten bucks!”


The time comes, and Rich asks me to gather a crowd to spectate on his miraculous beer drinking abilities. I run around encouraging people to come watch because he is very excited. People crowd around and begin chanting his name. Down the beer goes, again in less than 2 seconds. The crowd goes wild. Richard stands, looking unsure of himself. After resisting the urge to projectile vomit for about thirty seconds, he calmly walks to the edge of the forest and begins spewing 100% Keystone Light. After a moment of emptying his anatomy of beer, he turns around and throws his arms up in victory yelling “YEAAAAAAHHH!!!!” Hahah. Everyone is equally as excited.

I’m fucking hammered.

Eventually we all decide to go get Taco Bell. We’re all trashed, but Richard is by far the drunkest man in the United States at this point. He had consumed nearly 30 beers and was still walking and talking. To me, this defies the laws of science. We pass a wigger looking gentleman as we stop by Slater to use the bathroom. Richard calls him K-Fed. I quickly apologize for him and tell the man he does NOT look like K-Fed and that he can be assured he is an attractive man, although it is important to note that at this point I was too drunk to see his face clearly, and that I had no idea what he actually looked like.

We drag our asses to Taco Bell. Inside, Richard grabs a 30 year old man by the shoulders and tells him how much beer he had drank during the hour before. The man acts very excited for him. Richard then proceeds to say to the man, “You’re a cool guy, you know that? You’re a really cool guy. I bet you get laid a lot.” Again I apologize to the gentleman who is not offended at all, and we seat Richard at the table with the rest of us and begin to eat. A couple of minutes later, we realize everybody had gotten food except Richard. We inform him he forgot to get food. He then tells us he is going to order “a shoft-shell.” Then he goes to the cashier and orders just that: a “shoft-shell.”

Jeremy then glances toward the counter to make sure Richard hasn’t died. He is nowhere to be seen. Someone jumps up and runs over to the entrance of Taco Bell, and peers out into the mall to see if he is anywhere to be found. Negative. Richard is now missing. After a quick search, we locate him, and he tells us he was trying to find the bathroom. We point directly behind the table we were all sitting at and point out the restroom. We laugh in mockery. This man is drunk.

We head back to my place to pass out. At about 5:00, the group gets their asses up and begins the festivities yet again. Kelli and Kayla arrive, and MY what a spectacle Kelli was. She was a white trash girl, and her outfit consisted of greasy ass bangs, a short skirt with a sparkly purple thong pulled well above her hips, a faerie tattoo on her lower back, black leggings, clunky black heels, bruised arms, necklaces that said “Cutie, Angel” and “Friends,” a Playboy tattoo on her hip, a pound of tacky blue eye shadow, thick black eyeliner, cheap red lipstick, and body glitter. Good god. I burst out laughing every time I looked at her. Katie was her white trash boyfriend, complete with mexi-stash, soul patch, cut off Fubu shirt, and iridescent glasses. Everbody looked sick.

We pre-game until 9:30 or so, and all head in separate directions. On the way, I apparently passed a group of people including a single black man, and yelled, “You are a VERY, black, man!” He then flipped me off. I’m lucky I didn’t get shot on site. At some point we get in a cab with an Arabic driver who drives us no more than four or five blocks to an apartment, and then tries to tell me we owed him $4 for each person in the car. I yelled, “That’s BULLshit,” directly into his face and gave him a total of $8 for the four of us. I’m bold. We go to a party, drink beer, and then call Steve to pick us up.

Steve stops at L&M for Richard and I, who decided that we were going to steal some goods again. Usually ideal stealing conditions are when the store is packed, but this time, Richard and I were the only two people in the entire shop except for the two employees. This didn’t stop us. We decided that sausage and mushroom pizza was the best choice. Richard is wearing his Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz dress, and stuffs a frozen pizza underneath. I inform him that I am actually going to purchase a box of breakfast Hot Pockets, but then suggest that we get two pizzas instead of just one. Richard lifts up his skirt and reveals that he had already pocketed two pizzas. I laugh. Hard. He bolts out the door and I mosey up the counter with my Hot Pockets. After slamming the box on the counter, hard, I demand that $4.09 is too expensive for the item I was buying and that the man should give me a discount for being poor. He says no. I pay full price.

We go home and bake our pizzas and “shoot the shit” with everyone as more of our drunk friends started trickling in to retire for the night. I awoke the next morning in the living room, where I apparently I had passed out on the small couch. I was wearing my pink unicorn t-shirt, was covered in loose change, and had lipstick all over my arms. Not to mention I had slept in my contacts which were now fused to my eyeballs permanently. It was a good night.

Some outgoing texts:

“K We’ll ah.au tomorrow. I’m drunk as a skunk”
8:32 p.m.

“You kre slumberi.ng with cole and l!”
12:04 a.m.

“I’m dying”
7:52 p.m.

A text I received from Richard one of those nights read:
“I’m foruma shiv coll”
10:43 p.m.

I’m so tired of typing. I’m done. Adios until next time.

Kayla: “You HAVE to wear the dress or you’ll be a faggot.”
Richard: “Are you trying to tell me that if I DON’T wear a dress, I’ll be a FAGGOT?”


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