Kelli and I decide it’s Taco Bell time. We haul ass on foot throughout Ames until we reach our destination. Unfortunately, the only part of TB that was open was the drive-thru. Lucky for us, however, I have experience in this sort of situation. I ran across the street and found two individuals parked at the gas station and asked them to drive us through for our cheap Mexican cuisine. They jubilantly obliged and we got our grub. Sleep time.
The next morning (7:15 a.m.) Jeremy and I awake and cause great commotion, not allowing anyone else in the apartment to sleep. Eventually almost everyone else just gets up with us because they have no other choice. We look out the window to discover a snow storm in progress. It snowed and sleeted all morning. We got bundled up and made another trip to Taco Bell through the arctic tundra. Fast forward through a wasted afternoon: 7 p.m. arrives. Time to get sloppy. I had great expectations for Saturday night: I was hoping to achieve alcohol poisoning. By 7:32, Dane polished off an entire bottle of UV Blue. That’s a shit ton of alcohol for only half an hour. Surprisingly he didn’t die.
[Giant gap between 8 p.m. and 1 a.m. No recollection of any events, faces, drinks, wipe outs, sex, etc.]
At 1:07 a.m., I come to and am able to assess my surroundings. I discover that everyone is either passed out in various areas of the apartment, or are out at other parties. Jeremy stumbles in the front door. I am sitting indian style in front of the television, completely alone, watching infomercials. Jeremy looks down at his legs and asks where the fuck his socks came from. I look over to see knee-high tube socks with “Holler” written on them. Jeremy proclaims he has no idea where or how he got them. I eat a box of Waffle Crisp and pass out.
It wasn’t until I recently took a gander at Katie and Drew’s photos that I realized how much of the weekend I truly missed out on; not because I went unconscious, but because I blacked the fuck out. Allow me to quote myself earlier in the evening, before drinking gallons upon gallons of alcoholic beverages at a life-threatening pace:
“I’m getting sloppy tonight. Like I want to embarrass myself.”
After assessing the photos, I realize I went above and beyond accomplishing my goal. I learn that I saw Kyle and Drew, which I would not have known without proof. I learn I ripped Zach’s coat at some point. No idea that happened. I also learn that I argued about leaving the apartment to go to 4 parties. Nope. My only regret is that I have no memories of Saturday night besides telling Dane he would regret pounding an entire bottle of UV in thirty minutes, and then chowing down on Waffle Crisp, neither of which are very exciting recollections.
Outgoing text messages:
I–o in ames
I cot not sober
I’m obeyyo aren’t drinking with us! ..you
:)min ames ! mrs ppsorry
Gimme gigod more?
Ehh i an bars
I loune yet?
I also have a text message sequence that goes like this:
Wes: What’s up?
Me: Shot number 7
Wes: Oh what kind of shot?
Fantastic weekend. I love people.
“Now, when I say I used to be obsessed, I don’t mean I used to watch it every time it was on; I mean I taped it and watched it seven times in a row immediately after it aired. I would eat, sleep, and dream Muppet Babies.”