Thoughts on last night... we're going for bullets in an attempt to keep my head from noticing that I am not actually laying down to die right now.
I should not drink six adult beverages in an evening.
Just because I can throw back shots of Jim Beam doesn't mean that doing so is a great idea.
There were two bars. It seems I am no longer capable of closing down bar number one and then moving on to close down bar number two. Bar number two was probably the bad idea.
The shots were at bar number two.
Although we met a nice girl who was from like twenty miles north of where I grew up and that was neat at bar number 2.
But then bar number two was also where the strange man came over and asked me if my name was Gretchen.
I remember telling Steady "quietly" (so I probably yelled it just below "at the top of my lungs") that he was clearly a red head weirdo.
And then Steady took my purse off my arm while I wandered over to his friends to settle the bet they had going about whether or not my name was Gretchen.
My mother's take on this hangover would be: "You must have inherited your father's tolerance" and then "It's not like anyone else held you down and poured the liquor down your throat."
The friend who asked for a proper identity on my blog never gets one because after I see him, I always wake up with a horrible hangover. The hangover makes me
Incapable of creative thought.
Try to come up with a version of the story in which this is not my own damned fault.
Which then leads to a fleeting memory of my boyfriend looking at me all "If you had the good sense god gave a goose, you'd stop drinking now and not pour that shot down your throat." and his friend all "Woo! Liquor is fun!"
And then, obviously, I have to drink the shot because I can't be
Wasting liquor
Ignoring an opportunity for fun and frolic.
Letting my boyfriend tell me what to do.
And then you can see how I can decide that it's all his (Steady's or the friend's. I don't know which) fault that my brain seems to want out of my head rather urgently this morning.
So, you'll get your damned "cast" blurb someday when my head works again.
I have this weird notion that for some reason my voice went up like sixteen octaves the entire time I was talking last night. I'm sure that was very attractive.
I do remember drunken dialing my high school boyfriend. I talked to him on the car ride home and I believe he informed me that he'd never heard anyone else slur the word "ubiquitous"
So at least we all know that I still talk like I'm 90 even when I'm trashed.
I also remember using emdashes in a text message last night.
I also think I now have vague plans to go to Bonaroo. So, that's good news.
I'm now on my second can of Cherry Coke and I am starting to feel more like I am capable of being conscious.
No wait. Maybe more like I'm going to puke, but with less headache. And I think that's better.
I am somewhat shocked that I did not end up at a strip club last night. I still have not been to a strip club in Arizona. (It seems like JV and I always ended up watching naked girls dance somewhere after the point where I started hanging on his arm trying to look casual about the stumbling drunkeness. By the way, you don't see many people here walking arm in arm, which makes that ploy more obvious.)
My first thought when I woke up this morning after "water" (which Steady had already put a pint of on my nightstand) was "My hair stinks. I wonder what happens when you spray your hair with Febreeze. I should go google it." and then "That's the sort of thing I'd find in my referrer logs and really wonder about."
And I think that's that. Closed two bars. Six drinks. Vague memories. Fairly certain I did not make a fool of myself...
