So this past Saturday, one of my best friends came in town to celebrate her 30th birthday. There was a home football game, so we decided to have the party at the game, then possibly out on the town after that. I use the term ‘possibly’ quite loosely b/c I knew damn well I would be going out. As expected, the few “I can always count on you” friends showed up, while the rest of the group either had a lame excuse or simply just did not show. Now, this was not a surprise to me, this is something I battle with on a daily basis, but I didn’t think it would be the case for my friend. She drove over 6 hours to hang out with her friends and no one came. How hard was it for them to come by even for just a short while? She did all the heavy lifting, and all they had to do was show up, but of course, they didn’t. Like I said, this didn’t shock me as I can’t count on most of my ‘friends’ for anything. But we aren’t going to let their shortcomings spoil our day – and on the bright side that’s just more booze for us!
After a nail biting game where our team did not perform well, we knocked back a few quite quickly – happy for the win, but not the performance. Nerves calmed, so it’s on to the Jell-O shots. Happiness ensues, thus we begin the dancing and singing to the band. Fun times by all. It’s too early to go home we decide, so let’s go out. We pile in the car and head to Five Points, an area of town that we are simply to old to hang out in, for which this will be told to us later, but we still like it, there are a few bars that are full of people our age.
We arrive at a favorite watering hole of ours that has a great outdoor porch – it’s pretty crowded but we find seats at the bar. Round of beers and shot of tequila (always Patron) ordered. As I hand the 12 year old bartender my credit card, I know were in for a long night. Chatter. Tequila. Chatter. Beers. Jagerbombs. Beers. Slurring chatter. Beers. Pick up some 19 year old frat kids. Shot. Slurring chatter. Run into high school friend. Beers. Gossip. Shot. Gossip. Let’s hang out (we both know this is a lie). Shot. Beer. Run into 2 other people that Facebook had to remind me of the next day. Slurring Chatter. Time for a change of scenery, let’s hit a new bar. Bartender – close my tab please. Can’t really see straight, but see it’s between 100-110 dollars. Oops. 35 dollar tip. Tell him, I’m too drunk to add it – for him to do it. Stumble out onto Harden Street.
Birthday girl thinks it’s time to call it a night, but as far as I’m concerned, I’ve had tequila, which means I’m the hottest thing that ever walked the streets, and I can totally kick your ass if you even think about looking at me the wrong way. Put her in a cab and sent her back to my house. Off we go. Bar one – boring – we have one drink and were on to the next one. Walk on to the next bar. I decide I’ll need to smoke to continue looking like a badass, so I stop at the store to buy smokes. Cop in the parking lot. I’m not driving, and I’m awesome, so let’s talk to him.
One friend tells the cop she was arrested in that very same parking lot many years ago. They discuss her story, and I’m not enjoying the fact that I am not the center of attention, so I then do something to change that. I tell him about the drunk study I did at the police station in college (that our cop friend who later turned out to be arrested himself for child pornography asked us to do) where I learned that I could never pass a roadside test even without anything to drink. Why you ask? B/c my eyes jump when I follow a finger – without a drop of alcohol. So, I then proceed to tell him how I NAILED all the other tests even though I blew a .19, and would he like to see? I didn’t give him time to answer, so I just hopped on the yellow line and starting almost doing ballet turns. B/C not only am I awesome, I’m now a ballerina as well. As I lift my leg up and begin to count One One Thousand – Two One thousand – I get the hiccups, and lose my balance, falling over into the cop car. Not to be defeated by my own shortcomings, I stand right back up and start all over again. By this point in time, my friends can no longer contain the tears rolling down their faces, one is holding herself so she doesn’t pee right in the street, one is snapping pics and uploading them to Facebook, and the police officer is rolling his eyes at me, trying to decide when to tell me enough is enough. I guess I finally get bored with him and tell him I’m done practicing, I need a drink, and ask where we should go. He kindly responds that maybe we should head up to the Vista which is an area of town where people “our age” hang out. Just b/c I have the body of a 30 year old, I have the mindset of an 21 year old, so I’m gonna party with them, thanks.
Off to Bar Three. Shot. That cop told us we were old. Beers. I decide that I am going to wear my sunglasses for the remainder of the night simply b/c “my future was so bright, I had to wear shades.” Beer. Blur…… now, let’s go onto to Bar 4. Beer. Blur. I guess that one sucked, so we went BACK to Bar 3 to close out the night. Shot. Beer. Shot. Camera comes out. Beer. Incoherent chatter. Probably trying to pick up 12 year olds. Run into old friend of mine, who’s ex-husband but now on again boyfriend still sends me random ‘show me your boobs’ text messages, so there’s no telling how that conversation panned out. Shot. I began to pour them on the floor at this point b/c there is no way I can keep it down. Beer. Run into other friends, who say they are going to another bar. Maybe we’ll meet them there.
Two am – thank goodness the bar closes – lights come on and there’s no hiding the fact that we are the old ladies in the bar. Time to catch a cab. One friend has picked up 2 boys, one who was wearing a Tap out shirt – so I know this cannot be good. One friend is sitting on the corner eating hotdogs, while the other friend left us an hour or so earlier. We finally find a cab, decide to share with some kid who is going the same route we are so it’ll be cheaper – we kick Tap Out and his friend to the curb and head home. At this point, one friend is convinced we are going home to get in our car, to find another bar that will serve us more alcohol.
Thank goodness as soon as we got home, our other friend talked her (and me sorta) out of it. My head hit the pillow around 3am – and I was out until the next morning. I wake up at nine– not feeling bad, b/c clearly – I am still completely and totally hammered beyond belief. We all make fun of each other, talk about how one did this, one did that, and so forth. But of course there are lots of parts we don’t remember, and I hope and pray I never do.
As my drunkenness turned into an afternoon hangover lasting until the middle of the day on Monday, I am cussing myself for acting such a fool. I am 30 years old, have a good job, and my boss would be mortified if he knew I was representing him in such a way, and maybe it’s time to grow up. So, I’m mad at myself. I’m embarrassed, trying to remember who I saw and so forth. But then, I decide to cut myself some slack and think about it this way. I’m 30 and I can still hang with the best of them. I might pay for it a little bit, kill a few extra brain cells, but it’s alright. Life is short, so I intend to have fun. I didn’t hurt anyone but my wallet – and had a great time out with friends, and had some good stories to share – what we remember at least! Until next time…….
Kiss My Manolo's 