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On Blacking Out, or: If you need a ride TO the bar, you're in for a rough night.

I still don't have a full recollection of Friday night, and I likely never will, but here at the highlights.

Around 4:00 PM Friday, after eating at Chipotle with Jen, we go to Target. It is here where I decide, on a whim, to buy a skirt.

Around 6:00 PM, I begin gauging other people's interest in hitting up Neighbors for some adult fun time.

Around 6:01 PM, it occurs to be that ABSOLUTELY NOTHING BAD CAN HAPPEN if I show up to a dirty redneck bar in a skirt.

Around 6:03 PM, it occurs to me this skirt does not have pockets. I rethink my logic, only I include a skirt and purse into my algorithm. I again decide nothing bad can happen.

Around 9:30 PM, I start down on the rum and cokes, with a heavy pour of 100 proof dark rum in all. I quickly feel super fucking fantastic.

10:45 rolls around, and Jacob tells me he is ready to head out. Being the responsible human being I am, I ask Jacob for a ride to the bar. Yes, you read that right; I was too drunk to drive on my way TO the bar. That's how you know this night will be epic.

He pulls up, I walk to the car (skirt around waist and purse in hand), and promptly inform him of my one demand--that he ask no questions. He responds asking me why I'm in a skirt.

We walk into the bar around 11:00. Or, rather, he ran in, and I, dazed and confused, stand at his car for a moment looking for him before I stroll in well after him. Which was his intention. I grab the nearest seat I can among friends, skipping over Jacob, Zack, and Dusticles, and sit with Ginnie and Sylvia. I enthusiastically flag down Andrea, our bartdnder, to no avail. In the meantime, I down two mugs of Yuengling.

11:20, and I finally have my bartender's attention. A round of Jameson for my female comrades, and a Long Island Iced Tea to savor.

11:25, and Allison joins the party. I have three shots and a drink (itself with about 4 shots in it) staring at me, and we quickly down them, with Allison doing Sylvia's shot because she apparently doesn't do whiskey. Or maybe it was Ginnie's shot. And maybe there was actually a better reason. I do not really remember, but fuck them. But no! 25 minutes after entering the bar, taking my first shot, and I can barely keep it down. THINGS ARE ALREADY GOING WRONG I scurry the the bathroom, and stare into the calm, reflective gaze of the toilet bowl. Toilet shave a magical sobering effect, and I feel considerably better after simply gazing into her sweet embrace. I get up, piss, and head back to the table.

11:27 PM. Wait. What the fuck? Did I just barely succeed and keeping down my first drink? I realize, at this point, that this night is going to turn into a train wreck in slow motion. Slow enough to hope and pray for some dues ex machina to save me from what appears inevitable; total and utter disaster. I promptly flag down Andrea again, and order water and fries to reinforce my taxed liver. I'm in this for the long run, right?

Soon after, Sylvia and I do karaoke to Welcome to the Black Parade. I realize I'm loosing sobriety because, as I sing in the most epic fashion possible, Sylvia keeps giving me dirty looks. I still haven't entirely figured out why, but Jacob later seemed to hint that it was because I was missing the mic and was largely inaudible. This may be why I seem to remember singing so loudly.

11:35 PM, I return to my table to see fries and water waiting for me. I slide the fries to the middle of the table, ask Sylvia and Ginnie why there are four of them, and proceed to stuff my face. This is my last mostly-clear memory.

You know when you're learning to ride a bicycle, it's easier to go straight if you're going faster? The same applies to drunk walking. Drunk walking is difficult and a dead giveaway that you are drunk. But drunk sprinting? Safe, straight, and people have a tendency to get the fuck out of you way. So, at some point later, I drunk sprint to the bathroom have puke for the first time.

I have no recollection of this, but I apparently came back to the table to hang out further. This is where I start drunk texting, but I have no recollection of any text I sent. Except, I do remember receiving one from Erika, and having no idea what possessed me to text her, what I said, or what her response was referring to. And, on top of that, I accidentally deleted them the next morning. This is also around the time, I think, that Frank comes over to discuss my skirt wearing. I have no recollection of the conversation, but I do specifically recall having no idea what he was saying at the time either. He jokingly offers to dance with me, and we slow dance for a few seconds. Everyone laughs. I think, after this, Jacob buys everyone but me shots of... vodka or tequila. I think both. This oversight enrages me, or so I've been told, and I continuously punch him in the arm for the insult. Or so I've been told.

I next remember sitting outside of Neighbors, horribly drunk, horribly nauseous, enjoying the fresh air. Shocktop keeps bugging me, making sure I'm fine. He points out that there are cops in the area, and that, if I insist on staying outside, I should make my way inside should one come near. I thank him for the warning, and promptly forget.

Sometime later, and I estimate this to be a little after midnight, I realize how fucking tired I am. So, while still outside, I lie down on my side (ya know, in case I vomit). Nothing bad happens.

Except that I get kicked gently on the shoulder. Assuming it's Brian, I tell him to go away. The, I look up to confirm that it is Shocktop.

Instead, I see a badge.

I think I actually, audible said "Fuck, you're a cop."

I sat straight up instantly, and started ranting. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I just had a little too much to drink and just need to sit here for one second to sober up a bit more and I'll be fine, I promise. I'm sorry, please don't arrest me."

I suppose I'm a convincing drunk, so she instead just mentioned something about a fucking stabbing, and I think she simply told me I needed to sit up or go inside. I continue to sit up.

I think immediately after that, after having noted my encounter with an enforcer of the law, Jacob came out to get me, telling me it was time to go home. Naturally, I assume this means that it's last call, and tell him I can't leave yet because I haven't paid my tab. During this brief encounter, I vomit for a second time, still sitting on the sidewalk in front of Neighbors. It was mostly water, but regardless, that pretty much ended my defense of staying at the bar. He says we need to go immediately, so I give my credit card to... Sylvia, I think. Jacob, Ginnie, and I get into his car, and they drive me home. It was only the next morning that I realized that Ginnie was even in the car, although I do vaguely remember them talking about how close I lived.

I get out, and end up leaving my hat in Jacob's car. I later found out that they went back to the bar, kept drinking, and then went to IHOP. Probably better I didn't know--I likely would have insisted on staying, and maybe even kept drinking. I went to my room, put my stuff down, and head to the bathroom to puke for the third time in a third different place. Back to to room, I try and lie down, and try and sleep. Except, I have the spins so bad, I try and sleep with one eye open. Clearly, this does not work. After a few minutes of this, putting this at maybe 1:00 AM, I return to the bathroom to vomit. Except, by this point, I have little left to eject so it is mostly just dry heaving.

I return to my bed, and fall asleep.

I wake up around 1:00 PM, and am about as hungover as I ever have been. I actually spent time thinking about it, and put it at my third worst hangover ever. I also realize that, while I have my wallet and keys, I am without flat cap.

Around 3:00 PM, I head to Starbucks to retrieve my credit card, and devise a hangover cure from various internet researching; bananas, milk, ice, and honey blended together. It takes some convincing to get Viking Phil to agree to blend the honey, but he eventually agrees. It tastes terrible. Jacob also says he has no idea where my hat is, and I promptly walk over to Five Guys to find the greasiest food I can eat. I go home and eat it. Delicious.

At exactly 5:55 PM, I realize that I am finally not feeling hungover. I inform several people of this fact.

8:47 PM: Jacob suggests we go out drinking. I dry heave.

10:45 AM Sunday, I retrieve my flat cap from Jacob. I am sober and happy. Lessons are learned. The end.


Holy shit.

Just ... holy shit.

You should come out drinking sometime.

I might find it amusing, if nothing else. :D

It's just a pity America doesn't have proper spicy liquors.