I have been thinking of starting a blog for awhile now, and after my rockstar performance last night, I finally feel that I have the proper blog-starting story. A note: my roommate and I were planning to start this blog together, so you might see entries from her up here. Thus, I am signing this.
So I went to S’s weekly Thursday-night party, dubbed “the waves” (apartment is on Waverly st.). This party is fun because there is always a theme to dress to – last night: Varsity Sports – and also because her apartment is a 5th floor walk-up so you get to climb 4 flights of stairs, and enter all sweaty and out of breath, while being stared at due to the door’s location in the living/dining room.
The night started off innocently enough. I was chastised for my lack of varsity gear (too cold and rainy for the skirt I had planned on wearing), and I began drinking red wine. We decided to play poker, and I kept drinking. Switched to “milwaukee’s best,” a beer I am not familiar with despite having grown up an hour and a half away from that fine city. Perhaps the best was too good for my family. Anyway, about an hour into poker, it seems that everyone lost their mind. First an ex-mormon produced a giant bottle of jack daniels and suggested we take shots. Ok, fine – I mean what goes better with milwaukee’s best than a shot of whiskey (well, leaving out the fact that we had drunk an entire bottle of red wine ourselves)? But then, not more than 10 minutes later, someone who can only be described as a complete fucking moron, or perhaps the devil incarnate, or maybe my worst enemy is more apt here – regardless, he suddenly has a bottle of the most generic gin I have ever laid eyes upon. I believe the brand name was something like, “fuck yourself,” maybe. This bottle appeared magically in his hands, and before I knew it, I was taking a shot of gin. Who, you ask, takes shots of gin? Idiots. Total idiots.
Everything goes really foggy here. What I do know is, rather suddenly the 8-person game we had going was down to 3 people. Or, maybe I just passed out at the table for awhile. Then I was told that I had just bet, and lost, all my money (well, chips – no real money involved). This seemed like a lie to me – I mean I don’t remember saying I was all in – but then again, I can understand maybe wanting the drunkest girl you’ve ever seen to exit the game. Next thing I know, I awake on her bathroom floor at 7 am. I vaguely remember a gorgeous Jackson Pollack painting – or wait, was that red-wine vomit? Hmmm….
And now? after showing up to work at 10:30, I feel like absolute shit. Going out tonight for a friend’s birthday. Hey, that should be fun. Maybe we’ll do shots of gin!