Sunday, November 21, 2010

One of these Sundays...

I won't be massively hung over and be an actual real live grown up. Someday. Maybe.

First: A thanks to my incredibly amazing fantastic supportive couldn't do it without them friends. And my family too. No group of people can make a girl feel more loved even in abject failure than these amazing folks. Thank you thank you thank you thank you for coming to support me and watch football with me and love me in spite of myself. Seriously. Y'all ROCK. Hard.

And now: for a time line of my Saturday.

7:30 a.m.: woke up far earlier than I am accustomed to because bar stuff was seeping into my brain.

9:00 a.m.: Left room, started getting ready for the day.

11:30 a.m.: Go to Hooters to pick up chicken wings because they are, in fact, my guilty pleasure.

12:15 p.m.: Get to Michael's house. Eat a few chicken wings, drink beer, eat jello shots. Should be noted that I had not actually eaten anything prior to this point.

12:30 p.m.: Watch football with Michael, Chuck, David and Sara, Cheryl, Beth, and...wait for it...Doug. Eat more jello shots. A lot more jello shots. I have no idea what happened during the game. It's almost a complete blank spot, except I know that we won. Vaguely.

5:00 p.m. ish: Realize I am completely drunk and need a soft place to land. Somehow manage to get down to Chuck's lower level apartment and pass out on his bed. Note: mixing depressed emotions and alcohol generally has adverse effects. Thank god he never complains when I pass out in his bed. Which I've only done twice, btw. I have no idea when or where everyone else was or when they left or what happened but everyone let me sleep, as far as I know. So thanks for being there and sorry if I didn't see you on the way out.

9:00 p.m.: Wake up after sleeping through a thunder storm, which, for those of you not from here, is a completely rare and pretty awesome occurrence. Go back upstairs to the couch and rub my temples, leaning alternately on Sara and Chuck. Have epically awful text message conversation with The Boy. That one is now scorched earth, and honestly? It's about time and thank god and I shoulda done it myself a long time ago but now I get to be the slightly injured party about except, ya know, screw it, whatever. When I text Andy and Irene about this later their comments make me once again grateful for amazing friends. When I say to them he broke up with me via text Irene responds, "Um, is he even in a position to do that?" Andy says, "It's like a dude in the ocean yelling 'Fuck you Titanic!'" So we will now thoroughly be moving on, not that I hadn't mostly already. But seriously? Fuck him and his timing. This is the same person that on the second day of the bar exam told me he didn't want a relationship. That couldn't have waited 24 hours? And now I've failed the bar and you're calling shit off? GFY, dude. Note to self: I deserve way better.

David and Sara decide around 10 that they are going home, and now that' I'm hung over and not drunk, I'm going home too.

10 p.m. ish: I decide I want to see what my dad is up to. So I drive to his house instead of my own house, but all the lights are off. So I drive to my house. But not before I drive by Philly Club. Twice. Before deciding its just better to go home. Good decision time!

But: 10:30 p.m. ish: I get home and the score report telling me just how badly I failed the bar is on the kitchen table. Ffffuuuuuuu. I can't handle this. I don't want to be alone in my house for this. I want to be around alcohol and other people. I want crown and coke. This may have been a flimsy well designed excuse to go back to the bar, but, whatever, it worked. Bad decision time! So I go to Philly Club anyway, which is mercifully empty of people I went to high school with and parents friends and assorted idiot boys who can't handle me. I sat at the bar, ordered a crown and coke, and stared at the score report hoping that the longer I stared at it, it would morph into something that said I passed. It didn't. And I was alone and sad and my zen acceptance of yesterday was all gone and then I thought I might cry. At a bar. By myself. Which would have just been epic levels of patheticness. But then the bartender asked me if I was all right and the guy standing to my right asked me what I was reading and we laughed and drank and in one of those random the universe knows what it's doing moments I met a guy who had also failed the bar on his first try, a year ago, and passed on his second try and knew EXACTLY what I was going through and who listened to me rant about it because he had been there in a way that the brave face I'd been trying to keep up with everyone else didn't need to be kept up and I talked too much and said too much and was my usual overly honest self but guy was cool with it and now it's 2 a.m. and I was starving and ate Carl's Junior and we watched Sportscenter and yeah, ya know, yeah, awesomeness, yeah. So. That.

So: football, drunk, pass out, hungover, drunk again, BNBD, home. 24 hours of what can only be described as undergrad levels of retardation and let's hope being upset about the bar is mostly over and we're all moving on now. And by we I mean me. But for today Imma just gonna lay here with my mouth still tasting of crown and coke and cigarettes even though I've brushed my teeth several times.

Tomorrow: we get up and we do it better.

1 comment:

  1. Football with the D word? WHAT? Together? You two? Wow!

    Andy says, "It's like a dude in the ocean yelling 'Fuck you Titanic!'" - That's the BEST one!