Weekend Lunacy

You guys. It was...pretty epic. It involved doing shots of Crown Royal with the Canadian Navy (all of who were super ridiculously good looking. I mean, even their girls were really pretty. Like stunningly. Like way too pretty to be trapped on a ship. Gorgeous. And the guys were all tall and...Canadian.) It involved accomplishing a long held goal of sorts. It involved kicking the ever loving pants off the University of Florida in football. It was full of win. And then the worst hangover of football season/the year so far on Sunday which is kind of a loss. Oh, and it involved ordering a replacement credit card. So. Yeah.




Saturday went like this: I was up early because playing Florida makes me anxious. Yes, on paper they aren't that fantastic. At least not as fantastic as us. Which no one else is because we're #1. (Which brings all of it's own crazy anxiety. I'm starting to freak out about the matchup in Tuscaloosa on November 5 but also know that any of the games between now and then are ours to lose and we very well could. Football is sheer anxiety.) But playing Florida is fraught. They owned us for a lot of years. And when Steve Spurrier coached Florida they REALLY owned us. I have major fears about playing even an off year Florida. Especially during the day. Stupid CBS scheduling.

I picked up Chuck and we went to the LSU bar where I of course then proceeded to start drinking Abita. But I was being good! I was pacing myself. I had come up with a whole plan the day before with Cheryl when we went to watch Blue Angels fleet week practice. (That was awesome, by the way. We got a parking spot right at Marina Blvd and Fillmore, walked across the street to the greens and heard the whole fleet week narration for the "practice" on a day when it's far less crowded than the weekend shows. Seriously, fighter planes are sooooo cool.) Basically we knew it was going to be a long day. A marathon! Not a sprint! (Anytime you are planning out your alcohol consumption for the day you might as well abandon all hope and prepare for shit show. Just, ya know, speaking from experience.) (Also: the fact that I constantly forget that I am not a 22 year old undergrad who can drink as such anymore is freaking painful. Stupid being old.) (Which, (and yes, I'm fucking with you with the parens) the fact that everyone everywhere makes you feel like when you hit 30 you might as well be dead is some serious bullshit. /rant.)

The game was awesome. That second play from scrimmage was awesome. We went for the homerun and we got it. The Brad Wing non-touchdown was awesome. I mean, he's the punter for chrissakes! Wouldn't YOU be excited if you were the punter and you scored a touchdown? He's not supposed to score the touchdown! On 4th and 16! So cool. We gave Florida a 30 point beat down. In fact, it was so thorough that I bailed before the game was over to meet up with Dad and Angela on the roof of the parking garage to watch the Blue Angels because there was no way we were losing. It's induces more anxiety and is also awesome all at once to be THE BEST. It's so fleeting in football. Granted, Florida was starting a true freshman quarterback who had never played on the sort of stage that is the 92k people in Tiger Stadium environment. But still. It's FLORIDA. Beating them feels nice.

I had a minor meltdown during the early part of the game though. The puppy ate through my phone charger. Again. My mom said she would get me a replacement one. She did on Friday but it was the wrong kind. But it was no big deal, a replacement cord is $4 on ebay. I had no problem taking care of this. But then it turned into like this THING. She had my stepdad do it, so he starts sending me text messages about what I need and what he bought and blah blah. During the game! Like 20 freaking text messages trying to explain the phone charger. I finally told him not to worry about it, I'd take care of it when I got home. In the meantime I text her to tell him to stop texting me. And I'm getting annoyed because, and I don't mean this as hyperbole, watching LSU football is the thing that makes dealing with the rest of my life easier. I LOVE it. Obviously. So you're bugging me with this bullshit during the 4 hours of the week I really need you to leave me alone? Then my mom CALLS me about the phone cord. I exasperatedly respond to her question about what I need. "Don't yell at me!" she says. "FOOTBALL IS ON!" I reply.

After the Blue Angels, Cheryl, Chuck, and I went back to the bar where I had them put on the Caps game for me. (I'm kind of a big deal at the bar now apparently. I was running a tab and gave the bartender that I don't really know my last name. He say, "I know who you are, Lisa." Um. I should probably stop drinking. Or at least stop drinking there.) My dad was across the street at a different bar with Angela. It's so very us. I walk over there and chat with them for a few, I walk back to the bar to hang with my friends. Dad comes over and tells me he's going to dinner and I say that sounds PERFECT, we'll go meet him. Cheryl had mentioned the previous day that I forget to eat when I start drinking and since this was marathon day, I figured this was the perfect opportunity to go eat. And for free!

In the meantime though, Chuck leaves us and Cheryl and I are at the bar still. We're still watching the Caps game. Well, I'm watching the Caps game and Cheryl's like, "What do I need to know about hockey?" "Nothing, just follow the puck." A guy comes up to her and says, "You like hockey?" And Cheryl demures and points to me. We end up chatting with these guys for a bit. Tall, nice looking guys.

Here's the thing: Cheryl notoriously never uses her real name in bars. Ever. At all. She makes up a whole fake persona. The name is always Lindsay, but the back story changes. She even looks at me and we quickly make up a backstory because we hadn't already pondered one for the day. Now, I generally have a no lying policy. On the off chance you actually hit off with a guy then you have to backtrack and be all, "So, uh, everything I told you isn't true"? That's awkward. But. I'm buzzed and not in the mood to be all, "Unemployed lawyer!" So suddenly I upgrade my law school and have a job. Why the hell not?

The other thing is that Cheryl also NEVER likes anyone. Not enough to make out with, not enough to be interested in. She loves watching and engaging in my shenanigans but doesn't ever do anything on her own. Hysterically, this is also the one time we're not staying at the bar, we're leaving as soon as we finish our drinks to meet my dad for dinner. So we're leaving and she says, "I liked him!" "You never like them!" "I know!" Us leaving was then very ironic. We would not run into these guys later.

We have a pleasant meal with my dad at a packed Sodini's, wherein my dad is of course talking to everyone. We finish up dinner just as the Navy is starting to take over San Francisco. Guys in their Cracker Jack uniforms were wandering the streets of San Francisco. On a perfect fall day, it is quite the sight to behold. I'd find out later that even though the ships docked around noon, if you were on the aircraft carrier, it took 'til almost 5 to get everyone checked out and off the ship, which is why we hadn't seen them until then.

We stopped at Gino & Carlo for a drink but the vibe there was a little weird so we headed to O'Reilly's. Where we would remain. It was packed with Navy guys and marines and the aforementioned Canadians.

I got to that point where after a day of drinking beer I was like, "I can't drink any more of this. I'm gonna explode." So I wisely switched to drinking Jameson on the rocks. I'm a certified rocket surgeon, y'all. Jameson is very very evil. Very. Because it sips nicely and I don't have to shoot it, I just keep knocking them back. I have no idea how many I had. I know that I was fine and chatting and being certifiably awesome and then...it all goes fuzzy. But before the fuzzy part:

I did that thing where I get all snarky and I can't help it. It just comes out that way. It's just...I dunno. My thing, ya know? People say things and if I have the witty comeback going in that early buzzed state I just can't even help it. The one marine told me he was from Kentucky. I immediately ask Wildcats or Cardinals. He says he likes Pitino so wherever he coaches, he doesn't really have any loyalty. He hated Tubby Smith, but the guy UK has now is good, whatever his name is. I said, "John Calipari?" "How do you know that?" I literally winked. I know sh...unimportant stuff. I also made a joke about maybe he was a Hilltoppers fan and that we play that school soon. I may not be the most well read person ever, anywhere near the smartest, but when it comes to sports? I can talk. Even not sports. I usually have just enough knowledge on a topic to engage in banter. We talked about race horses and meth being the other popular Kentucky past times. He was amusing but short. And then told me about his wife. Who cheated on him, but he took back. But he is now divorcing. Who is 8 months pregnant. He's pretty sure it's his kid. I gave him my card and told him to email me if he wanted to know about divorce. That was a total downer of a conversation. I mean...geezus, seriously? That sucks.

I talked to the Canadians and gave the girl the information to my favorite restaurant. One of the Canadians handed me a shot of Crown Royal. At least we stayed in the whiskey family. But it's not like I can say, "Nah, I know you were protecting the world from evil but I'm not gonna do a shot with you." You HAVE to do it.

Cheryl was shocked Canada had it's own military. She was apparently operating under the assumption that Canada is part of Britain. "Don't they just use Britain's military?" Um, Canada is it's own country. "Then why is the queen on their money? And they like pledge allegiance to her?" I'm drunkenly trying to explain, and half making stuff up because I don't really know the exact history of Canada. Especially when drunk in a bar. (Buch, you wanna handle?) Hilarity ensues. Cheryl always asks the best questions that I don't have answers to. "Well...who decides who the best conference in college football is? But how do they rank teams in the preseason? No one has played yet! Isn't that a strict liability crime so circumstances don't matter? Why was the Atlanta team named the Thrashers?" Uhhhh...those are all excellent questions and when I've had time to research I'll get back to you.

I flitted around the bar and talked to all sorts of people. I made friends with girls in the bathroom where we discussed the prospects and the adorableness of the uniform. We watched as officers and enlisted chatted with each other. We spent a good bit of time talking to an adorable 22 year old Navy journalist. He had these ridiculously long blonde eyelashes, the kind women would pay good money for.

And in all my years of going to fleet week, of chasing sailors and being completely enamored with them, caught somewhere between wanting to be them and just loving the uniform (yes, even I am not immune to the ever so occasional stereotypically female behavior) but being universally ignored by them, I FINALLY did what I've always wanted to do and kissed a guy in uniform. I would tell you how awesome it was, that I broke my no PDAs in bars at all ever rule to kiss a 22 year old from Washington state. However, due the evils of drinking Jameson on the rocks, and several of them, with little regard for my sobriety because I am a world class idiot and it tastes good and you completely forget about how it will kick your ass later and leave a peaty aftertaste for a good 24 hours, I only know that I kissed him because Cheryl told me I did. Yeah. That's the way my universe works. Such a moron. Colossal freaking moron. You'd think I'd have learned after the adventures in Jameson a few weeks ago. You'd think I wouldn't leave voicemails for boys I like at 2:30 a.m. appearing to be a crazy girl because we already did that a few weeks ago. You'd think wrong.

I then spent all of Sunday violently ill, praying for death, not enjoying the sun and not touring the USS Bonhomme like I had planned. Because this is what I do, apparently. I forget that Jameson is evil and that I'm not 22 anymore and that I can't drink for 12 hours and be fine. To which I call serious bullshit.

There are plans for Monday to go see ships and have lunch and have Cheryl fill me in on the very very fuzzy details about Saturday but I think I'm just gonna hide out at home with my shame for a bit and be glad that the sailors do only come to town once a year and then leave.

And I'm never drinking again.