Tuesday, June 9, 2009

I'm not sure what it means when I need an entire extra day to recover from my weekends

There's something about the warm weather that just makes drinking yourself under the table that much more enjoyable. At least, that's been my attitude every weekend for the past month or so. This past weekend was one of my oldest and best friend's birthdays. I'm assuming you can do the Yellaphant math for that one.

Totally JK, ya'll. And let me just take this time to formally thank our friend Andrew for making sure of that.

You know that friend that you've had for almost as long as you can remember? The one you met the very first day your family moved into the house you would grow up in? The one that's been there even as kindergarten became grade school, grade school became high school, high school became college, and college became the world? Even when the places you called home changed? Who was there for the first sip of alcohol in your life and is still there now when you get kicked out of the bar? The one who was there from the very first boyfriend to the very last boyfriend? Yeah, that's this chick.

And this weekend she turned 24. And when you're 24 years old and you've been friends with someone for 20 years, that's kind of a big deal. So this weekend we went out in style. And by style, I mean when I woke up on the beach at 5 a.m. next to a pile of sleeping bodies, I definitely wasn't surprised to find myself there. Again. The first time however, I was convinced I'd been kidnapped.

B called the next afternoon to check in while we were all nursing our hangovers on the beach and trying not to breathe in too deeply because everyone was still sweating tequila and he was all "are you ALIVE?" because apparently I'd called him some time around 4 a.m. to tell him I was dead. And I was all, "feels like it. That just might be the drugs though." And then he was all "are you in jail?" and I had to be all "um, thank you, Andrew" and Andrew was all "wow ... I mean ... just ... wow" because apparently I'd had a slight altercation with a bouncer the night before. In my defense, he probably did have a really small pee pee.

That's not me in the the tux, that's Monica. It was Monica's birthday. I'm the one with the beard. This picture pretty much sums up the night. I'll let you use your imagination, but I'll give you a hint: tequila, popcorn, twelve live squid, and Bill Murray. YES, I know that's not Bill Murray. And so does the bouncer.

4 comments:

Avitable said...

But just think of the blog fodder that a night in jail would have given you!

3continentfamily said...

the point is that you had fun- waking up on the beach and all. Love it.

rory said...

Whew.
I'm thinkin' the Yellaphant whirlwind coupled with the already fairly fluid beach lifestyle is gonna generate a hell of a hurricane when you and B move to the shore.
Good luck to them.

Chatham said...

As my husband says. "Tequila makes the bad man come out."

Nothing good comes from Tequila. LOL.

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