Caught up? Here's the rest of the story. F-Bomb rules still apply.
Can six jackasses make it to the bar opening by 6:00 AM?
No. We were in the bars by the entirely respectable time of 9:15. In perhaps a concession to our wisdom and experience, we no longer felt inclined to wait outside the bar at 5:45 AM in the cold. Complementary breakfast was in order first. Then, and only then would we hit the bars.
Back up. Why were you in the bars?
Being the wild West, it has been a tradition to open all the bars at 6:00 AM during homecoming weekend. Called "Sunrise Services," or "Tequila Sunrise," it is an annual, ridiculous tradition. The article can give you more information, if you're so inclined.
Please, give me a run-down of your adventures. I'm on the edge of my seat.
I'm sure you are. First, we went to Collins, which, in our days, was an awesome Irish pub. Many years ago, we drank our Bloody Marys and Beers at dawn, danced to Irish music, commandeered the drums, and heard many variations of the line, "If you were my English teacher, I would have paid a lot more attention in class!" (Note to my male readers, both of you: THIS DOESN'T WORK.)
Now, alas, Collins was bought out by the firm of Douchebag, Buttpimple, and Taint. They kept the name Collins, but a far more appropriate name would be the Date-Rape-A-Torium. (BTW, I'm not making jokes about date rape, because it is pernicious and wrong and ugly. I am making jokes about the travesty of my former favorite college bar).
The music was the kind of techno best used in interrogation chambers in "undisclosed locations." The windows were covered up with plastic bags, and you squeezed between sweaty, writhing white-hats and the cast of Gossip Girl to get your drink. Speaking of which, if you like your Bloody Mary to taste like ketchup with a shot, this is your place. We sat in the dark, drinking our drinks. Aside from grabbing a stranger's camera and taking pictures of us all flashing gang signs, it was the low point of the morning.
We finished our drinks and headed out to San Felipe.
Oh, but wait! Could I interrupt your tale for another text-message interlude?
With pleasure. We were actually part of two groups. My friend texted the other group, a group of girls that were still sleeping.
Friend: Where are you? Get your motherfucking asses in the motherfucking bar right now motherfucker.
Response: We're getting there. (A half hour passes).
Friend: WTF! Get over here now. You can sleep when you're motherfucking dead.
This friend is not at all belligerent in real life, which makes these texts brilliant. It would be like getting bitch-slapped by Laura Bush.
So, what happened in San Felipe?
*Dancing--favorites include: "No Diggity," "Brass Monkey," and "Thunder" by AC/DC
*Lessons---I've been trying to learn how girls dance where they move their butt up and down. I tried to get my ZUMBA! teacher to show me before I came out, but she said something like, "You're beyond help." My friend agreed, but enjoyed mocking me at my expense (for good reason).
*Drive-bys. Certain members of my party "accidentally" touched the arms or torsos of muscular young men. Not me. I was too busy attempting to booty dance. And failing.
*Lots and lots of stupid pictures.
*Love. Lots and lots of happy smiles and spontaneous hugs.
Did you lie about your job again?
Yes, indeedy. I was outside, getting some air, and my friend and I ran into a group of men dressed right out of the Sabotage Video.
Yeah, it was kinda douchy.
DB (easier to write than Douche Bag): What do you do?
Me: I'm a lawyer!
Friend: (whispering) Say you work for the SCC
Me: First I was in malpractice law, then I worked for the SCC.
DB: You're full of shit. Nobody goes from malpractice law to the SCC.
Me: I did! In Maryland!
DB: Prove it! Show me your ID!
(At the time, this made perfect sense. If only he would see my Maryland driver's license, he would know that I was in fact a lawyer, who first chased ambulances, than went on to work for the SCC! Writing this, I realize this is stupid, but at the time it seemed like ironclad proof. Maybe it's good I didn't go into law).
Me: (triumphantly brandishing my ID) Here you go!
DB: (his face twisted in concentration. I hear him mumbling.."1975 minus..".)
Me: Um, I'm 34. ("Like, dude! What does this have to do with proof that I'm a lawyer? Hello!")
DB: (to his friends) Oh my God, she's 34! (They all start laughing)
Me: (suddenly catching on to the ID ruse. Assholes!) Oh. Um, nice talking to you, I gotta go.
I run into the bar and tell people this story. They all look at me like I'm an idiot. My lawyer friend just said, "Malpractice to SCC? C'mon, now..."
Surely you have one more text messaging interlude left.
Lunch was in order. One of our friends had encountered another friend, so she was to catch up with us. We arrived at the local pizza joint and texted the friend:
Text: We're at Alpine. Come over.
Response: a a r q gn
Text: We don't understand. Come to Alpine.
She finally came over. We told her that she texted us nonsense. She replied, "No, I was just writing in code!"
She took a little nap after she had her pizza.
Speaking of which, how much were you hurting later?
With the exception of the code-talker, we were in great shape. We all drank lots of water, ate pizza, popped Advils, and had enough energy to hit the bookstore and go to the football game. Nobody was hung over the next day.
Anything else to report?
We didn't go out that night. We ordered Chinese food, told stories, laughed, and watched the last thirty minutes of Goonies. We also watched a little bit of Goosebumps. You could stick a fork in us all.
Tomorrow: (This is the last entry, I swear!) Reflections on long-time friendships.