Oh hell's bells, ya'll, New Year's Eve is almost upon us. And while I have never said anything so Southern in my life as that, I cannot wait to tell you how excited I am.
There's a venue that we have here in our little community. It's a FANTASTIC space and I can't emphasize that enough.
It's also goddamned cursed for me and that is where I am spending my NYE.
Every time I go to this venue, you see, I swear to myself that it's gonna be THE BEST EVER. I swear that I'm gonna have fun, that I'll be better, I'll be smarter, more grown up and a better daughter or son, and a real good friend. Singing Rilo Kiley to myself, I promise that this time, it'll be different.
Every. Single. Time.
Spoiler alert! It never is.
This venue is the site of the first time of me making a royal ASS of myself in front of my roommate's hot friend (s.a.: it's ok, it'd never work between us; he likes pot), it's the place where I got kissed by two cousins on the night I thought I lost my phone at the Mustache Pageant & Rodeo, and most of all, it's the place where my friends and learned the difference between getting stupid drunk and getting Hammertimed.
Gettin' Hammertimed is a very special kind of excess, you see.
And while I know that "oh man, we were so wasted" stories are just small potatoes, this was intense.
I was drinking because I'd decided that a guy I was halfway interested in just wasn't a good idea (s.a.: that didn't stop me, but believe me, he wasn't), my friendswhoareacouple were drinking because it was a good friend's birthday and they were in rollerdisco costumes and my other friend was drinking, well, 'cause it was a party. And things were glorious for a short while. We lunged around in short shorts. The female half of the couple pointed out a guy who she whispered about as being "that midget that I puked on at a party one time" and guess what, he really was! One of my closest friends was running around in an afro wig that I am convinced was at least as tall as her. We danced, oh how we danced, and lamented our lack of skates.
Then suddenly, we felt the evening shift into shittiness. We'd all been drinking heavily at this point. I was taking what Brad Neeley could only describe as oblivion seeking slurps. Male half of friendswhoareacouple was really drinking heavily, which is astonishing and I wish I'd been coherent enough to appreciate it. After a certain point in the evening, I began texting my friend and begging him to come get me and take me out of this situation. I'd already run my little ass ragged all over the whole party telling everyone how fun it was. I was embarrassed and sad and had tried, as I always try at this particular black hole of revelry and devil's music, to drink myself into having a good time. (s.a. hilarity ensued)
When our particular and rather more sober than we cavalry arrived, my jolly party was in sorry fucking shape. By this point, the line for the bathroom was beyond patience (one bathroom for the whole venue, with one toilet, that both genders shared). I'm not saying some people peed behind the partitions in the storage/construction area of the venue... but they did. Male half of friendswhoareacouple definitely started to feel his drinks and started throwing up, so his girlfriend had the brilliant idea that we should stand in front of him to block him from view. Two five feet tall girls, blocking a much taller guy who's puking, from view of the entire venue. Yeah... that worked out. Walking out of the venue when our friends got us to finally get the fuck out of there was one of the better moments. The venue used to be a garage, so we're exiting out garage doors, all of us are ducking. All of us except one. Forehead first into the fucking door, all 'cause there is such a thing as an iPhone.
God bless you, Steve Jobs.
Then shit got real. We all had to get home, somehow. But most of us needed our cars the next day. After a little while of trying to figure it out, it became abundantly clear that our rescuer was indeed going to drive every one of us home.
You need to understand what I was doing this whole time. Back when the rescue mission first arrived on scene. Back when the puking and the foreheading into garage doors was happening. Back to when everything first started to change. I, ladies and gents, was sitting in my seat, rocking back and forth, repeating two words over and over again, unceasingly, almost the entire time: I'm sorry.
Seriously.
While I was apologising to God, my mother and everyone, we managed to pour ourselves into rescue ranger friend's car and get back to my friendswhoareacouple's house... only to find they had left their keys in their car. Which was parked at the venue. So, naturally, instead of letting the sober person who drove everyone do it, tiny drunk female half of friendswhoareacouple basically scaled his body and managed to have him holding her above his head by the ass while she tried to climb the tree. In a giant sequined top. Then male half, who by this point had stopped vomiting, then tried to climb the tree. I distinctly remember seeing this, so it was around the time I figured out that I was alone in the car and stopped apologising to nobody. He leapt upon the tree and seemed to be making progress, when suddenly the branch he was on broke. He flipped upside down, clinging to that tree like a koala gripping an early 90s pencil. And then fell flat on his back like an awkward fucking turtle.
And that, dearlings, is Hammertimed. And the last time I was at this particular venue.
NYE get ready... 'cause I'm coming for you.
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