Monday, June 14, 2010

Pretty Girls



I can cross another thing off my 30 Before 30... and if everything goes right, I can actually mark off two things.

But first...


I got inebriated Saturday night. WASTED. SLOSHED. THREE SHEETS TO THE WIND.


And I have to thank that pretty girl @Brandi3D for it.


Here's the story:


Tuesday, June 8th at 12:15 AM, I was invited to a birthday party by Brandi. She asked if me and my cousin Lamar (@LSANTANA757) would go; after 7 seconds of talking with him, we agreed to show up.

When I woke up Saturday morning, I was so busy with my brother and sister having family time, that I only ate once, around 2 PM. Taking a 2 hour nap around 5, it never crossed my mind that I needed to eat before I went out. {Red Flag #1} (Editor's Note: I will be putting Red Flags by things that are to be noted as important... such as this one.)

Last night rolls around and by this time, my other cousin (who'll remain nameless) decided that he wanted to go as well. He also told us he had drinks in the truck and that we were more than welcome to partake in them. In his vehicle, he had bottles of Parrot Bay, Absolute, and Everglow. We made a quick stop at our local Wawa to get 24oz. cups of ice. We then proceeded to mix all the drinks together into our cups and chug them down. {Red Flag #2}

Racing down towards VA Beach, we're calling and talking to Brandi, who tells us that she's on her way there, and we can meet up then. Mind you, Brandi is a wonderful person; having been friends on Twitter for almost 2 years, this is our first time meeting up, so it's pretty exciting. I drink some more. (I always get nervous around pretty women.) {Red Flag #3}

Music blasting, we finally hit Pacific Ave. My other cousin reminds us that it is Puerto Rican Weekend down at the beach, and it is packed. We drive around for about 20 minutes, looking at the women while finding parking. By this time, the liquor has already invaded my blood stream. I am now tipsy. {Red Flag #4}

Getting to Shaka's, the doorman greets us and we walk in. It's HOT. Brandi meets us upstairs. She is not what I expected looking at Twitpics of her for 2 years, no. She was looking WONDERFUL. Hugs and greetings get passed around. She then informs us that the bar tab has been set at $40 for an open bar. Let me say this again:

$40.

All you can drink liquor. {Red Flag #5}

Two Long Island Iced Teas start the party off. We talk (more like yell), we dance, we start getting into the groove. The DJ had a live drummer there with him, making every high hat, snare, and bass drum feel 10x better. We got back to the bar for more drinks; this time, I take 3 shots of Patròn. Her friend (which, to this very second, I do not remember his name) has challenged me to drinking shots. We go at it. We call a truce after the 4th shot; Brandi, Lamar and my other cousin come off the dance floor and we get a round of Blue Motorcycles to make a toast with. I, being overly ambitious, have already drank my glass. They laugh and get me another one. We make a toast to good times and good friends. I drink this one like it's water. As I move towards the bar to place my cup down, I feel the liquor moving around in my stomach; if I close my eyes, I can hear it. {Red Flag #6... I have just fouled out. Everything from here on is on fast forward: from me talking to 4 different sets of women, to me hitting on another guy's woman and ALMOST pulling her number until he violently grabs her by the arm; she then gets him thrown out. Oh, and apparently, when I get super drunk, I dance like Carlton did that episode of Fresh Prince when he was on those uppers. There was video of that, but nobody will EVER see that.}

The night ends outside. We are all laughing and taking pictures. Here is a picture of me:




Yes, that is me on Brandi's Nappable Titties. By this time, all I can think about is FOOD. We say our goodbyes and start to make our way back to the vehicle. As we are crossing 19th street, there is a black BMW blocking the box (If you live in or near VA Beach, you know what blocking the box is). So me, in my HIGHLY drunken state, taps the trunk of his car and yell out "Nice Car!" I continue to walk across the street, completely ignoring his drivel about me hitting his car. Lamar yells at the guy to go home, and the dude pulls off. As soon as I hit the truck, I'm all over the backseat, drunk tweeting (as I've been known to do) and actually being amazed that I can tweet while drunk and not misspell any words. My other cousin yells at me and tells me when we get to Waffle House to NOT say a word. I nod my head and continue tweeting.

Somewhere between us hitting the interstate and getting to Waffle House, I pass out. Getting woken up by two drunk and hungry people isn't fun at all. I stumble my way into the crowded Waffle House and take a seat at the counter. The waitress puts the menu down in front of me. I tap Lamar and point to what I want to eat. He looks at me and asks if that's what I want to eat. I nod. He says OK. I get off the chair and go the bathroom, as I have to pee. After spending 4 minutes trying to figure out how to wash my hands, I make my way back to the chair. The waitress has yet to take our order, which is a good thing.

WARNING: This next part will probably be a little graphic. I suggest that if you have a weak stomach that you do not read this part. I also suggest that if you live in the Churchland area and you are a female.... well, you might want to read this. That's all I'm saying.

Sitting in the chair for no less that 30 seconds, my stomach, which is still full of liquor, has informed me that it will no longer play flask for my liquid goodness, and that it needs to be expelled. NOW. Lamar looks at me, and I shake my head violently.

Wrong move.

I stumble as fast as a fat drunk person can to the bathroom and immediately projectile vomit all over everything: the toilet, the handle, the wall, the floor, the mirror; EVERYTHING. Amazingly, nothing hits my shirt, pants, or shoes. There is a shelf on the wall that I didn't throw up on that was chest high. I lay my head on the shelf, trying to regain my composure and to make sure that I didn't have to shoot tequila and vodka all over the place again. There is banging on the door. My ears hear NOTHING. I attempt to clean up the mess that I made, not really caring how I clean up; I mean hey, if a man comes into this bathroom and there's a little puke behind the toilet, get someone to come clean it, because I am just too drunk.

After about 10 minutes of futile cleaning (I did get the toilet as clean as I could with the bleach that was in the bathroom), I stumble out of the bathroom and make my way back to the dining area where there's a lot of females looking at me funny. Apparently, I didn't make it to the Men's restroom, which was the SECOND door on the left, no. I went into the WOMEN'S restroom. I destroyed that bitch like it was Tokyo and I was Godzilla, but instead of fire laser breath, I had liquid gold in the form of liquor shooting out. I, of course, KanYe Shrug to everybody and ask for the keys to the truck; O'mar is going to sleep (read: pass out). My cousin unlocks the truck and I pass out in the back seat. One hour later, we are pulling up to my brother's house; I stumble out of the truck, give a half wave, stumble up the stairs, and knock on the door. My sister lets me in. I say nothing and make a beeline to the guest room where I pass out, clothes on and all.

I was jarred awake at 9 AM Sunday morning by bright sunlight. I'm quite sure that if I had a breathalyzer, I could've blown at LEAST a .06 BAC; I was still drunk. I'm unsure of where I am, until it hits me that I am at my brother's house. Thinking about how I got there, I then think about the events of last night. I make a beeline straight to the bathroom and spend 30 minutes brushing my teeth and using a half of bottle of Listerine to clean it out. I then sit on my brother's couch, confident that I have scratched off number 28 on my 30 Before 30: got shit faced drunk at least once and remember what happened.

Now, I know what you're asking; why did I title this Pretty Girls? Well, we were blasting that on the Strip like it was a new song, and I wanted an excuse to post that Wale picture with Lindsey Lohan.

Pretty Girls will get you in trouble, kids. Every time. That's the moral of this story.

Liner Notes: I left almost everything I bought with me in my cousin's truck. I did manage to grab my iPod, so I guess that was a good thing. Brandi was a wonderful host, and she's a good friend, so I had a blast, and we're going to do it again before the summer is out... in New York. I do believe that I get this air of... invincibility, when I get drunk... it was a lot of females that could've been this year contenders. I will probably get this drunk again one more time in my life, and that will be my birthday in Vegas next year... well, barring any unforeseen excursions. Oh, and there is video of Lamar outside of the women's bathroom; he was yelling at me that I ended up in there instead of the men's bathroom. Don't let him tell it; he wasn't THAT drunk. (Yeah, right.) Normally, I can hold my liquor well, but when I don't eat... well, you see the end result.

----------------
Now playing: Wale - Pretty Girls
via FoxyTunes

4 comments:

chris.alexander said...

effing amazing. vivid. i felt like i, too, was drunk and projectile vomiting.

ah. drunk tweets are the best tweets. glad you survived.

Soulful Jenn said...

You're my fucking hero. Still.

D. Lux said...

Hilarious.

TangoMega said...

Man, I'm way late on this blog, but that's why we post 'em... I was ROLLING! You are learning life's lessons one at a time, but at least you are learning: Pretty Girls Get You In Trouble.... Always.

-ere'bodee's favorite mega, blogninja

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