After fundamental problems in my love life, I decided returning to Boulder would do wonders for the remainder of my summer vacation. With four long weeks ahead of me, my SuperShuttle pulled up at my best friend/roommate's summer residence. Seeing me through the blinds, she sprinted from the house, dressed in last night's dress. Half on.
The inside of the house was layered in filth, old food and beer cans. I set my bags on the floor, and we set off on our mission to find alcohol. It was 100 degrees-almost unbearable-but we walked the mile or so to the pizza place where she works, aiming to find a 21+ to fuel the fire that is our alcoholism.
About an hour later, we held in our purses a handle of Jose Cuervo and margarita mix.
The first few drinks boasted a modest ratio: a shot or two of tequila, the rest margarita mix. But as the afternoon wore on, this ration became more uneven. Cups half full of tequila with a splash of mix hit us hard and by early evening we were so hammered that the rest of this post will be written with only the knowledge of what others have told us about that night.
Around this time, in a classic example of 'wrong place wrong time' our neighbor-whom we had never met-decided to pay us a visit. Armed with more margaritas, we decided to put our deteriorating social skills to work.
While my friend inquired about the color of his pubic hair (he was a ginger...) I retreated inside for a little private time with the girl I did NOT (in all fairness) know was a bisexual. We made out, okay? Sue me.
Later...7pm
Our other temporary roommate, we'll call him "Mark" returned home from work to find me laying across the porch swing with my head in a bucket full of empty beer cans and cigarette butts. Seemed the sugar in the strawberry mix had gotten the best of me and was now making its way back up.
Anyway, somehow I made it inside and passed out on my bed (read: the living room couch that is adorned with dried vomit. excellent.) Next to the empty handle of tequila.
10pm
Awakening from her coma, my roommate roused me from mine and we decided it was time to go out. We each took a couple drunken showers (none of which we recall) and, in the transition between towel and dress, I managed to drop both and stand completely naked in front of both of my male roommates. Hey boys, happy I'm back?
Dresses successfully on (can't say the same about my bra), I walked into the hall where "Elizabeth" was standing, taunting "Mark." I walked in just about the time she was requesting a punch in the face and though he turned her down, I was happy to oblige. "Elizabeth," my best friend and roommate, got a fist straight to the jaw. And then chased me around the house in a failed attempt to retaliate. This little brawl ended with me throwing her into the kitchen wall.
Time to Party! 11pm
Made our way (God knows how) to a certain frat house. Meanwhile, I am on the phone call that effectively ended my 8 month relationship. Screaming that I am going to fuck every guy I see. I believe I used the phrase "stick their dicks in me" a few times. Oh good.
Though I didn't exactly go to those lengths, let's just say my boobs got a lot of fresh air that night. And, as if that wasn't enough to humiliate me for the rest of my college life, I will inform you that trying to perch on beer pong tables is never a good idea. It collapsed, and I went tumbling with it. Bravo, Bravo.
The night ended with my whipping out my debit card, making a call to Domino's and passing out before I even got to eat it. But don't worry..."Elizabeth" was happy to help.
