Tag Archives: drunk

Brunette Bitches

23 Oct

***This was legitimately written a couple years ago, one of my first drunk tirades actually (AAAWWWWW). I never finished it because I passed out and could never find the appropriate level of rage again. I don’t remember the context, but I do remember the girl and I still hate her to this day despite TOGA continuing to insist on maintaining his friendship with her.***

In general I consider myself somewhat of a drunk bitch. Tonight I am caught up in the phenomenon that is me and the people I chose to surround myself with. In general, I feel as though I eventually figure it out, but I always end up attracting the annoying individuals in the process. Maybe its me.

I’m talking about Furburger right now (and she has earned her name through Toga and the like…I don’t think even I could stoop to give her a name so low).

If you can’t tell I’m drunk…and in the northern country. I miss it up here, but instead of getting al sappy and reminiscent, I’m going to get bitchy and judgmental.

Advertisements

That’s What you get for Waking up in Vegas pt3

28 Jun

**Forgot to post this yesterday, oops. I promise I had a mostly adequate reason. Today will just have an AM AND a PM post!**

Tuesday May 1, 2012

This was a rough day. Less for me, more for TOGA. I had a blast, but I think we just had differing senses of adventure :/

We both slept in a little and I didn’t really wander out on my own in the morning so we went down to breakfast together and ate at Fuel Cafe in the Hardrock. That morning there was some business to take care of: re-checking in, picking up our other set of vouchers, finding out about the shuttle, yada yada. After all that, we had some time to kill before we actually hopped on the shuttle to the strip so TOGA wanted to play some slots. I sat with him, had a couple drinks, and WON 200 DOLLARS!!! Well it was over that, but I played it back down a tad. It was friggin AMAZING! Thank you Monopoly!!!

With that as a high to start my morning, we ventured out into the world. The shuttle took us to the Fashion Show Mall which was a little farther up the strip than we had explored yet. I’m a girl, so I love malls, and this one was a douzie. We wandered the mall, grabbed Philly Steak Sandwiches for lunch (regretted that decision later), and then decided (well I decided for us) to see what the North end of the Strip was like.

Let me say now that it was HOT that day, and in the desert there is very little shade. My goal was the Stratosphere, thinking it couldn’t be that far…right? Wrong.

We hit Circus Circus first because it was on the way and looked kind of cool. You literally had to walk through “Slots O’ Fun” (TOGA lost a chunk of his spending money for the day and I got souvenirs) before you got to the actual hotel part…which was uber ghetto. BUT there was a friggin amusement park inside…which TOGA wouldn’t let me play in. He was being such a negative nancy I wanted to punch him. He didn’t want to explore, he would’t let me go in the park, he wouldn’t even browse the stupid carnival stores with me…dumb ass.

We ended up at the back end of the hotel and I said we should go back the way we came because this didn’t look right, but he didn’t want to back track…DUMB ASS! (not that I’m bitter) Apparently there is an RV park at the rear end of Circus Circus. How do I know this? Because we ended up wandering around in it looking for the damn road. Do you have any idea what its like being stuck on a tarmac in the middle of the fucking desert when its a thousand degrees outside? HELL FUCKING HELL.

After finally emancipating ourselves from the worst adventure of my life, we had to find our way back to the strip. I was still determined to see the Stratosphere, and TOGA figured we had made it that far anyway, we mine as well. Super cool building, with super cool stuff to do, but we decided we’d wait until later because it would be cooler at night.  Spoiler alert: we never went back.

Rest was essential, but after some sitting, an impromptu photo shoot, and a little facebook bragging, we thought we better start the journey back. Second worst adventure of the day. A long brutal journey, a desperate need for water (ALWAYS bring some with you), and poor TOGA’s blistering foot (and wear appropriate shoes) nearly brought us to our untimely ends, but we survived to tell the tale. However, we had just missed the damn shuttle back to the hotel. We sat in the mall for a while to recover, but then wandered over to a bar to have a well-deserved drink.

 

I was not impressed with this one, and I think the bar tender was a douche, but there was alcohol and we ended up getting in touch with our Vegas friends while we were there. They were ready for a night on the town and willing to come pick us up, so that seemed logical.

The second wind kicked in and we went down to Freemont Street, which is old Vegas, way up the strip. Such a cool place. The night started off great! We went to the Golden Nugget which was so hilariously old and felt like we had taken a trip in the Tardis (bonus points if you get that reference). The hotel pool had a giant shark tank in the center and a water slide that went right through the middle. I was sad I didn’t have my bathing suit.

Freemont Street itself is a covered pedestrian walk with crazy lights and casinos and so much stuff going on all at once. Sensory overload to the max! Every I think hour, the ceiling lights up and there is a show with music blasting over your head. We watched that then wandered into some of the casinos. Mermaids in particular we hung out at for a while and had some free drinks while we point a little money in the machines.

  

At some point we decided it was time for food. That is the point things took a swift turn. Maybe it was the sun from the day’s adventure, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the grumbling in my stomach, but my one request was something to eat and a drink in my hand. I was tired of gambling, I wanted something that would sustain me, and I wanted to be able to sit and drink for a bit with my companions.

We wandered forever looking for something because no one wanted the same thing, my stomach started to complain louder, and Julie kept wanted to stop and gamble. I was slowly starting to reach my maximum and TOGA could see it, but didn’t know what to do about it. I knew I was being irrational, but it felt like no one cared, like I had gone with the flow, not made any demands, but the one thing I wanted, I couldn’t have.

Then came Heart Attack Burger. It was a restaurant with a huge scale in the front so you could brag about how unhealthy you were and where everything was made in bacon grease. The very idea made me made me want to puke and I said as much. The guys really wanted to go, but they were able to accept my disgust, but only the first time we went by. The second time, when we still hadn’t found food, they insisted. I was over arguing and really over eating at that point, so I said I would go in and sit while they ate. At least I would get my drink request met. Only, the thing about that particular restaurant was that you couldn’t go in unless you wore a hospital gown. I explained to the hostess that I wasn’t going to be eating and I really didn’t want to wear it, but she insisted and I stormed out.

I had hit my breaking point and wandered down the street, drunk and crying, not caring if anyone followed. I tried to sit on a curb to collect my thoughts and call my best friend, but got reprimanded by a cop, which only made it worse. I started wandering again, and didn’t pay attention to where I was going because I just needed to get away from the noise and the lights. I didn’t get lost or anything if that’s what you are thinking, but I did manage to get myself pretty freaked out. It wasn’t that hard to find my way back though and tried to decide if I wanted to eat by myself or start walking back. I was pretty sure I could make it, but I still wanted to drink, and thought food might be a good plan.

Before I could make a decisions, Julie called me and told me they were waiting for me outside Heart Attack Burger. This surprised me as I had assumed they had gone in to eat without me. I was taken by surprise and this shocked me into a little logic so I went back over and it was suggested we go back down to the main strip. The rest of the night is kind of a blur of bitterness and frustration, but I did get to see the Luxor, the Exaliber, and New York New York while we continued our hunt for food. I was over eating and every time someone asked my opinion I clearly stated my only request was alcohol. No one could make a decision, however and they ended up eating at fucking McDonalds. I HATE McDonalds.

Somewhere in New York New York we stumbled across the Coyote Ugly bar and I wanted to go SO BAD. Did we? Of course not. There was a cover so no one wanted to. I was mad, but kept suggesting other places we saw, but kept hearing no. Finally I just went to the damn bar in the center of whatever casino we were in and ordered a Jameson on the rocks because I was tired or following other people and needed a damn drink. I think TOGA paid for it which was the least he could do after I had lent him gambling money and followed his lame ass around all night.

After that TOGA and I pretty much pushed to go back to the hotel and I think we were all done with each other for the night. It took forever to find the car and then one the way back we got lost because, again, no one would listen to me. I was over it and just glad to be headed back so I stopped trying and let them muddle it out. At the hotel, I asked TOGA if he wanted to go down to the 24 hour diner…nope…room service?…nope. Finally I just ate goldfish and went to bed.

Sometimes I get drunk and write, well, stuff like this

4 Mar

I decided to write  post.

I don’t really know what its about yet, I figure that would materialize as I started writing.

It didn’t.

So now I’m just writing.

**Read this the next day, laughed at myself, thought others might laugh at me too.

Then I wanted to add something to make it slightly more interesting. So I took a picture of my wardrobe project that I wrote about before.

Update on that: the door is attached!!! Sloth came over (I’m beginning to feel guilty that is his codename, to do: consider changing to something cooler) last night and helped me put it on before I beat his ass in Battleshots (epic game, but word of advice use a sissy liquor). Problem – the bottom hinge is dysfunctional and refuses to cooperate. It wants to be like its siblings, but knows it belongs in a special place out in the country where it can live a life off the grid and running free.

Poor broken hinge…maybe we’ll fix you with ducktape, or gorilla glue.

The Wardrobe

3 Mar

Funny story, I wrote the title to this blog and then laughed because our nic name for our apartment is “Narnia.” Someone named it that on foursquare and it kind of just stuck since its so maze-like.

Anyway, sidetrack (I feel like that may happen again), but the goal here is to tell the story of my wardrobe adventure. However, being slightly drunk and having skrillex playing in the background is not helping my concentration at all.

Lets attempt this though. My story begins a few weeks ago when one of my roommates decided to move out. It is customary in our apartment to offer up your room to the other roommates when you leave. We all pay the same amount, but the rooms are not equally sized. The one leaving had been there the longest and, therefore, had the largest room, while I still had the smallest room. No one else wanted the now vacant bedroom, but, being fairly lazy, I debated the decision to leave my accustomed habitat. Plus, now empty room’s closet was in the hallway…I’m a girl, clothes are important!

After much deliberation, I finally moved. That in itself is not an entertaining story, but amusing to envision since it took me the majority of a Tuesday night. Twirly hallway+weak white girl+key heavy objects begin pushed down the hall=one hell of a show+obscenities.

This happened a couple weeks ago. I decided I could manage having the hall closet if I could find a wardrobe for my room which could hold necessities. Being broke made this more of a challenge so there has been LOTS of craigslist surfing.

FINALLY I found THE PERFECT wardrobe. It had a bar, shelves, drawers, and it was only $30!! PLUS, the girl said she could break it down into pieces so it could fit in my car instead of me having to bribe someone with a larger vehicle. (Skittles=great for mpg, bad for transport of large objects).

Then it got tricky.

I went to Brookline (LOVE BOSTON!), the girl was nice enough to help me load it into my car, and I drove off with a smile on my face…SO EXCITED!!! I was farily confident I could do this on my own being the strong independent young girl that I am. Hell, I did P90X biotches!

Getting home took some of the fire out of my determination, rush hour traffic can do that to you. But I made it and I even found a spot in 15 minute parking in front of my door. The plan was to get all the pieces in the lobby and then drag them up the four loooooong flights of stairs to my apartment. This worked out well until about the third trip, My biceps were ON FIRE! Particle board is fucking heavy! However, I was DETERMINED DAMN IT!!! Finally, with muscles screaming and head spinning (since I’m so out of shape and 5 trips up and down four flights it exhausting), every last bit was in my room and waiting for construction.

Too bad I had to go.

I scarfed the quickest dinner I could find and then was out the door because I promised a client I would go see her play. For middle schoolers, they did pretty good, but the whole time I was dreaming of the finished product.

Around 10:30 I was finally home, armed with a box of wine (yeah we’re broke enough for the boxes), and determined as a fat kid waiting for cake to get this done. That’s when the mayhem ensued.

Building a wardrobe reckless-style:

Step 1: Pour first glass of wine.

Step 2: organize pieces (and thank God previous owner was as addicted to sticky notes as you are)

Step 3: screw on bottom thingies.

Step 4: have a dance party for accomplishing so much!!

Step 5: get back to work and spend 17 minutes getting next piece attached (begin wondering why you didn’t ask someone to help)

Step 6: finish glass of wine

Step 7: stare at project, wonder if it will ever be done

Step 8-10: somehow get two sides and top together (during this process it may be helpful to scream obscenities and curse your roommates for having lives and not being around on a Friday night to help you put together this shit)

Step 11: pour more wine, drink

Step 12: debate whether a back is really necessary, decide it is, but decide to move on to the next step anyway

Step 13: shelves? really!? Fuck screws

Step 14: drink more wine

Step 15: DON’T HAMMER YOUR FINGER!!!!!!!

Step 16: Fuck step 16

Step 17: Aren’t we done yet??

Step 18: Ok somehow you have gotten most of the piece of shit together, except the door, you’ve gotten this far, time to ge this shit done!

Step 19: drop door on foot

Step 20: google how to put Ikea hinges together…realize this is a pointless task that is just leading to further frustration

Step 21: get on knees, praise God for the creation of alcohol

Step 22: give up on door, OBVIOUSLY this task is intended for a sober person, more than one drunk person, or a person with seven arms and telekinesis

Step 23: cry a little then deny it to anyone who asks

Step 24: give up, push wardrobe into corner, forget door until morning

Step 25: drink more wine so your failure matters less

And that has been my night. With the addition of random video chats with Vermont peeps more drunk than me.

Updates to come later….maybe.