This is the first post I've ever written while drunk. Remember it, because I won't.
I had an awesome time last night when I went out with J's sister, Jen. Between the Jager bombs, regular shots of Jager, Yuengling drafts, and cigarettes, I was trashed. Wow, I was trashed. And still am.
I don't belong in a hiphop club. I don't fit in with that crowd. But I was dancing with the best of them, and drinking heavier than those lightweights. I find the differences between my crowd and that one to be kind of funny, to be honest. The music alone is enough to blow my mind- my people appreciate fine musicianship and originality, and the hiphop people are all about the beat and the lyrics. Don't get me wrong, I can appreciate that kind of music, but damn, I'd like to give these people a real education.
J stayed home since he had to leave for work at 6:30am, so that party pooper missed out on all the action. He would have gotten a good laugh out of the way people stopped and stared when I passed by to get another drink. Or even the initial impression I made when I first stepped foot in that club. I don't know if it's the crazy long braids or the way I walk around like I'm some sort of rock star, but people just stop what they're doing to watch me. Even Jen made a comment about that when we went to the bathroom early in the night, so I know it's not my paranoia taking over.
I also learned that it's not kosher to flag down the bartenders in that place- you have to stand there and just wait until they get to you. That was a big difference from what I'm used to. Usually when I go up to a bar, I wave to a bartender and they come right over. And tip them for being prompt. Every drink. The whole "serve me first" thing is a bit over the top, but I hate waiting. And I hate waiting for people who don't speak up about what they want.
It was a great night, though it kind of ended on a sour note. I bummed a REGULAR cigarette off this guy named Gary at the end of the night, and that made me sick. I forgot that smoking REGULAR cigarettes while I'm dehydrated sends me into a fit of dry heaves. And it knocks me on my ass. This girl can only handle menthol.
I made quite the exit. Gary carried me out of the club and sat me down on the curb next to a storm drain and held my hair in case I felt that I was going to puke. I didn't. The fresh air was nice. I remember a bouncer asking me if I was driving or not, and I was like, "No way dude, I wouldn't be THIS drunk if I was." And Jen came out a few minutes later to take me home.
I fell asleep in the truck, I was so tired. And Gary had to pull me out, and then catch me before I hit the ground. Before I knew it, Jen had taken my keys out of my jacket and unlocked the door and the two of them helped me up the stairs and into bed with J. J wasn't thrilled about waking up to people in the house and me being trashed, but hey, it happens. I vaguely remember him carrying me to the bathroom around 5am when he thought I was going to puke. Again, it was the dry heaves. How attractive. And then I stood up and walked back to the bedroom like nothing happened.
I woke up around 8:00 this morning to Sharpie lying next to me and wagging her tail, probably happy that I'm still alive. It's 9:30 now, and I'm still drunk. Cool. No hangover. Even better. But damn, I really need to sleep.
Moral of the story? RAIV IS ONLY ALLOWED TO SMOKE MENTHOL CIGARETTES WHILE DRINKING.
