Here’s a little throw back Thursday for y’all, my beloved readers. This one is a girls night but just myself and my bestie.
When the two of us get together… Well let’s just say we do more than just raise the roof! WE ROCK IT! I feel like there’s no need to add any more to my opening. We rock this shit covers it. BOOM!
My bestie was a car club groupie. So she was out with her car loving group of guys. She decided that I needed to come out and have some fun. We meet downtown, at a hole in the wall bar. This bar is located on a street that is generally populated with tourists. But we risked it. I had never been to this establishment before.
We began the evening with a happy pill. I’ll let all of you use your imaginations to figure out what type. After the pill popping, the guys decided we needed shots. Because what’s a night out without shots you might ask. It’s not a good night out. To my readers if your fun night out wasn’t all that fun, now you know the secret. Shh! Don’t share it with too many of your peeps. There are some things that we’ve gotta keep between you and I (wink wink).
Bestie shows up with four sets of tequila shots. The car guy next to me, gives me a little lesson on tequila shots. Y’all know the order: salt, tequila, and lime. We do a round, all is well. Bestie heads off to the bathroom. While she is gone, one of the guys decided we need to up the ante.
That he’s going to order multiple rounds of shots. Whomever finishes the most in the shortest amount of time wins. By the way, there is NO prize. Just the satisfaction of knowing you got shit faced the fastest. When my bestie comes back, she notices there are four empty shot glasses. She looks at me and asks, “Bunny, what the fuck is this?”
I’m hanging on one of the car guys a bit. I then inform her that the guys thought that I couldn’t take more than one shot. So, I took four back to back. I showed them! Don’t ever tell Bunny she CAN’T do something.
Bestie gets a bit upset. She asks me,“If I’m okay?” I told her I was fine. Bestie was a little worried about me, which was very nice of her. But at this point I’m in GO MODE. The happy pill has kicked in. She said okay, I feel like dancing, let’s go dance.
The problem is that to dance we have to go UP stairs…
She informs me that her vision isn’t the greatest at the moment. The hall to get to the stairs looks never ending and she’s unsteady on her feet. Well fuck, I’m unsteady too. How the hell are we going to get up the stairs? In my drunken haze I come up with a solution.
CRAWL. Yes, that’s correct you did not misread and that’s not a typo.
Bestie and I proceeded to crawl UP the stairs. Don’t ask me how we did it. Or if we fell, flashed the world, or if a car guy might have helped us crawl along. All I remember is that we MADE the decision to crawl. Then we crawled up the fucking stairs to dance.
Not one of my proudest moments. But it got the job done.
We dance together. Then we dance with the guys. There’s a whole lot of hands wandering on the dance floor. Bestie comes over and tells me it’s time to go home. We have class in the morning. On the way out, don’t ask how we got made it down the stairs. Because I don’t remember.
On the way, we are leaning on each other for support. The guys then inform us that there’s a party we should go to. We told them we would meet them there. So, the night isn’t quite over.
To leave the bar, there’s a step down. Naturally, I miss the step. I go flying into the street. But thankfully a man catches me. We really are friendly here in the south. Women fall, men catch them. Gone With The Wind lives on forever. So Rhett Butker wannabe has caught me. My face is in his chest. He of course asks, “Are you okay?” In my druken stupor I respond, “No, I’m not okay.”
My bestie says, “Oh no no, she’s fine. We are good. I’m the designated driver for the night. She just missed the step.” All I’m thinking is designated driver, HA! Then I look at the chest of the man who’s holding me up. He’s wearing a navy blue shirt and pants with a shiny gold badge. FUCK!
I went flying into a police officer. FUCK, FUCK, FUCK. Why is this a fuck, fuck, fuck moment you may ask? Reminder this is a throwback Thursday. I just didn’t specify as to how far back this throwback was. I was eighteen, very much underage while drinking and my one pill popping. Now I know why bestie is saying the designated driver bullshit. He says okay and let’s us go. But watches us as we hobble away.
My bestie says, we NEED food.
What’s the BEST drunk food ever? I know y’all are wondering. The answer is but of course, Krystals! Not much a sackful of Krystals can’t cure.
Tip: If all you can do is crawl, than CRAWL BITCH CRAWL!