You can already see where this is going. But we've all been there before you can't judge me. At least not the drinking part.
I met up with my two blonde classmates, both named Hannah, where I started off with a strawberry daiquiri and a shooter. I made the mistake of eating chicken tenders while I was drinking and not before. But at the time, I didn't care - it was a celebration! Seminar was over!
If you know my tolerance at this point, you would assume I was feeling purr-itee good at this point. I strolled on over to a nearby bar to meet with with more Seminar peers who wanted to celebrate. Good ol' Jack slowed things down for me since I could sip that slowly and converse, but then it became an amazing idea to do jager bombs! Why not? Seminar was over! Celebrate!
Um, yeah, maybe I should've have admitted I was done then. Cathy kept offering me her chicken tenders and I told her I already had chicken. If I had any more chicken I was going to "shit a live chicken onto the bar". People thought this was funny and laughed, but I guess my liquor-drowned mind assumed that their laughing meant they didn't hear me so I said it again. And again. Being an appropriate member of society apparently didn't have a lot of bearing for me.
Okay, that's embarrassing, but whatever. People say stupid things all of the time when they're drunk. That's why we have textsfromlastnight.com.
However, another shooter later, I felt ill. I wanted to be responsible so I announced I was probably going to throw-up and excused myself to the bathroom, something that could have easily been done in a discreet manner. Unfortunately for me, my boyfriend called at this moment and I handed the phone over to my two male Seminarians, who were the ones to tell him, sorry, your girlfriend is drunk right now and just went to the bathroom to throw up. Uh, yeah. Sorry. Bye.
There's another winning moment during my celebration.
I didn't upchuck, which was promising. I asked Ann(e) the bartender for a tall glass of water. She happily obliged. I left the bar around 9:30pm, meaning I had left early while everyone else was planning "going hard" for rest the night. "BUT WAIT," I justified to myself, "if I leave early in the evening, I'll go to bed early and not have any trouble waking up in time for my class tomorrow! Such a clever Liz!"
Waking up on time was never going to be an issue.
After falling asleep somewhere between 9:30-10:00pm, I woke up promptly at 4:00am.
I did not go back to sleep. I was not hungover. I was awake and unhappy. I putzed around my room, packing things here and there and changed my bedsheets. This was all proof that I should never go to sleep any time before midnight. This was absurd.
I had breakfast, wrote some notes down for my review class at 10:10am, and now I'm here, writing about it.
I'm not sure if the post-Seminar celebration was a success or a failure because of these occurrences. A success for me waking up without a hangover and being somewhat productive; a failure for my dignity from the heinous things I blurted out at the bar.
It's important to note that this does not happen frequently, which is why I'm bothering to blog about this. So kids: don't drink. Just be happy that your hardest class is over and have some ginger ale over a game of Shoots 'n Ladders.
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