Friday, October 7, 2011

It Happened One Night

As a general rule of thumb my life consists of a string of moments, some where I've erred in judgment. I know it's a rarity but sometimes, for one reason or another, my thought processing skills just aren't firing on all cylinders. This usually leads to me doing something that makes me #2: Look a Fool

As a side note, I tried making this as brief as possible. It really was that fucked up of a morning)

Last fall my male BFF (W) and I went to this bar we frequent. I had 2 drinks and although I wasn't drunk I was over tired and ready for bed. While leaving, the space between the outer/inner doors is phone booth small and in my exhausted state I walked out the inner door and tried to walk through a wall because I thought it was the outer door. W said I was staring at it the way a cat stares at a fly on the wall. Needless to say I went straight to bed. That fun little instance brings us to the mother ship of dumbfuckery, a/k/a the rest of the weekend.

Friday night W and I had plans to hit a different bar. We went and the bottles were poppin' (It may or may not have only been Bud Light but that's not the point). I danced with W (best night of his LIFE!) and later he drove me home. Let if be stated that when we left I was anything but sober. He of course wanted to spend the night and I said no. I get home, get into my building and this little engine that could(n't) made it to the mailboxes before needing to turn around. Unfortunately I only made it out one set of doors before I threw up. I felt horrible. I was drunk and needed to pass out. I proceeded to stumble up 3 flights of stairs (Pro!) to my apartment, let myself in and stripped down and went to the bathroom to spend some QT with John. I proceeded to pass out on the bathroom floor. Pantless. 2 feet from the litter box.

I wake up at 10:30 Saturday morning feeling like crap, or as I like to think of it, the signs of a night well spent. I got up feeling gross and figured a shower would be the smartest idea, given that I slept on the floor and all. I look in the mirror and notice I have a fat lip (This I can account for. I was trying to take a sip of my beer while dancing and someone hit my arm and the bottle hit my lip.) and that I should consider calling Scooby and the gang to solve the mystery of my missing makeup. Oddly enough I look down at my arm and I look like 'm covered in bruises. Eyeliner...mascara...check. I'm feeling mildly better post scrub and food is the next logical step. Eggos it is! Time to run some errands. Autobots roll out! I grab shit and head for the door, which I realize I never locked when I stumbled in. Fortunately no one walked in to experience the joy shock surprise of seeing me passed out bareassed on the floor. I probably looked dead anyway. I locked the door lock and make my way downstairs. I threw out my small bag o' trash and head for the truck when I realize I don't have my keys. Awesome. At this point W said he was coming over.

I have no way to get into my building. I checked the garbage. No keys. The super had just left and my BFF who has a spare set, was in France. Since the super left the 2 front doors open to air out the room due to my "incident", I sat in the entryway mulling over my dilemma. And the asshole award goes to... Someone was coming out so I was able to get back inside and sit in front of my apt. Sitting there I made the executive decision to utilize the fire escape. I went to the roof, and proceeded to say a minor prayer along the lines of "Dear God don't let me fall". I took my flip flops and sun glasses off (lest I lose them to a 20+ ft drop) and proceed to climb down the fire escape, while holding on as if my life depended on it. Oh wait... My hands were cramping from holding so tight but I made to to my kitchen window. As I'm climbing down from death, the crazy drunk guy that lives above me is looking at me and waving as if this is an everyday occurrence. Also? I think everyone thought he caused the "incident".


This isn't mine but the
walking space
dimensions are accurate.
 I'm safe outside my window, my cat is looking at me crazy and I need to figure out how to get in without breaking the screen. As I try to lift the screen one of the storm windows comes crashing down... on my fingers. One word, ok two: immense pain. As a result, both of my middle fingers were swollen, bruised, and  cut. Eventually I made it through the window, grabbed my spare keys and start looking for my regular ones. W arrives with gifts of Gatorade. We double check the garbage and re-search the apartment. After several minutes of stupidity induced profanity I find the my keys... behind my bookshelf. At this point I decided it would be best if I went to the grocery store for cat food, came home and didn't leave the house for the rest of the day - which is pretty much what I did.

I should come with a warning label.

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