Saturday is probably the one day that I wish would last all week long. I love sleeping in, and don't even mind not getting anything accomplished because it feels so great not to have to wake up at any certain time [that not-accomplished guilt strikes me down on Sunday nights of course].
Anyone ever been here? I've seen and heard of some good 'while they were passed out' pranks, but whoever did this one was pretty crafty as well as sadistic... haha. This guy is probably a Baptist Preacher now, who vowed never to drink again.
I guess the only story that comes to mind at the moment is one of drunken cruelty, and of course, self-absorbed bitchdom. A former "friend" of mine, we'll just call her "Terry" to keep her bitchdom an internet secret. She was one of those friends who made you appreciate your enemies... Yeah, who cares... ok her real name is Sherry who in fact, had pretty bad hair herself (She was once mistaken for a member of the 80s rock group Poison, as well as gaining the nickname 'Marge Simpson'-ok the bit about Poison was a joke). I think of this because my best friend, Tamra (who I wouldn't have met had it not been for Sherry, which is the only good thing that came about as a result of her, that and the good laughs Tamra and I have had talking about how she looks exactly like "Butthead" from MTV's Beavis and Butthead), she and I were discussing her just yesterday... and I guess the drunken antic (above) made me think of this.
Thursday nights, during college, we used to go out and ride backroads and drink. She thought she was this goddess of a girl, and thought everyone else thought so too... I just hung around her mostly because we had nothing better to do, and to have 'young, dumb fun'. One particular night we had driven around until we were dizzy in the little 'one-horse-town' that I grew up in, and still love dearly. I had drank an entire bottle of this filthy poison called "Champale" followed by a tall can of regular Budweiser beer (or was it the other way 'round?). As you know, while you're sitting the alcohol doesn't seem to hit you--but once I stood up while we were at the gas station, I realized that I was skunkered. We ended the night by going back to her apartment and were intending on passing out. I had pretty much made myself comfortable as she began to read from the book of Revelations (just to try and terrify me), cackling that god-awful laugh of hers. I stared at the ceiling... room spinning like a top, and not feeling so well. Sherry came back into the room babbling on more with her ridiculous terror trying to convince me that she was going to cut me up and put me in her refrigerator (why did I hang out with her again?? couldn't quite remember why at that moment, but feeling ill as I did, didn't give it much thought). Phone rang, it was her 'super-stupid football-jock, meathead boyfriend, Stanley calling (who cares about his anonymity either, he was dumb enough to be her boyfriend). Seems Stanley was coming over, so suddenly, I "had to" go back to my dorm and was no longer welcome to "crash" at her place.
'How in the world am I supposed to operate a vehicle? I can't even operate my legs right at the moment?' I wonder aloud. Sherry won't hear of anything but Stanley, so she offers to drive my car and take me back to the dorm while Stanley meets her there. She will ride back with him. In no shape to argue, I go along with it. We arrive at the dorm, it's chilly outside... I swerve towards my building, preparing myself to go the 3 flights of stairs to my floor which seemed more like 10 flights in my condition. I hugged the rail all the way, barely making it to my room before I flopped out on my 'prison-style' dorm bed, feeling more and more queasy.
Felt worse by the minute but wasn't able to move... laying there, unable to sleep... staring at the clock (2:40 a.m... 3:20 a.m... god the night was long). I wanted--NEEDED to puke, but refused too (although it would've made me feel 100% better, I couldn't). Must have dozed off a bit at some point and finally I looked at the clock once again... it was sometime around 5:30 a.m., and I couldn't hold it any longer... though I still couldn't move... I tried to get out of bed, but just as I leaned over the side of the bed a river of beer and champale announced its war, and came marching forth... several times. It was everywhere... all over my blanket, but I felt too bad to get out of bed so I turned over and tried to sleep more. I think I eventually snuck that blanket home to wash at my Mom's, of course never telling her what had transpired.
Consequently, I got sick with the worst cold of my life, which lasted for what seemed a month... While i'm sure Sherry had a wonderful and romantic time with Mr. Stanley... Hooray for "true friendship". It's exactly what I mean when I say that real friends are hard to come by, and I am thankful for the ones I do have. Because human beings are selfish and apathetic creatures, just plain don't give a damn about anything unless it directly affects them. I guess it's human nature... but I tell ya, it is contagious because in return, I care even less for those that have treated me or someone I love in this manner... just an endless cycle... I want to care, but people make it impossible. Such rottenness that I see in nearly everyone on a daily basis... courtesy, customer service, good nature?? All dead it seems... now it's just dog eat dog and 'do unto others before they do unto you' attitude...
But for those few lucky ones (my family and friends--they know who they are), I thank my lucky stars for you!!!