Oh yeah, Thursday night. So my parents went back to the bay and I went back to our little beer-case-laden house in a miserable mood to find a bunch of people drinking. They said, “let’s go to 3-4-5 at The Dock!” and I said, “hell yeah!” Immediate fix.

The Dock was pretty kickass…for once, the line-up didn’t stretch around the entire city, and we got drinks quickly. Let me tell you, friends, three drinks for $5 usually leads to trouble. Chef, his friends and I sat down with two 19 year olds and rocked out to the band. And I mean rocked out…I played air guitar in the middle of the bar. DAMNNN to be 19 years old again, those guys were absolutely shitfaced. I wanted to put them in my purse and take them home with me and feed them a good meal.

Then the table next to us bought a 24 case of BEER. Like, the beer was still in the case. They were fucking rowdy: chanting, cheering, sending men from their troop across the bench to hit on the girls at our table. Well, we weren’t going to take THAT, no sir. So we ordered a twenty-four case of beer for our own table.

But the bar was dying down and Chef wanted to leave, so he stuffed a beer down his pants and I put one in my purse, and we hightailed it out of there. We cracked open our drinks on the hill and just drank on the way home. Because we are fucking geniuses! Then we cooked pizza and cut things up with a knife. Every drunk person should try it, particularly with an expensive knife that has been sharpened 10000 times by your knife-obsessed roommate.

Anyway, after that messy night, I was in no shape to do anything Friday night, and crashed hardcore at 12 a.m. My wallet was still missing at that point and I was pretty freaked out about it, plus I had NOTHING prepared for my hike, and I was feeling pretty blue in general…so I cancelled. I feel bad about it now because I missed out on a good experience, and a good opportunity for writing…but I just didn’t want to deal with it at the time. My leaders were totally cool about it, so whatev.

Of course, after bailing out on the hike, I was stoked to see my friend’s band perform…and then found out the show was cancelled. See? Consequences, all the time.

So I decided I was in need of a haircut, or something exciting, and I made an appointment at the Sound Salon. I had the best fucking head massage I’ve ever had in my life, HOLY JESUS! This skinny little gay guy massaged my head until I passed out. I actually got aroused. Then again, shampoo commercials turn me on.

I told the stylist I wanted something drastic, but I didn’t want to lose any length. Not giving her much to work with considering I couldn’t afford to dye my hair either…so she gave me a side bang. I wanted a straight-across bang, but she wouldn’t give it to me. Sad. Anyway! New hair = good excuse to get slutted up and go out, non?

The stylist did this with a round brush and a hairdryer, TEACH ME.

The stylist did this with a round brush and a hairdryer, TEACH ME.

Side bang

Except all my friends were going to see Snoop Doggy Dog, so I drank at the house alone until about 10:30 when Agent-T and Blondie joined me for some drinks. Everyone came back from the concert completely wasted and drunk on happiness, then dispersed for the after-party at the university bar. I avoid that place like the plague — if I wanted to party with 17 year olds I’d go hang out with my brother.

EXCEPT they fucking made it into the VIP booth with Snoop, and had pictures taken with him, and drank free booze and smoked j’s all night. FUCK MY LIFE. Can you imagine what kind of blog entry THAT would be?

i went to Dusk instead, and ran into an old college friend. I always run into him downtown, we dirty-dance a little, make plans to meet up, and never do. He’s hard to read. He drags me around the bar and takes my phone number but doesn’t try to make out with me. Gentleman, or homosexual? Anyway, we made plans for a lunch date on Thursday. Not sure if I’m totally into him, but we’ll see.

Then Chef’s fucking hot douchebag friend assaulted me on the floor, and tried to make out with me, but my college friend was on the other side of the dance floor and I managed to pry myself away from his iron grasp. He said he’d call too, but he models, and I don’t take models seriously. Sorry.

Standards need to be lowered? Perhaps.

** Follow up tomorrow about mine and TOR’s cultural Sunday afternoon, being tourists in St. John’s, and our delicious home-cooked Newfoundland meal. You must be as sick of drunk stories as I am.

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