So I am here at work. In flip flops. I am retarded. When I go home at lunch to walk Sammy (yes, he is totally spoiled), I put on my flip flops. Well, inevitably, I have forgotten to put my work shoes back on before heading back to work. Nice.
Luckily, I work in a field where the dress code is pretty relaxed. And as a librarian, no one expects me to be a fashionplate, anyway. Which explains my outfit today: a mesh polo shirt with a black ruffled skirt. This outfit is dumb. Who would ever put that together? *sigh* But I didn't feel like ironing anything today and the black ruffled skirt was calling my name. Now I've paired it with flip flops. Sheesh. Could I look any stupider?
The good thing is, since I don't put any effort into what I wear to work, I can put it all into my going out/party clothes. Much more fun. People usually tell me they don't recognize me when they see me in different environments. I am like a Day-to-Night Barbie. My two looks couldn't be more opposite.
Ok, tangent over. It's storytime, kids! I was over at Anne's and she had a rather embarrassing moment earlier this month. I am telling this story to make her feel better. It's a doozy.
Setting: Halloween, 1997, Bloomington, Indiana. My freshman year @ IU.
My girlfriends and I are going party hopping for Halloween. So we are in costume. I am a bunny. I'm wearing jeans, a fuzzy white sweater, bunny ears and a bunny tail pinned to my butt. One of my cuter costumes if I do say so myself. I kept making jokes about how I was party "hopping". Har har.
The key bit of information you need to know is that my boyfriend at the time had been getting on my nerves. We had been arguing. (Looking back on it now, I wasn't being very understanding of his situation. Huh. Go figure. This is typical VB behavior.) And I could tell we were going to break up soon. So what did I do? Like many people, I decided I needed to "escape" for a few hours. (Read: get plastered).
So I am at this house party, down in the basement. Because that's where the keg is. The keg of dark beer. I'd been chugging it. As in, getting back in line when I'm halfway done with the first cup. Chugging the rest right as I'm up for a refill.
Think about that for a second. Grossed out yet? Yeah, me too.
I'm feeling pretty good. Buzzing is really not strong enough of a term to use. I'm to the point that I'm almost having an out-of-body experience. I can't even talk anymore. The only thing I can do is keep getting back in line. Although, I am slowing down a bit. So I take a seat on the couch next to my friend Jill. By now, I'm somewhere in the vicinity of Michelob Dark Solo cupful #8. I left my dorm room about an hour previously. I was on a mission to get as much alcohol into my body as fast as possible. I was having a beer drinking contest, all by myself. I turn to Jill, who is in the middle of a conversation with someone else.
"Jill..." I say.
"Yeah?" she says.
"I'm gonna barf."
Now, keep in mind that there are about 100 people here, and I know a grand total of 2 party guests. And Jill has about 5 seconds to get me upstairs and outside so I can barf in the bushes. She is pushing me up the stairs (smart girl, getting behind me!). At the top of the stairs, there is a door to the kitchen. I fling it open, which causes the 50 or so people in the kitchen to all turn at once, only to watch me pojectile vomit all over the place. Jill pushed me outside onto the porch where I continued barfing for about an hour. Soon my crush showed up to watch and ask Jill if she needed any help. Faaaaaabulous. I was so trashed, I couldn't even say hi.
Finally someone took me home (to this day I don't remember who it was). I woke up the next morning in my dorm room with someone else's shirt on me. I vaguely remember Jill helping me change out of my formerly beautiful fuzzy white sweater and into something she raided from a closet. The sweater was ruined. My shoes had barf all over them. I had a hangover for 48 hours.
And that's why I hate dark beer.