The Best Day I Can't Remember with No Pants

Our guest poster today is Jenni from Oscarelli. She's witty, she's engaging, she has two small boys so she's probably certifiable. Also, she has no pants (at least in this story).

Somehow today I'm bending the laws of physics and guest posting over at Life and Times of a Wicked Step Mom. So I'm not here, but I'm not really THERE, either. Maybe it's the laws of light I'm bending. Whatever. You should probably go read it after you're done reading Jenni's post here.

The fabulous and amazing Unmom has invited me over to blog-sit while she vacations. I'm basically going to raid the liquor cabinet and trash the joint. I'm also going to switch out all her centigrade thermometers for Fahrenheit ones, so when she comes home she'll be all "WHAT?? It's 90 degrees? How come we aren't boiling in our skin?" It'll be hilarious. Americans make terrible house guests. We also make bad thermometer jokes.

So, the best day I can't remember (apologies to Julie and Captain Dumbass, but no blowjobs or Canadians are involved. That I can remember.) Well, to start, in my AHEM younger days, I liked to drink. To excess. Frequently. So, this story takes place almost exactly ten years ago, when my BFF turned 21.

My best friend was the last of all of us girls from high school to turn 21. My friend Sue and I decided we'd rent a hotel room and get her (and ourselves) filthy drunk and into all kinds of mischief. We come from a pretty small area (we call it "the County") and at that time the only place good times were to be had was in a town we called "the Island." Not that there was anything remotely tropical or islandly about it. It was more of a tourist trap, for anyone dumb enough to think the County was a good vacation spot.

We started our night at the Tiki Bar with $10 Mai Tais, but moved on from there pretty quickly because, well $10 Mai Tais. We went to two other bars. I don't remember what happened there but this is more because I am old than because I was drunk or anything. I mean, we got drunk - we drank a few pitchers of beer, took some shots, smoked 100 cigarettes, got loud. The usual.

So at maybe 10pm, we get to the FINAL BAR. We had been avoiding FINAL BAR because we just knew it would be full of people from our high school. Except it wasn't. It was full of tourists and stuff. And, as drunk 21-year-old girls, we were hugely popular. I don't think we paid for one drink at that last bar. Actually, I don't think we paid for any drinks all night.

Anyways, there was a jukebox and we played Van Halen which for some reason we though was HILARIOUS. And then we did some shots that were ON FIRE. And then the next thing I remember is waking up in our hotel room on the floor without any pants. (I totally found them later.)

Things I was Told Happened But I Completely Forgot:

*BFF was hit on by some British guy (or some guy pretending to be British)
*I somehow convinced British guy that if he really liked BFF he'd jump up on one of the tables strip for us
*British guy jumped up on a table and stripped down to his underwear
*We were ejected from the bar
*I fell down the stairs
*I found $20
*I fell in the road like ten times, and kept saying, "I don't understand why I keep falling." (Methinks flaming shots may have had something to do with this?)
*I was nearly hit by a car
*I peed in someone's front yard (WTF, this is so not my style - I'm totally a back yard pee-er)
*I vomited, possibly in public

The next day Sue had gotten up early because she had to work (she ended up leaving because she was so hungover), so BFF and I checked out of the hotel and headed to the BK for some greasy breakfast with my found $20. BFF was driving, and she was telling me the story of my awesome (awful?) night while we were in the drive thru and I started to feel...not right.

So, I got out of the car, went into BK and vomited in the toilet for about ten years. While I was in the restroom, a woman and her daughter came and and the daughter was like, "Mommy, that lady is sick and she smells funny." I felt profoundly lame. At this point I also noticed that I was filthy. From the falling, I assume.

After my display of smelly, hurling awesomeness we headed back up to my house. We were at a stop light and some burly bald guy started waving and gesticulating at us. At first we thought he was a pervert, but I felt like I KNEW him. I mean, I did happen to know a lot perverts so it wouldn't have been totally out of the question.

I rolled down my window and the guy is like, "Hey, you chicks are AWESOME!" and I was all, "???" Yes, we were awesome, but how did this guy know about it? I figured he couldn't be hitting on us because calling women "AWESOME" (or chicks, for that matter) isn't the best way to pick them up. Our hair was pretty matted and our make up was significantly smudged, that was kind of the "look" back then. Anyways, then my BFF is like, "OH MY GOD. That is the bouncer that threw us out of the bar last night! And the bartender!"

And it so was. Then he yells, "Wow, I bet you guys feel almost as bad as you look," and at that point I was pretty certain he wasn't hitting on us. And then he said, "See you tonight?" so maybe he was hitting on us?

Whatever, because the light turned green and my BFF floored it so we could just get away from him and the non-memory of the night I choose to remember as the best night I can't remember with no pants. I think actually remembering the truth would be too painful. And humiliating. And AWESOME?