Camping is for losers

Instead of being a lame ass this past weekend I actually went out with friends Saturday night for drinks. Somehow (God only knows how) the conversation got around to this awesome breakfast place in Marysville. After we had been discussing it for a few minutes Tits McGee turned to me and said, “Wait a minute, didn’t you throw up there?” To which I replied, “Of course – what restaurant haven’t I thrown up in?” No, no, not really…there’s still a few I need to leave my mark on. Tits McGee followed that up with another stellar question: “Why were you throwing up anyways?” At this point I had to ask, “Has it been that long since we’ve hung out? BOOZE, of course. What else could it possibly be?!”

Anyway, the point of this is it lead to a round of nostalgia as to why I will never EVER go camping EVER AGAIN. NEVER. I used to go camping every year with my friends on an Annual Camping Trip dubbed the ACT (we’re very witty people) and I think like most twenty somethings this was really just an excuse to get good and wasted for a whole weekend.

One particular weekend we didn’t have enough tents for everyone so I, extremely wasted at the time, offered to sleep outside. I think I had some romantic notion that it would be nice to sleep under the stars. I was sooo naïve.

The problem with sleeping outside in the oh so wonderful Pacific Northwest is that it rains occasionally, but, no worries, because we had erected a blue tarp to protect us from the dreaded drizzle.

However, we were not prepared for when it rained so hard a puddle formed in the middle of the tarp forcing it to collapse and bring down a bucketful of rain water on my head at 3 o’crotch in the morning. I assure you not the best way to wake a girl with a hangover and at this point I thought to myself, “I don’t fucking give a shit if there’s no room in the goddamn tent they are MAKING room for me.” So I barged in there waking everyone up and pushed everybody over so I could sleep and promptly lay down in a puddle. IN A PUDDLE! A freakin’ puddle had formed on the side of the tent and I flippin’ went for a swim in it.

That was the point at which I stood up and let loose a stream of swear words and sat in the back of Tits McGee’s car until we left to get a greasy breakfast at the restaurant that I threw up in. That, my friends, is why I will NEVER go camping again. NEVER.

I don't want to grow up

Do you know what I really miss about being twenty two years old? Drinking games. Sure, I miss going out and dancing, but really I could still go out if I really wanted to…I just don’t have any friends anymore who want to join me.

Drinking games on the other hand seem immature once you reach a certain age and being a girl who loves her games this distresses me. I mean is there anything better than games that involve drinking – besides donuts of course (that’s a given).

I love making up silly rules and embarrassing people and anybody who’s ever played with me can tell you how much I enjoy yelling at people when they’re playing incorrectly and then forcing them to down their drink immediately.

So I have decided that I want to celebrate my next birthday (Yes, I am already planning it…this year’s was just such a disappointment) by playing multiple rounds of asshole, kings, red/black, really I could go on and on here. I think this will be an apt way of celebrating the beginning of my upper twenties. I know I said that twenty seven is upper twenties, but I was wrong – I’m still in my mid-twenties. Thank God!

Unfortunately, after the last game of Asshole played with my friends ended with Tits McGee storming out because I kept yelling at her to, “Pay attention for god sake!! It is your TURN. Is your drink empty?! WTF?!”

Soooo…I hope people will be willing to give me a second chance, but I’m not making any promises of good behavior. I guess I’m just hoping people will be willing to overlook my competitive nature and my tendency towards verbal assaults when losing and indulge my love for getting crazy drunk while playing cards. At least I’m giving people nine months to mentally prepare.

I want a new liver for Christmas

I am in a total funk today for some reason. It could be that it’s Monday with no days off in the near future. But while Mondays normally aren’t the greatest they don’t usually bug me this much. I think it might be the fact that I did not have any coffee this morning. None. Zilch.

As a result of this it is probably a good idea that people avoid talking to me at all costs. I’m going to put a sign up on my office door that says, “Enter at your own risk. There is a 95% chance you’ll get your head bitten off.”

Even little things like my highlighter running out of ink is making me pissy. I might have just chucked it out of my office and it might have hit somebody in the head. I’m sure my coworkers enjoy working with me. But really I should be ecstatic because my fantasy football team is winning and I’m playing the number one player in the league. And, yet, if one more person runs by my office like their ass is on fire I’m afraid I will end up pulling my hair out, which could only make my day worse because I really don’t want the whole patchy hair look.

So because I know people don’t want to hear about what a funk I’m in and really I could go on and on about it, but instead of doing that I took a Sparks test. Remember those? I used to take them over and over again in college. I was such a good student.

Anyways, since I am convinced I am dying I thought the death test would be appropriate to see if I really am…because I believe everything the internets tell me. Annnyyywaaayy, it appears that I am going to die at the ripe old age of 44 on October 28th. Also, I will die from alcoholism. Shocking! No, really, it is shocking because I did answer yes when they asked me if I have the black plague. I figured it was apt enough since I have something and I really don’t know what it is and tapeworm wasn’t an option. Soooo….I’ve got 18 years to live. Now I’m in even more of a funk since I’ve already reached the halfway point.