“Oh, Good! You’re Wearing Your Underwear!”
This is a story i wrote for my advertising class about my 22nd birthday....95% of it is true ;) enjoy.
So people say you’re 21st birthday is the peak of birthday excitement and it’s just getting older from then on. Whoever decided that you’re too old to black out on birthdays after that is living behind the times, I mean 22 means two times the fun right? Well not in my life. On a daily basis I tend to be a pretty decent girl, on the quiet side, humming a song in my head hardly paying attention to the world around me, since I’m usually caught in my own, day dreaming or trying to unravel the meaning behind last nights nightmare. Not to mention with a crazy jam packed schedule with comm. design there isn’t much time for partying and getting all waste face and upside down. This night, however, was the exception.
First thing’s first; drive to Fort Worth to check out the nightlife. Have a few quiet drinks with some good company. Try not to fight with my long time on and off shady bitch of a best friend of 10 years and be responsible, mature and keep it cool incase she pisses me off and I feel like dropping her off in a cow pie pasture in nowhere Texas. Back to what actually happened, or well what I can remember. We stopped at this old world bar, the Flying Saucer. The whole time I was just waiting for Dracula to pop out from behind the bar and serve me up some more of that cider I was sipping. It just felt like an old movie. But according to everyone else, it was “time to get the party started.” So we headed to Library. Supposedly it was the place to be, actually, it was filled with men that belonged in the tool academy and a bunch of dude-bro frat guys getting their dressed coronas and shots on screaming louder and louder and chest bumping harder and harder until their tribal tattoos across their chests from tribe douche bag were bright red. Nickelback in the background was burning my ears and at that point it was most definitely time to get some drinks in my system and forget about how much I hated the scene. I would have left but my feet were reminding me I was wearing bitch-high stilettos and that sitting there was better than walking on the cobblestone so neatly set out in downtown. Birthday shots were on my friends and so were my brews of choice that night, Killians and Dos Equis. Representing my heritage of course. Jokes started rolling, drinks were pouring. Then I broke the seal and this is when things started to become a blur. All of sudden Frankenstein’s wife was starting a fight with a Candystriper and Batman. There were inflatable ghosts flying closer and closer to me every time I turned my back the way they do in the castle stages of Super Mario. My head was spinning, my face was in my hands and for a second I glance up only to reveal a fat boy with sweaty pits giving me a lap dance and all his 30 year old married friends and my friends with camera phones recording his 15 minutes of luck with probably the only girl he’s ever had contact with at this capacity in his entire waking life. The next hour felt like 5 minutes. Backseat home. Bra off, Check. Three bags full of throw up and a bottled water, Check. Give my friends a hard time about getting out of the car in October’s 40 degree weather, Check. Pee my life out and let my victoria's little secret slip off my feet and onto the floor, aahhh refreshing. Check. Fall asleep on the toilet, Check. Have my roommates escort me to my bedroom with my dress pulled up to my chin completely exposed underneath, Check. Wake up in the morning with underwear on and a recollection of last nights endeavors, well….we’ll save the check off on that one for next year.
So people say you’re 21st birthday is the peak of birthday excitement and it’s just getting older from then on. Whoever decided that you’re too old to black out on birthdays after that is living behind the times, I mean 22 means two times the fun right? Well not in my life. On a daily basis I tend to be a pretty decent girl, on the quiet side, humming a song in my head hardly paying attention to the world around me, since I’m usually caught in my own, day dreaming or trying to unravel the meaning behind last nights nightmare. Not to mention with a crazy jam packed schedule with comm. design there isn’t much time for partying and getting all waste face and upside down. This night, however, was the exception.
First thing’s first; drive to Fort Worth to check out the nightlife. Have a few quiet drinks with some good company. Try not to fight with my long time on and off shady bitch of a best friend of 10 years and be responsible, mature and keep it cool incase she pisses me off and I feel like dropping her off in a cow pie pasture in nowhere Texas. Back to what actually happened, or well what I can remember. We stopped at this old world bar, the Flying Saucer. The whole time I was just waiting for Dracula to pop out from behind the bar and serve me up some more of that cider I was sipping. It just felt like an old movie. But according to everyone else, it was “time to get the party started.” So we headed to Library. Supposedly it was the place to be, actually, it was filled with men that belonged in the tool academy and a bunch of dude-bro frat guys getting their dressed coronas and shots on screaming louder and louder and chest bumping harder and harder until their tribal tattoos across their chests from tribe douche bag were bright red. Nickelback in the background was burning my ears and at that point it was most definitely time to get some drinks in my system and forget about how much I hated the scene. I would have left but my feet were reminding me I was wearing bitch-high stilettos and that sitting there was better than walking on the cobblestone so neatly set out in downtown. Birthday shots were on my friends and so were my brews of choice that night, Killians and Dos Equis. Representing my heritage of course. Jokes started rolling, drinks were pouring. Then I broke the seal and this is when things started to become a blur. All of sudden Frankenstein’s wife was starting a fight with a Candystriper and Batman. There were inflatable ghosts flying closer and closer to me every time I turned my back the way they do in the castle stages of Super Mario. My head was spinning, my face was in my hands and for a second I glance up only to reveal a fat boy with sweaty pits giving me a lap dance and all his 30 year old married friends and my friends with camera phones recording his 15 minutes of luck with probably the only girl he’s ever had contact with at this capacity in his entire waking life. The next hour felt like 5 minutes. Backseat home. Bra off, Check. Three bags full of throw up and a bottled water, Check. Give my friends a hard time about getting out of the car in October’s 40 degree weather, Check. Pee my life out and let my victoria's little secret slip off my feet and onto the floor, aahhh refreshing. Check. Fall asleep on the toilet, Check. Have my roommates escort me to my bedroom with my dress pulled up to my chin completely exposed underneath, Check. Wake up in the morning with underwear on and a recollection of last nights endeavors, well….we’ll save the check off on that one for next year.