Waking up in Vegas (Sort've)

When I got to my brother's apartment at IUP, no one was awake yet (it was 7 AM, go figure) so I banged on the door until someone rolled out of bed, then proceeded to bang on every bedroom door in the place until he and his roommates started paying attention to me. In fact, I stood in the hallway, cracked a beer, and stomped my feet screaming, "SOMEBODY PAY ATTENTION TO ME" until they all paraded their hungover asses into the bathroom.

While the gang was piecing themselves together, I finished my Pabst and poured two shots of rum into a martini glass. I kicked back in the recliner and watched 6.03 while sipping merrily and singing "Waking up in Vegas" loudly and obnoxiously. Even though I knew it was coming, JPad's bod still shocked and awed and the term "Sweet baby Jesus" may or may not have come out of my mouth.

As far as the whole hooker thing goes, I'm okay with it. I thought it was a nice way to illustrate how damaged our Sammich is. I also backtracked a few times and spent a good portion of my morning analyzing this facial expression:



I really really don't know how to take it. It's kind've a cute 'lil smile. It's kind've bashful and almost a little old skool Sammy, especially considering he made it when the hooker was all "ZOMG YOU IS SEX GOD." But at the same time, it's kinda creepy, cold, and "I'm-smiling-to-humor-you-but-I'd-totes-appreciate-it-if-you-went-away-now-before-I-stab-you."

I was sad to see the Charger bite it if only because I think it's a purty car and, what can I say, I was raised on The Dukes of Hazzard reruns. Other than that though, I'm glad we have an excuse to force Sam n'Dean spend hour upon hour in a confined space together again.

Castiel's quotated rant made me shoot rum out of my nose (yes, it burned) and Balthy and I need to throw a rave together. I like him. He's got class. I hope we see him again and he's awesome and totally not a dick. I'mma be pissed if he ends up being a dick. I mean, I guess he's already sort've a dick, but he's more like a Gabe dick right now than a Zach dick. I think. Maybe. Honestly, I should probably rewatch the last fifteen minutes. The rum was starting to kick in at that point.

Which brings me to the rest of the weekend. Chrissy, Katrina, my brother,and I wandered down to Arlo's place around 9. No one was awake so we sat on the porch, busted out some Pabst, and over a period of about twenty minutes, I left Arlo eight voice mail doing my best Tina-Fey-as-Sarah-Palin impersonation (which was apparently pretty fantastic, I'm told) imploring Arlo to be a maverick and open the door before we  got sick of waiting and tried to break into the basement or something.

By the time the parade started, I was two shots of rum and four Pabst deep. I topped off a bottle of orange juice with Burnett's to sip while getting really pumped about every marching band that passed our corner. The rest of the weekend is a little fuzzy, though I recall watching Dexter with Arlo and his girlfriend and thinking it was awesome. 

Dammit, I do not have time to get into another TV show!

In conclusion, here are some things that alledgedly came out of my mouth:

After tripping over a sleeping person in Arlo's hallway, "There's a dead body back here."

After dropping salad into my lap at Eat n' Park, "Sorry guys, I'mma lil' sloppy." I can vouch for that one. It was very "I lost my shoe"-esque in delivery.

Arlo: "Oh hey! Where'd you get the rum and coke?"

Radium Girl: "I don't remember."

While trying to console a hungover Freshman: "Hey hey hey don't feel bad. We all drink too much sometimes. I drink too much alot of the times. Ask Chrissy. I threw up in her shoes once and she got veeeeerrrry mad and I was sad even though it was kinda funny, right Chrissy? Hey, Chrissy, hey, remember that time when Arlo had to carry me home and you helped?...I said I was sorry about the rug! Anyway, kid, the fact that you're awake and making whole sentences and have a pulse means you're a fuckin' champ. You're a champ!"

"I don't like you when I'm sober. You're kinda stuck up. But right now you're okay."

"Guys, there's cops on horsies outside!"

Overall, a successful weekend. There were no beer tears, no barfing, no stripping, and very little drunk dialing. On Sunday, I woke up hangover-free and was so giddy that I made pancakes and called Owen to gloat. 

He said, "If it's the day after homecoming and you're not hungover, clearly you did something wrong."

Shut up, Owen. 

And now, back to my regularly scheduled daily grind. 

PSA

 I hate writing cover letters. I hate writing cover letters. I hate writing cover letters. I hate writing cover letters.