Sunday Funday (Or: It's Official - I Am a Binge Drinker)

Sunday was Sunday Funday, the first of the new school year. Sunday Funday is an occasion for me and some classmates and other honorary Cobras to take advantage of the rare 3-day holiday by getting together to drink, catch-up, share stories, drink, have fun and drink. But mostly it is an excuse to drink.

By my recollection, we've had three previous Sunday Fundays, all of which were happy and successful times, but all of which ended in my getting completely shitfaced. This time was no exception. But really, how can it be helped when the day starts off at a bottom-less bloody mary/mimiosa brunch followed by $2 Skyy vodka drinks at JRs? It would be a crime NOT to get completely shitfaced.

To wit: On Monday morning I was talking to my friend Kelley, trying to piece together the blurry memories and activities from the previous day's events when I looked down at the socks on the floor, the same socks I wore for Sunday Funday, and the following conversation ensued:
Me: "Hmmm, I'm looking at the socks I wore yesterday and noticing that they are completely filthy. I wonder why that is."
Kelley: "I'm not 100% sure, but it might have something to do with when you took your shoes off in the bathroom so that we could swap clothes with each other."
Me: "Hmmmm. Yeah. I guess that would explain it."

At one point during the afternoon, Kelley and I thought it might be a good idea to wear each other's clothes. Why? Not sure. 'Cuz we thought it would be funny. Seemed like a good idea at the time. (PS - I am a boy and Kelley is a girl, in case it isn't clear.)

Also, I crawled on all fours through her legs at the bar. Again, not sure why I thought that would be a good idea.

The evening ended with dinner at El Tamarindo and me aggressively making out with a guy in his car, before riding my bike home and passing out by 9:30 pm. 'Cuz that's how I roll.

Sunday Funday - No Breakfast, No Lunch, And $2 Drinks - What Could Go Wrong? (Or: I Might Possibly Be an Alcoholic)

It's Monday morning and I'm sitting here at National waiting for my flight back to Chicago. The process of arriving here, checking in and getting through security has been surprisingly easy considering the mess of the last two days, but I feel like I'm suffering a quiet death.

I'm hungover from yesterday, a day that started early with me running errands in the snow and packing for home (subtext: no breakfast or lunch) and then heading to JRs to meet up with friends to celebrate the end of the semester over $2 Skyy drinks. It is a day that we'd been planning and looking forward to for weeks.

I arrived at two, sat at the bar, ordered a drink and waited for my classmates to arrive. For a a variety of reasons, most of them couldn't make it. Screw it, keep the drinks coming.

And they did. I was making friends with the bartender (heavier-handed pours as the hours went by) and random people throughout the afternoon. I got digits from guys I have no memory of meeting. I referred to Hillary Clinton as "saucy."

By the time Stephanie, Anand and Danny arrived around 5-ish, it was time to head over to my swim team's holiday party. I wanted to go so I could say goodbye to friends and see my crush one last time. But mostly to see my crush. He wasn't there, so we stayed for what seemed like 10 minutes before I might have said, "This place is dead. We're leaving."

The rest of the night - what was left of it - is really a blur. Danny, his roommate Stephan and I headed back to Danny's for a bit, but I remember feeling like I needed to go home, so I did. I bought some Chinese, then walked all the way back through Adams Morgan to my place. The Chinese was put on the kitchen table and remained there until the next day. I passed out in my bed, clothes off, lights on.

I woke with a start at 5 am. I decided to go for a walk all the way over to Georgetown because I realized that I'd still left my gym stuff in my locker at St. Mary's and I needed it for Chicago. And my bike was still there from Thursday too. It was a nice, long walk in the cold early morning. The sidewalks were still covered in snow; I walked most of the way on the empty streets. I looked up into the sky at the moon and the flights leaving National, realizing with glee that in just a few hours I'd be on one of those flights heading back to Chicago.

Although the last 24 hours weren't exactly the semester-ending celebration that I'd planned, I felt at peace. It had been a tough 4 months, but a good one. I'm content and ready for home.