To say things got slightly out of hand last weekend would be a bit of an understatement. I could feel it in my bones before the weekend even got started and boy oh boy was I right. I blame two separate and distinct things for this ridiculous behavior: Three Sheets to the Wind playing at Republic on Thursday night and day drinking.
Thursday evening started innocently enough. I caught Matt & Kim play at The Canal Club earlier in the evening and under normal circumstances, I more than likely would have called it a night after the show but I didn’t have to work on Friday and hi, it’s Three Sheets, America’s number one tribute to yacht rock. I’m not sure why everyone in RVA gets absolutely blitzkrieged when they play, but they do. I don’t even like yacht rock, but shit gets dirty south so it’s on like Donkey Kong on the third Thursday of the month. Everything from buying shots like Oprah buys cars on a bar stool (not me), fist pumping HARD (not this girl), not remembering how one got home (me plus 10 others) to making out in the middle of the bar (definitely me, but others, too) all occurred.
Waking up around noon on Friday I found myself busy fielding an array of text messages, phone calls and emails all asking the same question, “What the fuck happened last night?” Once it was clear there was no definitive answer as to what the fuck had, in fact, happened, it was decided that a group of us should definitely hit up Hooter’s. You know, because that’s what normal people on their day off, right? Drink pitchers of beer and eat hot wings. Sure they do. Fast forward to Friday night and now I’m three sheets to the wind.
Somehow I survive and wake up on Saturday morning still in my clothes from the night prior. I promised myself I would, under no circumstances, start drinking before a normal hour and within thirty minutes I found myself on the way to brunch to get the party started once more. Within a few hours a surly drunk redneck bought the entire table shots of Bacardi while we sang classic rock songs loudly. Again, this is completely normal, right? I had the clarity of mind to know I should go home and nap it out and not continue the party like everyone else. I took a three hour nap and woke up almost as drunk as I was before I put myself down. Not one to be deterred from having a good time, when my friend told me some of them were getting tats and oh, did I want to join? I decided yes, I absolutely would do that because getting a tattoo after drinking is always a splendid idea. An hour and sixty bones later I am now the proud owner of a new tattoo that is clearly visible in 99% of any outfit I own. Win! Anywhoos, to celebrate poor decisions I continued the party until lord knows when and woke up once again in my outfit from the night prior (plus tat!).
Sunday I took a stand and said, “Fuck you” to all brunch invitations. I was responsible as a mother effer and was asleep by 11! Screw your Sunday Funday and fuck day drinking. I love day drinking like a Mama Grizzly loves hating gays and brown people, but I just can’t keep up. Nada mas! If you need me during the day, I’ll be volunteering or making a compost piles. Unless it’s your birthday. Or a snow day. Or a holiday. But until then, forget it.