In total, I had three shots: upside down cake (10/10; waitress suggested it and she is a goddess among drink-slave mortals), Top Gun (7/10; suggested by fiancee, not bad, quite sweet but the strong alcohol taste makes me gag just thinking about it), and something that tasted a lot like a smoking furnace full of hate and piss, suggested by a demon that possessed my friend for a few seconds for the sole purpose of bringing me pure misery (1/10; I would not recommend it if I could just remember what the balls it was). I tried Samuel Adams beer for the first time, and I hate beer, but this one wasn't too awful. I think my favorite part was the aftertaste, it literally tasted like I had eaten almonds or some shit a few seconds after swallowing it (7/10 for aftertaste alone). I had a bananaroma or something as a drink instead of a shot. That one was a doozey. Just 99 Bananas and straight vodka. Wouldn't recommend if you're trying to pace yourself, but, surprise, I don't make the best decisions when my 5'5" 123lbs frame has three shots and some beer within an hour.
Walking to the bathroom and saying all of my thoughts out loud was fun, and thank you random boys who passed me in the hallway and reacted very passive-aggressively when I stated "White-framed sunglasses make anyone look a like douche." directly at you all. After that, we had a nice hotel room reserved with a jacuzzi in it (which was awesome, bubble jets are AMAZING) and we watched Metalocalypse and some Aqua Teen while I tried not to pass out.
I slept for a solid two hours until about 3AM when I woke up and had gut rot already, but that was fine, one trip to the vomit-pit (also known as a turrlet) and I was fine except I could not. Fucking. Sleep. Why?
My cat is alone in my apartment. We've never left Spartacus alone overnight. What if he's starving to death? What if he gnawed on a bunch of twisty ties and is choking? What if he tried to jump onto the T.V. and it somehow fell onto him and he's being crushed? What if he's sitting, staring at the door in complete agony and despair thinking we left him forever and hate him and is meow-crying all sad like cats do where it sounds like "MMRAAAAAAOW? MRAAAAAOW? WHY DON'T YOU LOVE ME ANYMORE? MMMRAOW?" scratching at the door and shit.
Well, fuck. I can't sleep through that. Keep in mind, though, we gave him plenty of food, he knows not to jump on things, and the wire twisty ties are safely hidden away. But still it's like a parent spending their first night away from their child. I woke up once every half hour and waited until 6AM, when I was on the fetal position on the couch having a minor panic attack, to tell fiancee we should go home. So, we hauled ass out of there and arrived to see a bright, desperately shining face waiting for us at the door the moment we opened it. And received a stern meowing-to about leaving him alone for so long and how he was worried and to never do it again because he didn't know what to do with himself while he was gone. Or not. Fuck, I can't understand cats, he could've been telling us about the crazy catnip and sex parties he had the whole night we were gone with all of his alley-cat buddies and we fucked up his party because we came home early.
But regardless, we were happy we were home, and I slept with little Spartacus until noon in the middle of our bed, both balled up like happy kittens, snoring away while fiancee PVP'd.
Oh yeah, and I got a haircut/dye job.
Eh? :D
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