So we all dress up like golfers. Or attempt to dress up life golfers. Sarah looked like a primo golfer, I on the other hand, looked like an awkward preppy white girl who has never heard of argyle. And wore a hot pink baseball glove instead of a white golf glove. I'm ok with it though. I have accepted the fact that I am socially retarded.
Then we proceed to pick teams. There was 3 teams of 4. I was picked last with another chica. And they wanted to make me designated light weight, where my points would count as more but I refused. I mean not only do they obviously think I have no drinking power what so ever, they were treating me like I couldn't possibly keep up with their raging.
So I went around calling myself the underdog and telling everyone I was going to win the women's individual category. They just laughed at me. Again, I was ok with that.
The night then proceeded with bar hopping. It started with Mission Ale House and then just went around downtown San Jose. At each bar you had to at least drink one drink. If you drank four however, that was a whole in one. You couldn't drink water or you got +1 and you had to drink with your glove hand, because if any other opposing teams caught you that was another +1. That is definitely something I struggled with.
As the night progressed, I got hammered. Hammered beyond hammered actually. To the point of embarrassment really. But remember I don't care. I live the life of awkward, so these things don't phase me for very long.
The best part was: I barely spent any money. The great thing about being a girl is batting your eyelashes and getting massive amount of free drinks. So not only was I competing at a high level, I was economically friendly to my wallet. My wallet who very much appreciates my persuasive efforts.
The night then started coming to a close. I can't tell you much about the late late night. Cause really I don't recall much of it myself. Except for La Vic's. Everyone remembers La Vic's. Yum orange sauce.
In the morning, Sarah and I were in bed until the early afternoon. Yes, it was not a happy moment really. Lot's of head aches. BUT then Ashton calls me. Here I thought I must have left something or did something inappropriate, I don't even know. He proceeds to tell me, "I don't know how you did it, but you won. You're fucking awesome."
I am delighted in my new victorious standings. I mean really, I told EVERYONE I was the underdog. And no one believed me. And my trophy. A red blazer. No don't get excited, I am not talking about a car, I am talking about a red jacket with really big shoulder pads. One day I will put that into use. Or when Sarah becomes a famous journalist or newscaster, I'll let her borrow it.
And just so everyone knows, I paid dearly physically and emotionally for this championship. And I mean dearly. So never say I can't keep up with your raging. I may not get out as much as I use to, but the mind does AMAZING things. And my mind that night RAGED.
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