Tag Archives: Gordon Bombay

Wait, I did what??!!

I hope you all had a splendid long holiday weekend—Gizzy & I did, to say the least. And by that I mean, we both got hammered, and maybe ruined our lives momentarily.

Things kicked off Friday with the national celebration known as my birthday—a day I dread every year. I hate answering to birthday wishes from my coworkers who I know damn well, hate me and couldn’t care less about my age. But anyway, I still celebrated my birthday a little (after all, I’m not getting any younger here).

I skipped off to lunch with two of my girlfriends after opening presents (a wine journal, silly bands, and the ESSENTIAL MICHAEL JACKSON 3-disc set), and was able to avoid my work freak (a guy who passively asks me out daily). Anyway, lunch was grand and I got a text from my boss saying I didn’t have to come back to work afterward, since we could leave early for the holiday. DOUBLE SCORE.

I had dinner with a new guy (that’s for another entry), and then joined my girlfriend for a night at the bars. I wore my shot glass necklace and promptly filled it with free shots all night long.

But, I didn’t get into any real trouble until Sunday. The fourth.

I told one of my girlfriends to meet me at the pool for a relaxing day in the sun. I packed my cooler with beer and brought a book, ready to rock out. Well, my girlfriend decided to ditch me for her ex boyfriend (story of my life), so I was left wondering what to do.

Until my friends C and B showed up. I met C and B about a month ago during a Sunday Funday at the pool—they are one crazy couple. But I love their company. They greet me by saying this:

“We read an article in the New York Times about this drink that’s about to be illegal in all 50 states.”

Me: “Let me guess. You got some.”

“Uh yeah we did. We had some last night…and it’s amazing.”

C drops their cooler in front of me to reveal their new love in a can—meet Four Loco.

While it appears to be an energy drink, it’s street name is liquid cocaine. It’s 12 percent alcohol squeezed into 24 ounces, joined with tons of sugar and natural energy boosters.

They offered me one, I took it, and slammed it down. It tastes like a Red Bull without a trace of anything else. After one, B and C told me I should drink beer, but of course I didn’t take their advice.

When my new guy joined us at the pool, I got him in on it, gave him one and cracked open my second. What followed is a slew of events I barely remember, and I couldn’t tell you in what order they occurred.

-Flashing my new guy in the pool
-Getting back to my apartment
-Shooting Patron
-Putting my dining set in my kitchen
-Filling up my bathtub with water
-Stripping the sheets off my bed
-Unleashing confetti off my balcony
-Drinking beer in my bathroom
-Giving new guy a massive hickey
-Hitting my face on the wall, resulting in a busted lip
-Getting bruises on my legs

I woke up at 5:45 am Monday, and didn’t know why my apartment was in shambles, or why I was sleeping in a bed with no bedding. I had a text from my new guy, “Should we continue this?” Apparently, we got into a fight—I’m guessing over something incredibly lame and ridiculous.

Luckily, he was cool about it, and we both chalked it up to a crazy night that can and will be forgotten. Then we watched The Mighty Ducks. A nice end to an awesome weekend.

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