January 5, 2010

I went to a party on West Campus when I was a freshman. I met up with my friends Patrick and Mike. I knew Patrick from orientation and Mike from hockey. I didn't know that they had gone to high school together. It was a nice coincidence.

I drank a forty ounce malt liquor. I filled the bottle with keg beers and drank that. I drank half of another forty ounce malt liquor. It all made me drunk. I left the party, two bottles in my backpack. One empty, one half full.

Because I was drunk, I had lost many of my inhibitions. I wanted to eat shitty food. I wanted a lot of it. I stopped by Taco Bell on the way back to the dormitory in campus. I bought a lot of shitty food there.

Walking through campus, I decided to slide down a short ramp overlooking the South Mall, in the shadow of the main building. I slipped and fell onto my back. The bottles in my backpack didn't break. Had they broken, they probably would have severed some body parts inside.

I shook off the fall and continued my soused sojourn to Moore Hill. I made it back, swiped my identification card, hoping the bottles would shut up in my bag. I think the Taco Bell, being soft, was creating a buffer that kept the bottles silent.

Back in room 242, I commenced to eat in dark and silence. It was what it was. Shitty. Next thing I knew, I woke up hours later with a burrito in my lap. I was embarrassed. I was more drunk than embarrassed, however, and I finished the few bites of the burrito. Next thing I knew, I woke up hours later with Taco Bell sauce in my bed. I am embarrassed.