Sarah Gone Wild

Posts Tagged ‘stupid steps’

So about that funny story I mentioned in the last post. A few weeks ago, there was a going away soiree for a couple of coworkers at the office. Pretty much everyone at my office is awesome, so it’s definitely sad to lose such great people. I wasn’t super close with either girl (although I like them both very much), so I didn’t plan on making a night of it…but I should have known better based on smaller gatherings in the past.

First came flippy cup. I’ve never seriously played flippy cup, so I’m not very good. Then came beer pong. Oh, my, the beer pong. I think I would’ve been fine had the fun stopped there. But then there were shots.  And then we all moved to a nearby bar. At this point, I would definitely not say that I was wasted. Happy drunk, yes. Obliterated, no way.

We all got seated on the patio. I was against the railing, in the middle of a bunch of peeps. Eventually, as expected, I had to pee. I figured it would be a hassle to ask everyone to move and let me out, so I hatched a better escape plan. Here’s where the debate comes in. I maintain that I TOTALLY had this, but my next move caused a mild panic. I hopped up on the deck railing, ducked the hanging plant and tried to shimmy across the railing. No, I’m still not sure how I was going to handle the posts blocking my way. But I wasn’t going to fall. Or jump. And it was only about a ten foot drop. So I was fine. But I got grabbed and pulled back down and everyone STILL thinks I was going to die. I call drama queens. Like I said, I totally had it.

After a while of good laughs, the party broke up. One of my favorite humans drove me home with another coworker (another super awesome person) and I thought everything was hunky dory. Until I tried to run up my porch steps – the porch steps I traverse MULTIPLE times a freaking day – and I bit it hard core. I still have a healing bruise on my leg and a scrape on my arm. I fell right up those damn steps. But I felt no pain (thanks, booze!), so I hopped up, threw my arms in the air, yelled, “I’m good!” and went inside.

T was out with friends so I called to see where he was. I mentioned I might need food and to call me when he was heading home. Then I vaguely remember eating some stale Chili Cheese Fritos before I passed out. By the time T called and woke me up, I guess I was a little incoherent. According to T, this is how the conversation went:

Me: hhhhuuuoooooooo?

T: Hello? You there?

Me: *grunt*

T: Hey, I’m stopping by White Castle’s on the way home. What do you want?

Me: mehllsdfjlker sluwmosr chueese friiiies sloureo msodufo

T: What? Did I hear cheese fries?

Me (aggravated): MOUEIUFJSKLDJFLIOSJ! CHEESE FRIES! mlssdfslkjuoi hjshdofuh

T: Okay…cheese fries it is. See you when I get home.

Me: *grunt*

Then he got home with the food. His first comment? “Baby, you are fucking WASTED! All I could understand was blahblahblah CHEESE FRIES!”

I didn’t reply. He then offered me a chicken sandwich, which I ate without opening my eyes. I sat up a teensy bit after that to consume my cheese fries and then I was out for the night.

When I woke up the next morning afternoon, there was cheese on my face, under my nails and on my blanket, and my first thought was, “Why does my leg hurt so much?” But you know what? Other than my new bruises, I felt great! Tired, sure, but you should NEVER underestimate the power of cheese fries.

Mmmm….cheese fries…they fix everything. Maybe if I take some to work, they’ll stop saying I almost died. Probably not. Who cares? I friggin’ love these people. I mean, how can you NOT love someone who introduces you to the PortOPong? I have a pink one traveling to my house as we speak. Who’s got a pool? I see a beer pong tournament in the future…and lots of cheese fries.