I’m in Austin

On Saturday night we went to The Scoot Inn to a 60′s themed beach party night and the only thing that was really 60′s about it was the band’s sound and one girl walking around in a beehive hairdo.  Everything else about it was a regular night at the bar getting drunk.  Well, minus the huge blow up water slide that one naked guy jumped off of and OK I guess some beach balls were being thrown around.  But OK OTHER THAN THAT, it was just your regular drunken night at the bar.

I wasn’t drunk because I really hate spending money on alcohol.

That’s why I was the designated driver when someone in our party got their car broken into and their car had to be driven back to their place.

Originally they were going to leave it parked and take a cab home, but since the car was broken into in the first hour–leaving it over night, with a broken window no less, was no longer a good idea.  Except the girl in question was totally inebriated that convincing her that someone besides her should drive the car home was incredibly difficult.  She was really concerned with the fact that who ever would be driving would get glass in their ass and that nobody should get glass in their ass except her.

This is what she stood in the middle of the street crying about in a drunken stupor while our less drunk friend assured her that it didn’t matter if anyone else got glass in their ass–the important thing was that she couldn’t drive in her state.  Since it was my ass on the line for possible glass insertion I was like, “hello–it does matter if glass gets in my ass thankyouverymuch, but come on — it’s very unlikely to happen.”  Besides, it was the passenger side window that was shattered so as long as no one was riding shot gun–everything would be OK.  Oh except for the fact that I somehow decided it was OK to drive a stranger’s car home with a shattered window amid heavy police activity on a Saturday night.

Maybe I was drunk.

The first thing I said to the girl who I’d be following back to the apartment was, “don’t lose me–I have no idea where I’m going.”  The first thing she did was speed down the block, almost losing me before we even got off the street.  I don’t think someone was a sober as she thought either–especially since she ran a yellow light thus causing me to run a red to keep up.

Then she pulled into the wrong street–a street with a cul-de-sac that before I knew wasn’t the right street, I hadn’t bothered to make a far enough turn around the cul-de-sac thinking I’d be pulling into a driveway somewhere.  When they looped around and started speeding out of the street, I had barely given myself any room to make a U turn so the car hopped the curb and sparks flew out from underneath as I dragged her bumper along the concrete probably messing up her paint job.

I didn’t worry about it, because I knew the owner of the car was too drunk to notice anyway and I’m sure she’ll never read this blog–so who cares!

But just in case, I’m sorry Rosemary!

You’ll be relieved to hear that I didn’t get glass in my ass, of course.


  1. Posted June 26, 2009 at 7:41 pm | Permalink

    I hate drunks. Okay, correction: I hate emotional drunks. Funny or mellow drunks I like. Angry or weepy ones should stay home. Sorry… that was my high-horse moment of the day.

  2. Martie
    Posted June 29, 2009 at 12:10 am | Permalink

    I am laughing my ass off at this one. ‘Cause I can so see it all. I even think I’ve been there, done that.

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