I get there, find my team, and proceed to kick serious ass on the field, even though I totally had forgotten the rules of kickball. Sorry, team, haven't played in about 15 years! But despite my idiocy, our team dominated and hey, there's nothing better than winning a game of kickball, right?
Then, the real games started at the bar: flip cup, drunk ball (no idea how this is actually played), beer bong, and a combination of all of them, blackout. Nothing illustrates how locked up and sheltered I've been for two years than playing made-up drinking games. I start panicking because people get really fucking serious about these games, much more so than actual kickball, and I'm already feeling a little buzzed. Not exactly in the right state of mind to follow the obscure rules of a new drinking game.
I'm told I will be "anchor" for blackout. Shit! That sounds important, what do I do? I must've asked about a million times. I'm told to drink and flip (can do that) and then when the whole team is done, I'm going to shoot like in beer pong. Ok, I can do that, too. I think. If I miss, they go a second round (pressure!). If I make it, the game is over. This repeats until one of the team makes the shot. But do they really want me to shoot? The girl who hasn't played beer pong since senior year of college? It's too late for me to get out of it. Shit, ok. I can do this.
Round one, I miss. Fuck. Round two, I miss. FUCKITY FUCK. Then after I flip, this psycho girl starts to yell at me for no reason. She's screaming that I've drunk one of the cups they were supposed to be shooting into. What? I look down. She's right, I did. But seriously she was overreacting like whoa. It's no big deal. You fill up the cup, and put it back. She's acting like I took steroids or put cork in my bat. Finally, round three comes and I sink the ball. Wahoo! Feeling overzealous at my victory, I go over to psycho and say, "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't know that was my cup. But for real, this is not a serious game. Chill the fuck out."
This sassy new single life is really something else.
More antics continue. My new friend S, friend of my college best friend L, is taking me under her wing and really making me have fun, even when I'm feeling sorry for myself. She's having guy issues, which we talk through, and then decide to order another pitcher of beer. Then the DJ announces "Free shots for all the ladies on the bar!" My friend L says, "Get on the bar!" And I'm like, "Why the hell not?" S and I get up there and start acting a fool, dancing up on each other, trying to avoid uber-drunk and not very cute girl who's attempting a very sloppy pole dance.
The whole room is cheering for us, handing us drinks, and generally encouraging us way too much to stay up on the bar. And I have to say, it was probably the most fun I've had this week. I hate to admit it, but bar dancing is pretty fantastic. My friend L is shocked that I'm so fun now that I'm not in a relationship anymore. And although I don't want to make a habit of it, it is pretty awesome to have the freedom to spend a whole Sunday drinking, flirting, and dancing on the bar. I'm doing a lot of introspection and journaling and other navel-gazing activities, which are good for the soul, but after awhile, sometimes just dancing and acting silly is the best therapy.
Dancing on bars is definitely good therapy. In fact if I were a therapist I would recommend it to all my clients.ReplyDelete
Pretty much my thoughts exactly, Cee.ReplyDelete
LOL!!! you are so funny!!!ReplyDelete
Iva, glad you think so! A little beer will make anyone funny.ReplyDelete