Drinking Binge Part 2 (The one with the doormat nap)

Now that I realized I made the vague reference in Drinking Binge Part 1 that there would be a subsequent Part 2, I feel somewhat obligated to finish that day’s events. But I think I have learned my lesson, never name something “…Part 1” if you are unsure about making a Part 2. I know that that seems like one of them well no shit moments, but I was not intending it that way. I just wanted to add a little more bravado to the title. Drinking Binge Part 1 sounds so much more thrilling than Drinking Binge. See, I recently realized that I have this huge vault of stories, which people would love to hear. Yes, you would love to hear them. It is not even optional at this point. 

If you have not read Drinking Binge Part 1, you probably should or else the following crap will make utterly no sense. Click here for Part 1

So not that that awkward part is out of the way, where was I. Oh yeah!

So I had just read this unnamed girl this beautiful poem that I had written for her. She had told me to, “Go lay down.” I said, “Only if you come with me!”             She did not come with me. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

I went back to my apartment; luckily, it was only across the hall from hers. I don’t think that I could have made it down, or up, any stairs. My roommates were pissed off at me because I was drunk, and it was like 3:00 in the afternoon.

I stumbled inside, and sat down on the couch. Rolled off the couch, and laid in the floor. Lauren, or previously unnamed poem girl, came over. Apparently, she was worried about me. She probably should have been worried about me a little sooner though, like when I was turning up a flask in her living room as if it was water. But whatever.

After another proposition for her to accompany me to bed, she began to make me a peanut butter sandwich. Not peanut butter and jelly, just peanut butter. I took one bite and about choked. It was not that I could not chew, swallow, or anything like that it was just that she gave me a freaking peanut butter sandwich. Who the hell can swallow bread and peanut butter without needing something to drink? After I spit the initial bite out and tried to drink the remainder of my flask to quench my thirst, she brought me a glass of water.

I tried to tell her that I was fine (with the flask of rum), but then she told me it was some more rum. I remember thinking, I may be drunk, but I ain’t stupid. So for her attempted trickery, I decided to have a little fun. Oh yeah, and because she was not receptive to my poem.

I took one a sip of the “water” and spit it out as if it was poison. “That ain’t rum,” I said. Well no shit everyone thought. But when no one was looking it became rum, extremely diluted rum, but rum none the less. I dumped most of my remaining rum in the cup. It was a little watered down, but I could still taste the alcohol so I was happy.

Then, after I started chugging the water, they knew something was up. Between that, and I am pretty sure that I spilled some and it had a little bit more of an amber color than any potable water I have ever seen. She was kind though and she left me the cup of rum water.

You may be asking yourself, where are his roommates. And that is a good question. I really do not know where they were, or what they were doing. I know that one of them, Jonathan the one I could stand to be around, was somewhere. I remember him being slightly pissed off at me for drinking at this time of day. Mostly because him and Lauren had gotten in trouble for alcohol previously, but that will have to be another story. The other two, Twitchy, the one that I could not stand since the day I met him and Smelly, the one I got into it with I do not know where they were exactly. I figure that they were off brooding in Twitchy’s room. Twitchy’s mum was/is an alcoholic and he detests anyone who drinks. And he is also a paranoid little twit. Smelly, well his dad is/was an alcoholic and he was fucking Twitchy, so he had to comfort his fuck buddy.

We all had class together: Lauren, Twitchy, Smelly, and I. It was geology and on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. It was Tuesday. I had not thought about this class when I started drink, plus I did not anticipate drinking this much.

We always went to dinner, at the Galley (Nautical name of the school’s cafeteria) All of my roommates, Lauren, Megan, and I. We would usually meet up with some other friends there. It was about that time, and they all were hungry. So they left. I remember Jonathan was the last to leave, and he made me promise to stay in the apartment, because I wanted to come with them.

I promised him, but he failed to specify for how long. Not only was I hungry, I also had class that night. So about ten minutes after they left, I slowly arose off of the floor, got my satchel, and headed out, locking the door behind me.

You should have seen their faces when I walked in: horrified at the possibilities of what could happen (it was a dry campus), in shock that I was capable of getting there with my satchel, wondering how the cashier did not smell the stench of rum on me from a mile away, and probably a little humored. I staggered over to get me some food. Then went to sit down.

I remember staring at my food for a while, trying to debate if eating was such a good idea. Jonathan got pissed (he was under housing probation at the time) and walked out. I sat there for a while, nibbling on now cold fries. When everyone got up to leave for class, I decided that I could miss one class, and staggered back to my apartment.

I finally staggered up to my apartment building’s breezeway. I looked up at the three flights of stairs that awaited me in regret for ever having left my apartment in the first place.

I don’t know how, but I finally made it to the top. I was tired, still drunk although sobering up, stank of cheap rum, my stomach was beginning to hurt, and I wanted nothing more than to go inside and lay down.

I arrived at my stoop and sloppily fumbled around for my keys. Nothing! They were nowhere. I texted Jonathan first, he had decided to go to freaking Lowes to buy something. I texted Megan, she did not answer. I sure as hell was not going to text Twitchy or Smelly; I had rather freeze to death.

Luckily, I lived in Savannah at the time, and although it was still February and still chilly, it was not god awful cold. I stood there for a while, then my legs got tired. So I sat down on the doormat. After swaying back and forth for a few minutes, I figured that it would probably be best if I lay down.

The doormat would make a nice little nap mat, or so I thought then. I took off my satchel and laid it on the ground as a pillow. Then I sucked up my pride and lay down. It was not that bad, other than the puddle of dried vomit within arm’s reach. We never knew how exactly it had gotten there, but I knew I sure was staring at it for a long time.

It was not really that cold that day, but it sure was chilly. Especially lying on the cement floor. I finally got comfortable curled up into an oversized ball, and dozed off for a little while. That was until I got this eerie feeling that I was being watched, or there was someone around. You know that feeling, you don’t hear or see anything but you know something is there. So I slowly opened my eyes, expecting to see someone standing over me with a knife or something. But all I saw was vomit.

I tried to close my eyes again, but then got the same feeling. This time I thought that I had heard something above my head, on the landing. So I darted my head up to investigate, and raised my arm to strike at the same time. It was Nick, the crazy guy who lived under me. This dude was shot out. I am not even sure he had noticed me there until I sat up. I lay back down and Nick did not even say a word. All I wanted was sleep. I was so tired (or drunk).

Not even two minutes after lying back down after creeper Nick scared the shit out of me, I heard a voice from afar (sorry, I have secretly always wanted to say that). It was Megan, coming back to her apartment. I had never been so happy to hear a voice in my life. I was drunk, cold, had the shit scared out of me, and the vomit was giving me the evil eye.

I sat in her apartment for a while. I through my satchel down, in annoyance, sat down and started rambling on about how I could not find my keys, I took a nap on my doormat, stared at a dried pile of vomit, got the shit scared out of me, and about froze to death in the process. Right before I finished someone interrupted me.

“Isn’t those your keys?” they had fallen out of my satchel when I had threw it down. For a straight five minutes, I denied that they were in my satchel the whole time. It took me longer than I would have liked to realize that I had locked the door when I left. All that time, I was using my keys as a pillow.