The Wonderful Alcoholic Cycle of Nebraska Life

So yesterday morning I woke up craving a large ice water, a fountain pop from a gas station, a sip of orange juice and a large smoothie. Oh, and some hash browns on the side. I also wondered if I had sucked on a blow dryer before going to bed the night before as my mouth was too dry to swallow. At this point I began to question why I was sleeping on the floor of my parents hotel room with my head nearly touching the door. But, as I gathered my surroundings a little bit better (Chris sleeping close by fully clothed in Husker attire as was I, both of us using hotel towels for blankets, Jordan sleeping across the room under the air conditioner spooning a box of Lazzaris and Kate sleeping in the fetal position next to my pregnant sister, I remembered we had all just endured our first game day. And survived it, barely. Boy was it was a doozy. It wasn't even 6 a.m., but with the combination of the air conditioner sounding as if it was preparing for take off, and Jordan's snoring which sounded like some sort of wild boar mating call, I was wide awake. I crawled into the bathroom and seriously debated sleeping in the bath tub, Stephanie Tanner did it once and I always thought it looked quite cozy. But lack of blankets, or even towels, made the tub an unlikely bed. So I sat on the floor with my head against the wall and started to think about the day that was...
It started at the bar around noon with a Blue Moon and a Bloody. Knowing I had a very long day ahead of me I began very slow. Next stop on the tour of fun was Sandys. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy this place, I really do, but sometimes I feel like it's the number one stop on game days for everyone who doesn't live in Lincoln/never has, more specifically people over the age of thirty whose wives wear stickers on their cheeks and husbands keep radio headphones in their ears during the game. It's the place that people from Columbus probably make sure to go to every game day and don't actually realize there are other bars on O Street- strictly an assumption though. After Sandys we took a quick pit stop at the Rail for a Pelini Pitcher and pub mix to rejuvinate. We couldn't stay long because there was a talegate and fanbulance waiting for us under the bridge. There's just never enough time in a game day for all that must be done. Perhaps this would be a good time to propose the idea of two, or even, three day talegates? Pre talegates Friday, during talegates on Saturday, and post talegates Sunday? Just thinking out loud here. Then again, I suppose you could simply call going out on Friday night pre talegating. Anyway, after a few talegates we decided to class it up a bit and head to Tavern On the We Don't Work At The Bar anymore, or whatever you want to call it. What a hidden treasure this was! It was quite delightful to drink in the cozy little terrace area. Had I not been surrounded by dads dressed like Bo Pelini and moms dressed like well, Bo Pelini, I might have thought I was somewhere far, far away from Lincoln. This was the last stop before the game. I hate to say it, but sometimes that game just really gets in the way of my plans. If you're not careful a hangover will sneak right up on you during those few hours. Throw in a fat leg resting on top of yours, and a child with sticky fingers behind you, and a great day can really take an unexpected twist. I just don't understand why Memorial doesn't give in already and serve alcohol. C'mon Tommy O, let loose for once. No one will judge you. Chris and I might have snuck out just a tad early, and as we were exiting our row we got stalled behind other people leaving during what was apparently a good play because a 70 year old grandma physically pushed me out of the way. Bad, bad move. I was on the verge of hangover and this might have just pushed me over. Luckily, I didn't realize what had happened right away and so the line had began moving again and I was out of view of the woman so I was unable to say something that would have been completely inappropriate to say to an elder.
Without meaning to, I changed from my jean shorts and into my sassy pants. I should have known better than to continue drinking while wearing them, nothing positive could follow. Upon leaving the game Chris and I walked to Mistys to meet my parents for dinner as I bitched the entire way about the audacity of the old woman. Followed by Mistys was a few tame drinks at Barreymores before we were finally ready to subject ourselves to the sweaty drunk fest that was the Rail. Worried we weren't at the level of all of the other sloppy red faced patrons, Kate and I headed to the back bar for a few shots. We glanced for a brief moment at the dance floor, but it had Andy Christiansen written all over it so we headed back to the front. Shoot! That was bad, especially because I think Andy was framed, I just couldn't not use it. Anyway, back up front we took more unnecessary shots, hugged people we might not normally say hello to sober, and then got the urge to head a spot out of the way, but on the way. The Bar line was wrapped around the block, but since I once worked there back in 2006 for roughly two weeks I felt no need to wait in it. I'm embarrassed for myself and the degree to which I enjoy cutting a bar line in Lincoln, NE. If I could go back to Saturday night I would find myself just to make a few rude, belittling remarks to my face to take myself down a few notches. Once in the Bar Kate and I decided we had to go to the bathroom (together of course) but were far too good to wait in line like everyone else. Strike my earlier thought, I wouldn't just talk shit to myself, Id prefer to beat the shit out of myself. We cut the porta potty line and jumped into the next free stall. It's one thing to use the indoor restrooms together, but the porta pottys? Yes, Kate and I definitely took the girl bathroom rule too far there. Some angry boys began to pound on the door, pissed we cut them- pun intended? So I came out and profusely apologized and told them it was an emergency I cut them and then bought them a few drinks to make up for my rudeness. Wait, come to think of it, I mean that's the opposite of what I did. I came out and freaked out on the gentlemen like it was their fault. Damn sassy pants. I continued to yell like an absolute idiot until I forgot what it was I was initially screaming about. For all who witnessed that I apologize, completely unnecessary, as were most of my actions past about 7 p.m. Thank God it was getting close to closing time at this point, so not too much more harm could be done. My anger subsided so I figured my last few minutes at the Bar would be better spent singing and dancing with anyone willing to join. The lights turning on was my cue it was time to head to the promised land known as Lazzaris. Another long line that meant absolutely nothing to Kate and I as we walked right in and magically got a full plate of spicy chicken pizza in no time at all. So with pizza in one hand, and ranch in the other, we grabbed ourselves a corner table and didn't talk for the next few minutes as we sloppily devoured the food. We went next door and had to drag Chris from the Rail to start the walk back to the hotel. Safely back in the hotel we all breathed a sigh a relief as we had just conquered yet another season opener. And even though we all knew we'd pay for the fun we had with an awful hangover the next day, and even still today, we'd do it all over again. And will do it all over again for weeks to come. So to the big city folk who always ask the snarky question of what is there to do in Nebraska, well this is it. We watch football and we drink. So naturally we live for the days when we can do them both together for hours on end. And as little UNL college kiddys grow up they produce more alcoholic Nebrasky babies to continue this wonderful cycle.