My feet are black. My nails are chipped and broken.
And I've got a grey cloud full of post-drinking remorse hovering above my every move.
I got game day'd.
Bad. Real bad.
I ran around Lincoln yesterday like a drunk kid in a candy store.
If ever there was a sloppy looking lady-child skipping from bar to bar, that was me.
My hair was disheveled, my face red and blotchy, and my shirt covered
in everything I had eaten and drank for the past eight hours.
Per the usual, I was the sweaty kid who played too hard at recess.
But I hardly think I'm at fault here.
On game days all rules go out the window the second everybody decides it's completely acceptable
to forgo modern technology in favor of just dropping deuces and urinating in a big hole rather than a toilet.
A bench with a hole cut out that is surrounded by four walls is not a bathroom.
I'm talking about porta-potties, people. Satan's toy box.
How is it that I can have a phone (my new iPhone 5 whoop whoop) that can
basically do anything I want, and yet we haven't come up with a better invention
for outdoor toilet time. I mean we're still using the same model from the 1700s.
But I digress.
Anyway, if I saw you last night, I'm sorry for whatever I may have said or did.
(Unless you're the Wisconsin man I yelled at for not putting the seat down. I don't regret that.)
It's still up for debate whether I was in the mens restroom, or if he was in the women's...
And if I ran up to you and hugged you and gave you the friendliest hello ever,
please know it was genuine.
Alcohol gives me the courage to be the affectionate outgoing person I'd liked to be,
as opposed to silly old sober-me who might just give you a shy "hello" wave on a normal day.
But I was actually doing quite well up until about 8:00 p.m.
I was keeping it classy-ish. No shots, just beers. Easy, slow, drinking.
But then I started to emotional drink when I began to think we were going to lose to
Wisconsin, after all.
And when I start drinking because I'm angry, the outcome is never good.
I believe last night I called it "pumping up the volume."
The shots started flowing and my beers turned into mixed drinks.
Once I began to pump up the volume time suddenly sped up at an incredible rate.
The next thing I knew I found myself at the Rail running into pals from Kindergarden,
and double fisting Ultras.
If you ever feel the need to drink two beers at once, don't.
It's just not necessary.
And did I mention we won? Yes, it was very nice.
Downtown Lincoln felt like Mardi Gras last night (or maybe that was just for me?)
It was the most people I'd ever seen out before.
This was the scene outside of the stadium after we won.
So yes, it was a pretty great night.
Luckily, my mom was our trusty DD and managed to wrangle me up around 1:00 a.m. to
take me home before I could embarrass myself any more.
But then it happened.
I'm talking about the moment when my mom ran over my dad's foot....
It was obviously a freak accident. And luckily, he didn't break anything so it really wasn't that big of a deal.
But last night, it sure seemed like a big deal.
Let's look at a few texts I sent Chris about it, shall we?
And I've got a grey cloud full of post-drinking remorse hovering above my every move.
I got game day'd.
Bad. Real bad.
I ran around Lincoln yesterday like a drunk kid in a candy store.
If ever there was a sloppy looking lady-child skipping from bar to bar, that was me.
My hair was disheveled, my face red and blotchy, and my shirt covered
in everything I had eaten and drank for the past eight hours.
Per the usual, I was the sweaty kid who played too hard at recess.
But I hardly think I'm at fault here.
On game days all rules go out the window the second everybody decides it's completely acceptable
to forgo modern technology in favor of just dropping deuces and urinating in a big hole rather than a toilet.
A bench with a hole cut out that is surrounded by four walls is not a bathroom.
I'm talking about porta-potties, people. Satan's toy box.
How is it that I can have a phone (my new iPhone 5 whoop whoop) that can
basically do anything I want, and yet we haven't come up with a better invention
for outdoor toilet time. I mean we're still using the same model from the 1700s.
But I digress.
Anyway, if I saw you last night, I'm sorry for whatever I may have said or did.
(Unless you're the Wisconsin man I yelled at for not putting the seat down. I don't regret that.)
It's still up for debate whether I was in the mens restroom, or if he was in the women's...
And if I ran up to you and hugged you and gave you the friendliest hello ever,
please know it was genuine.
Alcohol gives me the courage to be the affectionate outgoing person I'd liked to be,
as opposed to silly old sober-me who might just give you a shy "hello" wave on a normal day.
But I was actually doing quite well up until about 8:00 p.m.
I was keeping it classy-ish. No shots, just beers. Easy, slow, drinking.
But then I started to emotional drink when I began to think we were going to lose to
Wisconsin, after all.
And when I start drinking because I'm angry, the outcome is never good.
I believe last night I called it "pumping up the volume."
The shots started flowing and my beers turned into mixed drinks.
Once I began to pump up the volume time suddenly sped up at an incredible rate.
The next thing I knew I found myself at the Rail running into pals from Kindergarden,
and double fisting Ultras.
If you ever feel the need to drink two beers at once, don't.
It's just not necessary.
And did I mention we won? Yes, it was very nice.
Downtown Lincoln felt like Mardi Gras last night (or maybe that was just for me?)
It was the most people I'd ever seen out before.
This was the scene outside of the stadium after we won.
So yes, it was a pretty great night.
Luckily, my mom was our trusty DD and managed to wrangle me up around 1:00 a.m. to
take me home before I could embarrass myself any more.
But then it happened.
I'm talking about the moment when my mom ran over my dad's foot....
It was obviously a freak accident. And luckily, he didn't break anything so it really wasn't that big of a deal.
But last night, it sure seemed like a big deal.
Let's look at a few texts I sent Chris about it, shall we?
"My mom drove my moms foot."
Luckily I was not driving.
We didn't go to the 9-11 room.
And his foot is still alive, after all.
And just for the record I was volunteering my mom to get Chris.
I do a lot of stupid shit. But I never drive after I've drank. And that's my PSA for today.
So there you have it.
My first game day back in Lincoln.
And my last.
Pretty sure I wore out my welcome in that town for this season.
