After having a stressful two weeks after my return to Charleston, I was ready for some holiday excitement. For the most part, Thanksgiving has always been a day of turkey, mashed potatoes and alcohol. I just can't wrap my head around why southerners don't have mashed potatoes on the damn dinner table every Thanksgiving. Who the hell wants sweet potato casserole? So I was happy that this year I was able to have all three. God surely was shining down on me.
Even the Hoff has a few glasses of wine with dinner.
The night before Thanksgiving is truly a magical occasion. It's called Drink, Drank, Drunk! After closing the restaurant early on account of it being slow and the impending holiday, I called my landlord John Payne to see what shenanigans we were to get into that night. So, the plan was a solid one that consisted of going out downtown and getting tanked. And so it was to be. Here we are in our late 20s and early 30s and still bingeing. Oh , the sweet stench of youth!
After an after hours warehouse party and more alcohol in the man shed, John and I had to creep back into the house as to not wake the lady of the castle, Claire a.k.a. Barf Slover. It was truly out of a children's story where the poor defenseless billy goats try to get passed the evil (fat) troll under the bridge. Sure enough, the moment we walk in, it is on like Donkey Kong. This bitch was furious with us. All just because we came rolling in at 4am. What a bitch! All I knew was that I needed to get to my room quickly and lay down with my iPod in as not to hear the beast devour the biggest billy goat. Before I knew it, John Payne is laying next to me in bed to avoid the troll diva.
the evil troll Barf Slover.
So, I wake a few hours later to Claire still on her tirade about something when I walk passed the bathroom to see her on her hands and knees cleaning around the toilet. She turns around and looks at me and yells "get the fuck out of this house" and "you better not think of showing your fucking face for Thanksgiving dinner". At first, I was completely thrown off guard and had no clue why she was being a bigger bitch than usual. Then, she let me know that I had pissed all over the bathroom as she watched and all the while my headphones were still in my ears. Talk about an epic fail.
Who really wants to say that they have pissed all over their friend's stuff. Sadly, this wasn't the first time this had happened to me. The most eventful time though, happened on Lemon Street when Brad and I called #211 home. Brad, Heidi and I were sleeping in bed when I got up in a drunken stupor, turned around and began pissing all over Heidi. But I digress.
So, Thanksgiving wasn't a complete wash because eventually we were able to hang with some friends around a fire in the yard and rage late night. It was an extremely fun night. One of the last things I remember before bed was a lovely bottle of prosecco that tasted damn good. I pass out, wake up and go about my day happy that nothing crazy had went down. Champagne usually does a number on my memory but I seemed in the clear on this one. Or so I thought until I received a text from John that read THANKS FOR PEEING IN MY DRAWER. Oops. So much for God's shining light.
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