Kane likes the fact that I get so drunk that I can't remember whether I've had four or five Big Beer BQ Bashes. I say it's one part drunkenness and one part semantics. Seeing as how there was one year where I decided to also throw a Beer BQ for my birthday. See, semantics. However, I don't remember which year. See, drunkness.
Drunken Wagoneering, a pastime that requires the infamous red radioflyer wagon and person or persons who doesn't/don't have any coordination at all, was born out of these Beer BQs. So was a drink called magical unicorn titties. Thank you, Charlie, my sensei of derelict beahvior.
My Beer BQ is also the type of event that immediately comes before emails such as this one:
To: Lola and Cooper
Subject: Me and Corn
Body: So do either of you have that picture of me, eating corn naked? If so, can you send it to me. Thx.
And inspires conversations such as these:
Z: I'm washing my hair that night.
Lola: Um. Unacceptable. You're bringing the buns.
Z: You always ask me to bring my sweet sweet buns... Can't I bring the sausages for once? Jeez...
Lola: Sigh. I suppose. You are my grill master after all.
Z: Well, lets get a light out there... I still have a permanent scar on my arm from the second degree buns I got because Kane asked me for a burger at 4am... and then left and went home without taking his burger or saying bye... and possibly after vomiting in your tub.
Lola: No more 4am grilling. Got it. Actually that guy who called himself Steve whose name wasn't Steve vomited in the tub. But Don did use ninja like vanishing skills. Was that the same one where you passed out and Kristin drew a heart on your face?
Z: No... Me passing out was the birthday party the year before where I somehow decided to drink that bottle of patron and half a 40 in the 30min span while grilling... I did manage to wake up and still prove myself useful chasing after people around your town.
Lola: Riiight that's the same one where you found that guy passed out, bleeding by my bagel place.
Z: And the one where _____ vomited in your bamboo.
Lola: Dear Lord.
Z: Yeah, he is definitely not in attendance at your parties. Maybe the other guy. But not the lord.
This year my camera was high jacked or willingly surrendered, I woke up with two bite marks (one on my collarbone and one on my leg), and after being bandaged up by my friend Z found this list taped to my bedroom window:
Apparently this is my pitiful attempt to track my alcohol intake. As you can clearly see, the list starts to go awry after the two shots of Patron. Obvi. I missed the magical unicorn titties and moved onto Sweat Tea, which I am really hoping is just a typo and not what it sounds like. After I played several games of Beer Pong, I somehow decided it was a good idea to drink a 40??? I blame the 40 for the list completely and utterly degrading into the gem of a drunken mess that it is. At least I was able to identify the color of the liquor I was drinking next on the list. Small favors, right?
The last alcohol on the list has three exclamation points to describe it. So if anyone has any idea what the mysterious, exclamational (new word alert) alcohol could be, I'd really like to know.
Hope you had a very naughty weekend fellow bloggers. Apparently everyone who was at Case de Lola did.