Last night my sister and I made a deal. She'd help me get weed but then I had to go out to the bar with her. Last call here is 12:45 (or 1 if you're pushing it). We got to the bar at 12. I managed to put down three ref-style (heavy) doubles in that time, made a friend who taught me how to play a game called "Odds are," and in my first try I won the bar's bar game: throw a small metal ring (affixed via string to the ceiling) onto a nail in the wall and get it to hook. I felt such a success I gave my new friend, who'd given me one or two aiming pointers, a high-five. Then, in typical exuberant refugee fashion, I even jumped for joy.
While I was mid-air my new friend, unthinkingly, swung a foot out and intercepted me. By the feel of it, intercepted my ankle, specifically. I went down! I can't remember a drunk wipeout since the summer of 2013 when I happy-houred too hard and got caught in the bike rack outside the next-door convenience store and landed on my back in very bright sunshine some time embarrassingly before 5 to be wasted.
Thankfully, with a guy on either side of me, I was coming back up before I really felt the hit of the floor. My new friend also insisted, both to me and later to my sister, apparently, that he definitely kicked me and that it wasn't just the rum's fault I went down - maybe it wasn't even the rum's fault in majority.
Then I tweeted something I thought was exceedingly clever and proceeded to send it to like, 15 people in my phone. (I'm looking at you, you know who you are.) Because I needed validation of how funny I am. Then I walked 1.5 hours on my bum ankle and finally found a caring place to crash in town, as was wise.
My nights are rarely ever so epic as this and especially when they are Tuesdays. Sharing.