Since I wrote that last entry before Spliff had even crawled out of bed on Sunday morning, there have been developments in the extent of the debauchery in which we participated.
Sunday morning started like this: I woke up, frantic because I didn’t know where the hell my keys were and I had had like 9 nightmares in which I was suffocating. (Really, the one time when it actually happened wasn’t enough for me.) About an hour after I got up, I heard Spliff leave her room and make her way to the bathroom down the hall. A few minutes later, I heard hysterical laughter and then, “CRIZ! I need to go to the ER.”
I know what you’re thinking, “What the hell could possibly be so funny that would warrant a trip to the ER?!” Well, I will tell you. Saturday night, in the car on the way back from the party, JM, Spliff and I are soaking wet and listening to cheesy 80s music on the radio when Spliff says, “My foot kind of hurts.” To which I sympathetically reply, “I almost DIED.”
A few minutes later, she says again, “Guys. Umm…really, my foot hurts.” Nothing ever came of it. We clopped up the stairs dripping wet, ate our disgusting, greasy food and went to bed. It wasn’t until Sunday morning that Spliff realized that her foot was…well…turning purple. I know from experience, that when your foot turns purple it is probably bad. (We won’t talk about the time I broke mine…)
Naturally, I got the distinct honor of taking Spliff to the urgent care clinic at 8:30 that morning. I don’t think that we were completely sober yet and we continued to giggle for the entirety of the 3 hours we spent explaining to techs and doctors what actually had happened. Because, of course, neither of us had any idea. We just knew it involved a Bounce House and a water slide.
I got a phone call from The Drunk Ass at 9:30. He was calling to see how the party had gone.
TDA: Hey! What are you doing?
Me: Ummm…I am at Solantic.
TDA: Uh-oh! What the hell did you do last night?!
Me: See…what had happened was…
I told him how we had decided that a water slide was a good idea. And how JM had lost her shoes. And how the first thing that Spliff had said to me that morning (other than laughing and talking about the ER) had gone something like this:
Spliff: When we were in the fountain…
Me: We were in a WHAT?!
Spliff: You know, with Big Tyrone?
Me: Who the fuck is Big Tyrone?!
The Drunk Ass called us “ten baskets of crazy” and Spliff is now on crutches with a broken big toe. She gets to wear the boot of shame and everyone in her office gets to tease and taunt her about being “that girl” at the office party. Luckily, several of the other employees left dripping wet and shoeless that night, so, all in all, we came out pretty well. You know, aside from a panic attack and a broken toe.