Famous last words, folks.

Despite my best intentions, I feel I've done less this week than I have all semester. This may or may not have to do with the fact that I drank at a Halloween party on Tuesday, had A&F callbacks on Wednesday, some friends of mine and I did 40s at 4:00 on Thursday, followed by bar review, followed by partying it up with recent grads who got bar results on Friday, followed up by the SBA tailgate on Saturday, followed up by the untimely appearance of a cold last night and subsequent sucking down of Airborne since 9:00 last night. Is this my body's way of telling me that it can't take much more alcohol? I hope not. We've got an A&F party coming up, and at least one more bar review. Hopefully this Airborne stuff will live up to its reputation and kick this cold before it has a chance to actually get bad. I've already seen noted improvement in the sore throat area, and I like the fact that it's tons of vitamin C, without all the citric acid that always gives me a tummy ache when I have the Halls Defense candies. But I've already had my cold of the semester. I can't get sick again, dammit!

Society Football finals are tonight, and I'd like to make an appearance. I believe 1L football semis are tonight as well. And I have a seminar assignment due tomorrow morning. ARGH! When did school happen? Who said that 3L year is the easiest? Why don't I have any discipline? Why is Brothers and Sisters turning out to be my favorite new TV show this season?

Okay, I have to buckle down right this minute. If I'm going to make it to football and to my television shows tonight, I need to finish start this assignment and shower, although maybe not in that order. Oh, and drink more Airborne. That's key.

Yeah, so the exorcism parts of The Exorcism of Emily Rose were kind of creepy. But the subtitles were way small so I actually couldn't read what the demons were saying. Probably best.

And my roommate kept waiting for the quiet parts and then screaming. I hate him. Mostly.

And another friend of mine said I was a leper. Okay, he didn't really say that. So I was forced to be a third wheel with my two friends who were cuddling. Because I was scared and needed moral support. When we got home, I had the dog check my room, closet, bathroom, and shower before I went in. All is safe.

I'm not a leper, by the way. I'm actually kind of fantastic. Not that lepers couldn't be fantastic people, too. I'm just fantastic without being a leper.

"How did we get home last night?"

That was the question posed to me by my roommate at 9:00 this morning. Five hours prior to that question, we were still going strong at A&F's first party of the year. Due to recent party-related controversy, I would like to say that ours did not offend anyone except the neighbor (she lived two blocks away) who came over to complain about the noise. But in the spirit of neighborly relations, we made our flipcup game silent after that, complete with golf clapping by the winning team.

In true Ruth fashion, I completely made an ass of myself, but I feel like people have come to expect that of me. My most embarrassing moment came when I thought it would be a great idea to drunkenly smoke a cigarette. Only... I don't smoke and on the few occasions I'd pretended to smoke, I didn't inhale. So there I was, looking like an eighth grader smoking for the first time, complete with the coughing and the other party-goers laughing at me. The splitting headache I had this morning? I blame that on the cigarettes. Or the alcohol. Or both. Best. Idea. Ever.

There was a time when I could drink really hard and not feel it the next day. I think that time is officially over. I am hurting. Hur-ting.



Oh, and I still don't have a job.

...as the walk of mild embarrassment.

A night of drinking? Check.

Stayed the night at someone else's house? Check.

Went home the next morning in clothes from night before? Check.

Hair a disaster? Check.

I think the key item that makes a trip home the walk of shame, however, is sex. And I just stayed the night at my friends' place because a DWI isn't desirable. Nor is death by car crash. Nevertheless, the rumpled clothes and disaster hair? Mildly embarrassing.

Highlights from my first-ever game of bar golf:

• Winning the LPGA. Perhaps. The official scorer wasn't really coherent by the time we reached the 9th hole. But I'm pretty sure I was in the top 2.


• The outfits.


• Whataburger's Honey Butter Chicken Biscuit the next morning. Mmmmmm.

Lowlights include the following: falling spectacularly on my ass at Spill, attempting to high five Antonin and getting smacked on my forehead instead, Antonin marking on my forehead with a green Sharpie, the insinuation that I am a drunk, and the power-saw that woke me up at 8:45 this morning. Ugh.

The plan: to have something to do on Saturday other than laundry.

The solution: go to the A&M/Army game in San Antonio.

After a long night of post-ACL drinking games at Chez Ruth, Antonin and I dragged ourselves out of bed (or in his case, couch) on Saturday morning. By morning, I mean almost noon. Dropped Antonin off at his place, and raced back to my house to shower, dress, and meet back up with Antonin, his girlfriend, and her roommate. When I arrived at 12:30, the road trip officially began. We had the CD full of jams, we had the flask full of Maker's, we had the pillows, blankets, and air mattress. I was provided with a Maroon Out 2002 shirt. In short, we were ready for the drive to San Antonio.

Things really got started when the jammin CD landed on Boyz II Men's "End of the Road," and we busted out with the four-part harmony. We're now planning a karaoke trip in the near future as a result. We sang along to some other songs. Rocked out to J Tim when we realized we had an audience. The usual. We arrived in San Antonio to find a sea of maroon and little to no parking.

Not one to be dismayed by the parking challenge, our fearless driver showed some real Talladega Nights driving action, as she attempted a right turn from the middle lane in front of a city bus that was pulling out. I almost died. We found a parking garage with spots open shortly after that and I was never so thankful to be on my feet. Then it was time to try to find K's parents' hotel. A (the other A, not Antonin) asked a helpful policeman on a bike, whose point in a general easterly direction and accompanying grunt somehow communicated exactly where to go. We were able to pick up our tickets from K's dad and also not make him late for the Military March-In (not sure if that's supposed to be capitalized... I'm not really sure what it even is, because we didn't see it).

After finding our own hotel, we quickly dropped off our stuff, I changed into a skirt (this fact will be important later on), and we headed to the Riverwalk for Ritas. We found what we were looking for and ordered two 60oz strawberry margaritas. We partnered off. Perhaps the strawberry puree was just overpowering the liquor at first, but we honestly suspected they were virgin margaritas. Antonin remarked that he didn't think there was any alcohol in his. Famous last words, I suppose, because the next thing we knew, we were fairly wasted. Pictures were taken. Yikes.

But fairly wasted leaves room for improvement. And improvement was found in the form of a CVS pharmacy on the Riverwalk, which sold individual 24oz cans of beer. We bought some. And drank some. At that time, J called, to see where we were at. We told him. He said he didn't recognize the name of the bar CVS. We tried to explain. He finally understood. He joined us shortly and ran in to grab some beer of his own. They were restocking the fridges, though, and his only choice of cold beer was Lone Star and Lone Star Light. He was about to grab the former when a nice old Aggie man suggested the latter. And let me tell you, Lone Star Light changed my life. It really made me rethink the way I buy beer.

Fast forward to a handful of beers later, and it was time to walk to the Alamodome. Antonin grabbed one more Lone Star Light for the road, but then realized that while we were allowed to roam the Riverwalk with open containers, the same may not be true for the street. No prob, we just drank it faster than we would have otherwise. A slice of greasy mall pizza and a bathroom trip later, and we were finally en route to the game, lost in a sea of maroon. We had our flask ready, but the Alamodome sold beer! It was expensive beer, but when you arrive at the game with your judgment already impaired, $6 beer suddenly seems like a fantastic idea. So we bought some.

Tune in to Part 2 for during and post-game fun, as Ruth learns the Aggie fight song, drinks more, has a photo shoot at the Alamo, wanders around downtown San Antonio, and laughs at Antonin. A lot.

Study finds that drinkers earn more money than non-drinkers. Unfortunately, drinkers then spend those extra earnings on Patron and various expensive bottles of Scotch, leaving everyone about even at the end of the day.

However, this study gives me hope that I won't be poor after all.

I have to give much love to my neighbor, who, despite meeting me just a week ago today, saw me home safely on Saturday night in what was possibly my worst state ever. When I finally have financial aid, I'm going to bake her a cake or buy her Tiff's Treats. Because she's just that awesome. I'll have to make sure she goes to all the same parties that I go to... just in case. ;)

In the meantime, I think alcohol is no longer my friend. I thought I was pacing myself Saturday night, so either my tolerance has gone way down, my body has developed an alcohol allergy, or I was inadvertently making doubles all night long, in which case I had a lot more to drink than I thought. The latter is certainly possible, but just in case, I'm going to take it easy on the drinking for a while. My body was not a happy camper yesterday. It's still not in top form today, despite my having slept about twenty hours (not joking) on Sunday. I tried waking up and being productive, but it hurt. My roommate even laughed at me. I feel so betrayed.

I'm going to go read for Conflicts now and remind myself that even if alcohol hates me (or perhaps I just secretly hate it?), my neighbor loves me. :)

I lost my Beer Bong virginity last night. In front of lots of people. You go through life thinking that your first time will be meaningful and private, but in reality it's just quick and dirty. I feel so violated.

But apparently I'm officially a mentor now.¹ Incoming students beware.

---

¹ All the new mentors were hazed peer pressured into beer bonging (can that be a verb, by the way?). I'm proud to say that all of us but one stepped up to the challenge. And it's only a matter of time before DLG gives in and joins us. Resistance is futile, Christina. Muahahaha.

There are very few moments when I can stop and think, "Damn. I'm proud to be a law student."

But when we drink a $2500 bar tab in 45 minutes, I have one of those moments. And last night, when I ordered shots at 10:45, only to find out that the tab was out, I said, "How'd we do that? I'm not even mad--that's amazing."

And that now-and-again is, well, now.

I don't know if all of the drinking is to numb myself for coming grades or to celebrate the fact that this semester is over and done with. It could also be that my sister made all of my drinks extra stiff tonight because we were playing poker and my game suffers big-time the more I drink.

Or it could just be that I like alcohol. *ponders*

Damn. This post has no point. But look at my mad drunk-typing skillz.*




* Ignore the fact that I proofread this post 33 times before clicking "post entry."