Recently I overpaid in the good name of charity for my very own breathalyzer.
I've been wanting one of these for quite some time.
I always say "Wow, I got so drunk last night!" but I'd actually like to document how drunk I really was. Because let's face it, I overexaggerate.
So the other day my new baby breathalyzer arrived in the mail. I had it delivered to work because I was homeless when I bought it (but now I have a sweet apartment I can't afford!).
I then had the brilliant idea that I would use said breathalyzer to document how drunk I get and maybe even make a chart to show the rise and fall of my BAL (and dignity). The chart idea quickly went out the window due to laziness, but I digress.
So last night I decided to christen my baby breathalyzer at a douchebar (douchebar = a phrase I coined that means a bar in which douchey people play beer pong and quote Anchorman) in my new neighborhood with Declan and Meghan. I ripped the molded plastic open and much to my surprise, the damn thing needed batteries! I thought it just ran on the stanky breath of alcoholics and celebrities.
"Blurgh!", I exclaimed, to the chagrin of Meghan, who vehemently opposes my use of Tina Fey's catchphrase. I guess she doesn't know that my plan is to keep saying it until I run into Tina on the street and she overhears me and makes me assistant writer on 30 Rock. IT COULD HAPPEN.
Dead breathalyzer aside, I decided to just get really drunk and guess my BAL decimal. Just like math class!
So here we go:
.00: I arrive at the bar and chat pleasantly with my friends. I do not overuse the word Blurgh and I do not spill my drinks on anyone. I do, however, complain about being hungry at least four times.
.03: We left aforementioned douchebar and walk outside, only to run into Ross, who was on his way to meet me. I was unaware he was coming, due to a communication misfire, which made me realize that I was at .03.
.05: We decide to go to another, less douchey bar, to drink pitchers of beer. I order my favorite food in the world, chicken fingers with buffalo sauce and blue cheese.
.07: My food comes and I complain bitterly that the chicken is NOT fried! WTF?!
.08: Ross says "Wow, I think you're drunk. Your words are slurred." I respond: "Whart are you teaklkidndgsad about?
.10: That bastard Declan decides to buy us a round of tequila shots. I grapple with the decision of whether I should drink mine or not. Better judgment prevails.
.11: The gang raises their shots in celebration of the Yankee win (I think? I'm the only Yankee fan). I have a fit of genius and decide to fake drinking it but really, I dump the tequila on the floor.
.11 continued: Ross says "I think Kelly dumped her shot on the floor!" I lie, frantically, pretending he's a stupid hipster with great hair and a lying mouth.
.12: Meghan looks at me in disgust and then notices that I accidentally poured the tequila shot into her open bag. Screeching and smacking follow.
.13: I attempt to apologize but am laughing too hard. Instead I chug beer in an attempt to prove that I'm not a wussy.
.14: After realizing that I have work tomorrow, I lie and say that I have to leave because I have an early morning interview. This is laughable because a. I would never leave my job to interview elsewhere because I hate cover letters and sometimes my company gives us free booze and b. I don't have the authority to interview anyone! I barely have the authority to do expense reports!
.15: I stumble into my new apartment and find Jack, my amiable new roommate, attempting to configure our new wireless router. Memories are fuzzy but I'm pretty sure I'm going to be homeless again. In my drunken stupor, I remember that I need to breathalyze myself. I steal the batteries from the remote and blow a .15. After harassing Jack for a few more minutes, I stumble into bed and pass out.
.09: I wake again at 2 am and blow again. Still not okay to drive.