So I woke up on a street corner at 4am in Menlo Park this weekend. True story.
I'm still trying to figure out what was going on in drunk drew's head. There are MILLIONS of questions here, probably starting with "why did you fall asleep on a street corner at 4am this weekend in Menlo Park." I've put the story back together through many renditions and follow up research through many sources, so I think I finally have it down.
So, it's probably never a good idea to drink a glass of champagne to start the evening with a raspberry in it. I mean, just on a lot of levels. This is not going to give you any image you were probably striving for at the wedding. You know, like "I like girls." What I've also discovered is that the waiters at the Circus Club (where the reception was held) will pour wine until you can't feel feelings anymore. Honestly, those guys are GUNNERS. Take a sip, BAM, he's poured aggressively for you again. Next sipHE'SALREADYPOUREDAGAIN. "Wait sir, that was my fifteenth glass, I think I just need to slo.." POURED AGAIN. So this is probably where the sound mindset I acquired for the rest of the night came into play. Fast forward to leaving the reception (after cleverly switching to vodka tonics, which were obviously gonna keep the night going, and/or make me not be able to open my left eye by 9pm), and our crew cleverly decides to go to the bar that has zero rules whatsoever.
Soooo, begin the fratastic flip cup tournament. Which lasted about one hour longer than I needed to be drinking glasses of beer over and over again. My first sign of "maybe we should call it a night" begins here, where Kevin and Dave go shirtless for no other reason...well no good reason, and decide to wear their ties around their heads like Rambo. Now here's where my favorite part begins.
Dave's girlfriend tells me that I should sit tight, and that a cab is coming in ten minutes. I say, "that sounds great!" and then uh, just wander off down the street for no apparent reason. This is my fourteenth awesome decision of the night. After walking/trying to run, then realizing I don't want to run at all and walking again for about 3 minutes, I randomly get into a car of two high school chicks. No, seriously. I don't even ask who they are, I just assume that this is of course the "drew hoolhorst" shuttle going to the precise location I was aiming for. Good thinking Drew! Next time make sure they are holding a butterfiinger outside of the car and run after it! I then proceed to drink more (why do people do this?) at Patrick's house, until I realize it's 3:30 and everyone has either gone home or passed out. So, being about a mile or so away from home, I opt to obviously make that next walk instead of sleeping on one of the 9,142 beds or couches at said comfortable house I'm already at. High five, Drew!
So in walking home about a block, I realize, inevitably, that I don't want to walk home at 3:30 in the morning, because it's really far and walking has made me realize that I'm JUST not going to sober up anytime soon. I have evidence on the phone that at this point I google search yellow cab in menlo park (you know, since yellow cab or ANY cab company in the world is either 777-7777 or 333-3333), and call them for the pickup. I sit down on the corner and wait for the cab.
Fast forward thirty minutes later to the part where there is a cop nudging me as I'm laying face down on the street corner, full suit and tie. Strangely, I don't even find this all that odd and keep professing that, "I was doing the right thing! I had the right intentions!" even though I have no idea what this really means. Since i'm a big boy grownup and am clearly wearing my big boy pants, I give the cop my mom's phone number (26 years old...um...) and he drives me home. Upon arrival at casa de angry mother who kind of hates me, I proceed to now tell her that I was "doing the right thing! I had the right intentions!" When she asks where my jacket is that i'm mysteriously not wearing, I let her know that "I left it at my other house." Um, what? Really Drew? Now the best part.
Upon waking up, I asked my mom how the cop found me. She informs me that he was called by a cab driver, who drove to the corner of Santa Cruz Ave. and Olive Ave. and found a guy face down on the street corner. He honked a bunch, but it appeared, "the kid was dead." So yes, this weekend I was pronounced dead by Yellow Cab. But you know what? The way I see it? I'm the real winner, because all I wanted was a ride home. Not only did I GET that ride home, but it was free! AND I got to nap in between! DOUBLE WIN! I wish everyone was as smart as me.
So the moral of the story is: If you want a ride home, just call a cab, pretend to die on the side of a road and wait for the cops to come. Make sure to tell them that you are doing the right thing and that your intentions are good, and always leave your jacket at your other house. Oh, and have them call your mom. This will let everyone know how much of a big boy you are.
In other news, things are going pretty well right now. Prrreetttty well....
The song of the day is by the greatest thing Canada has ever birthed. Tokyo police club could hit a stick on an empty plastic cool whip container and yell "la la la tacos!" and I'd think it was the best song anyone ever made. Honestly, I challenge them to do this, I will spend 99 cents on the single. That's a promise. They don't have a bad song that i've found to this day, but this one just gets better and better with time. Enjoy. Oh, and thanks, random police officer. I owe you a ride sometime.