"Death came around, foced to hear its song"

I still haven't been arrested. In fact, I haven't even come close to beinga arrested. Although I finally got kicked out of the bar. It only took me two years to do it too. Now, there have been many, many times when I was almost kicked out or been told the next day that the bartender thought he was going to have to throw me out. But it had never actually happened. Until Thursday night.

I came downtown somewhere around seven or so to have a couple drinks. I was trying to convince a friend to come with me to a show later that night. I eventually convince him to come downtown and go to the show with me. He shows up around nine or nine-thirty and we head over to the show around ten or so. At this point I've had maybe six or seven drinks so I'm still sober.

But then we get there - a place I don't go on a regular basis so I don't get a price break. This prompts me to ask the bartender what the biggest cheapest beer is. Luckily, they have 32 ounce beers for about five bucks. It is these 32 ounce beers that will eventually do me in. Judging by my tab the next morning, in the hour and a half to two hours that I was there I had four (one more than three, one less than five) 32 ounce beers. That's 128 ounces of beer. That's ten and two-thirds beers. In an hour and a half. Because of these beers, the last thing I remember is walking back to the bar.

I was fine at first. But according to second hand reports I proceeded to call the bartender (and the bartender's mother) a whore and slut. I drank a glass of water in about three seconds, and then proceeded to pass out while sitting up at the bar. Because that's how I roll. It was at this point that the bartender told my roommate, who had just arrived not too long before I stumbled in, that she was sorry, but that I needed to leave.

At least I wasn't physically ejected from the bar (at least, I don't think I was). But holy shit was I confused when I woke up in the morning wondering how I got home and what happened after eleven thirty.

This led me to go into the bar on Friday and apologize profusely to the bartender for being a drunken asshole. Thankfully, she's come to expect it. Then, because Friday was my birthday, she made me a crown. In an effort to make fun of the sorostitutes who walk around on their birthdays wearing a tiara and expect everyone to pay for all of their shit just because it's their motherfucking birthday, she made me a crown (out of a Michelob Ultra box) and taped an index card to it that said, "I'm the Birthday Girl!"

I wore the crown all night long. Random people on the street loved it. I confused about six random children (unable to understand sarcasm) who I'm sure were wondering whether or not I was actually a girl with a beard or not. I also ended up being in about four pictures with people that I didn't know (including one bachelorette party) because of the crown. It was a great night full of people buying me shots and drinks and drunkely swaying while sitting at the bar. Good times. Good times.