Don't Judge Me

Here's the story (pardon me if it is wordy and long-winded):

Marshall, Jason, and I chose to go to Fayetteville on the evening of January 10. It was the last Saturday before we all had to report back to the unfriendly confines of Arkansas Tech. We had planned to go to Habibi first. Get some drinks. Then head to another bar or two. Then finish the night back at Habibi and do some after-hours drinking. Nice plan...

Trent and his girlfriend, Brittany, were going up to Fayetteville for a friend's birthday, so we decided to ride with them. We got to Habibi at 9 pm. By 10 pm, we were walking out the door to go to (insert Mike's cringe here) a strip club. If you know me, you know that I am COMPLETELY out of my element at a strip club. After we'd been there for a bit, Jason hits on a lady. NOT a dancer. NOT a waitress. NOT a bartender. Just simply a patron of the establishment. She tells him that she and her group of friends are planning on going out on Dickson Street later and that he should meet them. They exchange numbers. After an hour of diverting my eye contact from the stage, we leave. We're back at Habibi at 11:15. (<- That will be the last actual "time" that I remember) We tell Shane the stories of the club. We drink. We drink. We mingle. We drink.

Jason gets a text from ole girl. They're at Stir. He wants to go over there. I go as a wingman. We get there. Her friends are getting kicked out as we arrive. Literally. We don't have to pay the cover because the bouncers and doormen are escorting her friends to the street. Nice. She's about to leave since her friends got kicked out. I pound a drink. We leave. Next bar is called Z-330. It's packed. Shoulder to shoulder. Loud music. I go to the bar to get us a drink. Jason conversates with ole girl. After I make a lap to see if I know anyone else there, Jason finds me. Her and her friends are leaving. They're going home. No biggie. We go back to Habibi.

We arrive to Habibi to find it at around 1/2 capacity, which is busy for Habeebs. We drink. We mingle. We drink. Last call comes and goes. We go into the private room. We drink. We smoke hookah. We drink. Shane brings shots. We drink. We drink. Shane brings shots. We drink. We drink. Shane brings shots. We drink. We drink. Shane brings shots. We drink. You get the idea. People periodically leave. There is only Jason, Marshall, Shane, a girl named Christy, and a girl named Susan left. Marshall is talking about his pinched nerve and how hot tubs make it feel better. Susan comments that she has a hot tub. Uh-oh.

We make the drive to Springdale. I don't know how long it took. We get there. Sure enough, there's a hot tub out back. Splash. Marshall's in. Splash. Shane's in. Splash. Susan's in. Splash. Mike's in. Splash. Jason's in. Splash. Christy's in. I don't know the capacity of this particular model of spa, but I know that we were all in it. We drink. We soak. We drink. We soak. I play fetch with Susan's charming chocolate lab, Kota. Jason is the first one out. He's ready for bed. He goes inside, lies down, and falls asleep/passes out. Shane drops a beer bottle on the patio. Concrete + Glass = no good for bare feet or puppy dog feet. I hop out and sweep it up. I, then, decide that I don't want to get back in the tub. I want to dry off and call it a night. I don't know how long I sat on the couch watching tv, but then shane and marshall came in and announced our departure. We wake up Jason. I put Susan in bed. Christy goes to bed on her own. We leave.

On the car ride back to Shane's house, we decide that we're hungry. Our destination changes to Denny's. On the ride to Denny's, Marshall calls our buddy, Travis, that used to live with us but now lives in Tampa, Fl. Travis is awake. Why, you ask? Because according to Marshall's call log on his cell phone, we called him at 10:34 am, which made it 11:34 am EST. We laugh. We tell him about our evening/morning. Good times. When we arrive at Denny's we sit down, order too much food, talk loudly, curse loudly, receive angry stares from other tables, and laugh. Needless to say, the hostess didn't sit any other tables NEAR us. I guess I don't blame her since it WAS Sunday morning at 11. After paying the tab and leaving a hefty tip, we travel back to Shane's house. Upon arrival at approximately 11:45 am, Shane turns on Tropic Thunder. We laugh. We laugh. We laugh. We fall asleep.

Trent wakes us up. Apparently, it's time to leave. I don't realize it until we are already on the interstate and I look at the clock, but it is 12:30 pm. That's right, Ladies and Gents. We had been asleep for around 20-30 minutes. Never, throughout the whole night/morning, did any of us blackout. We remembered every moment.

We arrived in Fayetteville at 9pm on Saturday. We arrived back in Russellville at about 2:15 pm on Sunday. Our trip lasted a little more than 17 hours. It felt like a month.

*Some details of these accounts have been omitted by me*