Cru Jones Society

My jump back into non-Olympic normal life started with a night filled with drinks and punk rock, and it was great. My Saturday was more boozed filled, just as fun, but a little harsher. It was just the Saturday that I needed before this crazy DNC week. What? The week has been relatively calm? Oh, well, what’s done is done so read on.

Saturday I had a Beirut tournament slash pool party to attend. A cool pool party, to quote the Aquabats and get that song stuck in Dagger’s head. After enjoying the morning sun and running several errands, the afternoon rolled around and I made my way to the party only to arrive at the same times as the clouds. We should have carpooled.

Clouds or not I was ready to start drinking, so I did. At the same time we began a game of catch with a splash ball. I haven’t played with a splash ball in some 15 years and I was quickly reminded of just how awesome such balls are. For those unfamiliar with such a fantastic toy, the splash ball is a soft sponge like ball. You dunk it in water and let it absorb what it can, then throw it like any ball. When the recipient catches the ball they are then splashed with water. After taking several shots to the face, I was completely wet.

After several beers, a sufficient amount of splash ball, and several line up changes, it was time to start the Beirut tourney. As part of team Emo Clap, I had a title to defend from the last tourney. I was determined to keep that title. Apparently the first team we played was more determined to take it away from us. Sadly we lost in the first round.

Dammit.

Oh well. I forget the team name that won the tournament, but they are an engaged couple and we almost convinced them to wear the title belts at their wedding. A little more nagging and we may have done it.

The night continued on with usual party fare continued. More drinking games, ball busting, and general good times. As darkness over took the sky I felt that I needed to go for a walk. I get this ridiculous idea a lot when I drink.

I should have taken the steps as a sign not to go. I tripped on the first one, going up by the way. I spilled most of my beer and put a pretty nice gash in my leg that I wouldn’t fully realize until the next day. The rest of the walk went without a hitch but I was feeling nauseated and didn’t drink any more.

When I got back to the party I took a lounged seat on the small couch and watched some Beirut. After drifting in and out of consciousness I decided to just give in and go to bed. I wandered into the spare room and took refuge on the futon.

It was somewhere around 9 pm, the party was still in full swing, and I was dead asleep. That means I put myself at risk, and I felt the consequences.

I awoke around 5 am to use the bathroom, and upon doing so I noticed blue all over my hands. My thought was that the color was coming off the swim trunks I was wearing. Perfectly logical idea when you’re half asleep and half drunk. But as I washed up and had a mirror in front of me I saw the real culprit to the blue on my hand. I had marker all over my face. I was later told that it was suppose to be a penis, but inartistic drunk friend can’t draw and it appeared to just be scribbles.

I wasn’t mad. How could I be? I knew the possibilities of falling a sleep amongst so many drunken folk.

But I gathered my things and went home. Upon arriving I vomited something fierce. I washed up and fell back to sleep. Several hours later I wandered into the living room and spent the rest of the day on the couch watching the Olympics and sleeping off and on all day.

I was back to my normal life. Who wants a shot?

See ya in the pit . . .

lee.s.hart@crujonessociety.com