Ah fuck, it happened again.

It was Tuesday afternoon and my cell phone rang. It’s The Silver Fox. He’s going apeshit and can’t take it anymore, and doesn’t know if he can make it ’til the end of the week to come up. And I just bombed a midterm so I’m feeling it too.

“Hey, guess what dude? I don’t have school tomorrow. Come up.” I say to The Silver Fox on the other end.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?!??!!! WHY?”

“Dude, tomorrow is Cesar Chavez’ birthday, there’s no class. Come up dude, I’m feeling it. This town is perched on the edge of a knife. Come up. I get out of class at 6:15.”

Long pause. I can hear the gears turning in his head as he rapidly hatches a plan to get away from home.

“I’m coming up dude. If I stay here one minute longer I’ll go hog wild. I’ll be there around 7.”

Click. Yeah, I can feel it. Tuesday night in Chico and the weather is perfect. And nobody has class tomorrow? Holy shit I’m going to explode.

I haven’t blacked out in awhile, but I know it’s going to happen. I can just tell these things. There is a certain electricity in the air. I KNOW when a night is going to be good. I could FEEL the energy on campus, downtown, and in classes. Tonight was going to be wild.

As I sit in my Ancient Greek Art class I can barely contain myself. I’m not listening to the lecture at all. I’m staring at the clock, staring at that girl’s big chest over there (oh hey, what’s up?), and back to the clock. 30 more minutes. I can’t take it. I’m sitting in the back row, in the back corner, opposite the door. I have to walk all the way down the aisle and cut across the whole front of the classroom. I get up and walk out of the class. I cut right in front of the professor, right in front of the whole class. No explanation, no “excuse me”, no “see ya later”, nothing. I just get up and walk out. With a fucking purpose.

As I’m walking out of the old, brick art building I see the vibrant sun setting on the far horizon. Young people are playing with a reggae colored frisbee on the lawn in front of the bell tower. A girl is riding a very long skateboard, getting towed by her friend on a purple mountain bike. Across the street people are having cheap coffee and sitting outside at the dirty plastic tables on the sidewalk. A couple of teenage wanna-be punks are smoking cigarettes they had to beg someone of age to buy them next to the tattoo parlor. Music blares from a green convertible as it passes by. The air feels so alive, I feel like I can reach out and take it.

I don’t take the long way home this time. Usually I take a gerrymandering, squiggly line route home that brings me by all the sorority girl houses and bars, but not today. I cut across the park, across the train tracks, and make a bee-line for my apartment.

Once inside I grab my icechest and run down the stairs to my truck. I go around the corner to the gas station and buy a 30 pack of Coors Light and big, fat bag of ice.

“Hey Tom, is your buddy coming up again tonight?”

These people know me so well it’s sad. I bet they’re really gonna miss my business when I move.

Once I’ve got all those beautiful Silver Bullets perfectly layered in ice I drive back around the corner to my house, grab the ice chest, and haul it upstairs.

Shit, my apartment is a mess. Like, it’s really messy. I have books and papers strewn about EVERYWHERE. My bed isn’t made, I’ve got laundry overflowing out of the hamper, and dishes are piled sky-high in the sink. Normally I would make an effort to clean the house before company, but not tonight. Fuck it. I’ve got beer to drink.

Do you think I drank that first beer in 3 gulps? Do you?

Like clockwork The Silver Fox ROARS into the parking lot at 7pm on the dot. His truck door slams and I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. I’m sitting at my desk, working on my 3rd beer, fiddling with my computer, selecting music to start off the night–The Police, Elvis, the whole 80s music directory, and selected classic country hits.

The Silver Fox doesn’t say a word as he walks in the door, and neither do I. He goes straight for the ice chest and digs deep. *crish* *gulp* *sigh*

“WHAT’S UP DUDE!? I’M HERE! LET’S DRINK!”

Hell yeah, it’s going to be that kind of night.

A few gulps later he’s done with his first beer. He crushes the can flat with both hands, and throws the can out the front door and onto the lawn in front of my apartment. The Silver Fox knows, after many trips to Chico, that the cans will be gone by 6am. The bike people appreciate our making their jobs easier. When the can is on the lawn, they don’t have to dumpster dive to find them.

The Silver Fox pounds another beer and opens his 3rd. He hasn’t even been here 5 minutes. He’s pacing the room, going nuts, making primal grunts and other noises as he pounds beer after beer. And I keep up.

By 9 o’clock we’re both drunker than Cooter Brown. Of course we haven’t eaten, and we don’t plan to. We know the routine. If you eat, you can’t drink as much. It’s a non-issue.

The Silver Fox puts on some Elvis and cranks up the volume. Now, I just bought new speakers and let me tell you–they rock the fucking house. With all the bass and everything turned up the walls shake, and that is not an exaggeration. The Silver Fox has his shirt off and he’s playing air guitar on my balcony. I join him outside, singing Elvis lyrics as loud as I can, with The Silver Fox on backup.

Soon we attract an audience. The girls from downstairs are in the parking lot below my little balcony. Some kids from across the street come over to see what the two drunk jackasses are doing. The song ends and everyone erupts into cheers and applause.

More people start to show up. I bring the ice chest down to the parking lot. Everyone is outside, drinking, talking, hanging out, and having a good time.

Now it’s 10pm and The Silver Fox and I are starting to talk like pirates, and we soon start talking about rum. Now, at this point the last thing we need is another drink. However, this does not deter us. I grab a couple of girls and we all go upstairs for shots of rum (because that’s what pirates drink)

While we’re upstairs the party in the parking lot thins as people start getting ready to hit the bars. The girls hang out for awhile. One girl I think is hitting on The Silver Fox, but he’s so drunk and oblivious he can’t pick up on her advances. The other girl is NOT into me, so I ignore her. The girls soon leave, the party downstairs has gone away, and The Silver Fox and I are so drunk we’re stumbling.

I look at my watch. 10:30pm. Holy fucking shit. It is WAY too early for us to be this drunk.

“Let’s go dude, I want a Salty Dog!” The Silver Fox tells me as best he can through his slurring and wildly gyrating hand gestures. When The Silver Fox gets all liquored up he tends to flail his arms around and make rapid head movements to make his points while talking.

The Silver Fox is walking out the door and down the stairs. He’s still not wearing a shirt.

“You gotta put a shirt on jackass!”

“Ah fuck it, just throw me one!”

I close the door and start walking. I get to the sidewalk and I realize I’m not wearing any shoes. What the fuck? I don’t remember taking my shoes off. I’m in my socks, but no shoes.

“God dammit I forgot my shoes dude! We gotta go back.”

“You jackass! You fucking jackass!” (arms flailing)

From this point on the details start to get a little hazy.

I want to wear my favorite shoes, my black low-top Converse Chuck Taylor styles. These are the ones I had on earlier, but in my drunken stupor I took them off. And now I can’t find them. I’m starting to get pissed. This would be the 3rd pair I’ve lost while drunk. And THIS time in my own damn house. I’m ripping shit apart looking for my shoes. There are plenty of other functional shoes to wear, and readily available, but I’m in the zone and I want my black Cons. Plus, I’m pissed because I keep losing my fucking shoes while I’m drunk.

I’m storming all over my apartment, tearing it apart, looking for my shoes, in a hurry. I SLAM my naked toes into my bedframe. I crumble in pain. I’m rolling around on the ground and clutching my toes, moaning. And The Silver Fox is laughing like a loon.

“YOU JACKASS! YOU FUCKING JACKASS!”

Soon the pain goes away (most likely due to the copious amounts of alcohol in my system) and I start to laugh too.

I need a drink and I need one soon. I give up on trying to find my black Cons. I grab a pair of shoes and we finally head out the door.

Shit, my toes are starting to hurt. We walk all the way downtown and go to the Bear. I see some girls I know and we start talking to them. These girls are totally rad. Both are beach gals from sunny San Diego. They are so laid back and fun and all they want to do is party. They sit in front of me in one of my classes. I usually keep them entertained with drunk stories. I can only imagine what they think of a 32 year old guy still in college, still partying hard. Tonight I’m so liquored up and slurring my words so badly that is enough to make them laugh.

I forget exactly what happens at the Bear, but I do know that I got kicked out. One minute I had to take a piss, the next minute I’m out on the sidewalk. The Silver Fox gets kicked out too. I think we were just too drunk, swaying, falling down, and knocking people over. I know the bouncers, and they are cool with me, so they let us go. It’s not even midnight yet.

We walk to Joe’s and try to get in. The bouncers at the front door look at us and say, “Sorry guys, no way.” We’re just too drunk. So The Silver Fox and I walk around to the side gate. Yep, my buddy is working. I slip him a 20 and we’re in.

The Salty Dogs flow like wine and then… the inevitable blackout.

I’m wet and it is cold. I can hear running water. My head is pounding and everything is spinning. I lift my head up and a wave of nausea washes over me. I think this is grass. Yes, I’m on a lawn. My eyes focus and I realize I am home. The sprinklers are on and I’m soaking wet. Actually it feels kind of good.

Shit I gotta get inside before I get arrested. I pick myself up and stumble, fall down, get up, and crawl up the stairs to my apartment. The front door is open. The Silver Fox is passed out on the floor. I trip and fall over him. Fuck it, I just lay there on the floor next to him. I pass out again.

Next thing I know it is morning. I can hear people going about their day. The sun is shining and there is a nice breeze flowing in through the front door, which we left open AGAIN for the umpteenth time.

Oh my head, oh my back, oh my stomach…

This is quite possibly the worst I have ever felt after a night of boozing. The Silver Fox gets up and he’s no better. It’s about 10am. We figure we slept for about 10 hours on the floor.

“What the fuck happened last night dude? What did we do?”

The apartment is a disaster. Beer cans and shot glasses are littered all over the floor and countertops and bathroom. Clothes everywhere, shoes everywhere. I really fucked my place up looking for those black Cons.

Oh shit, my shoes. Whew, I’ve still got the ones I was wearing when I went out. But where are my black Cons?

The Silver Fox and I talk and piece together the night before as best we can. We both blacked out at Joe’s, so once again there is a huge gap of missing time from Joe’s ’til we got home.

The Silver Fox has to get going. He talks me into going to breakfast. I do not feel like eating. We go to a new cafe around the corner from my house. I order a waffle and stare at it. The Silver Fox forces down some eggs and toast. We leave.

Once back at my place the hangover is in full effect. The Silver Fox packs up and leaves around noon. I spend the rest of the day in misery, cleaning up my apartment and nursing the worst hangover of all time.

And now it’s almost midnight. I still feel like crap. I managed to clean up my apartment and eat some fruit earlier. This one is going to take a few days to go away.

I searched all afternoon for my shoes. I found one, but the other is still MIA. I guess one out of two ain’t so bad…