Thank You For Loving My Son.

Suggs here. I figured that I would write this post on Roby’s birthday, but I’m a couple days late. Whatever. It’s how I live my life. Anyway, Roby said this should be an intro to who I am as a person. Let’s see…I grew up in Rhode Island then moved to Gainesville for college when I was 17. After 4 years at UF, I moved home for 2 years, only to triumphantly return to Gainesville for 3 more years (which is when I met Roby). I now live in gay-ass Merrit Island with my fiancée, and have done so for a year and a half. It’s close enough to Gainesville that I can visit almost bi–weekly, so it’s not all bad. This is not so much an intro to me but as to where I’ve lived my entire life. Whatever, moving on… I like sports, TV, vodka, dogs, reading, and a few selected other things. The teams I follow religiously are the New England Patriots and the Florida Gators. I have two dogs- Chip and Dale, and a cat named Ace. They are all fucking awesome. I have recently become engaged to my boyfriend Mike who is also good friends with Roby. In fact Roby is in the unique position of being “that friend” who would just get fucked if Mike and I ever broke up. He is the best friend of both of us. He will be Mike’s best man in the wedding but Roby’s toast will be all about his friendship with me (if he is sober enough to function at that point). All of that is really boring shit about me that even I don’t care about and is not why I’ve been invited to contribute to this blog…so moving right along…

 


I mentioned earlier that I like vodka. By “like vodka” I mean “like to drink massive quantities of vodka at all times.” And a basic rule of thumb for me is the cheaper the better (exceptions: that red cough syrup UV cherry vodka and Blavod. Roby stole it, so it counts as cheap). Because of my love for vodka, when people ask me to contribute to something it’s to tell a story about the times I have consumed copious amounts of said beverage. I like to think I’m like the less funny female version of Tucker Max. Or at least I drink as much as him. Either way. you’ve already read about spring break ’07 through my eyes, so this time I will tell you the story of Mike’s surprise going away party. It was his last night in town before he left to accept a job at Kennedy Space Center.

 


Mike’s Going Away Party
Occurred: June 2008

I used to think that Mike had four stages of drinking; sober, buzzed, great time, and out of control. I had only seen him black out once and that was on St. Patrick’s Day when we were working at Bennigan’s, so it didn’t really count. He had called me once telling me he had thrown up into a pitcher at a bar and needed a ride, but I didn’t pay too much attention to him, as we were not yet dating. Another time, he had been kicked out of a bar on my birthday for throwing up in the bathroom. Since he was rational enough to point out to the bouncer that he had made it to the bathroom before vomiting, I don’t think that was so bad. He was much worse this night.

It was Mike’s last night in town, so we were going to get a little shitty. I told him that only Roby could hang out and that everyone else had plans, and he believed me because he believes the things that I tell him. Undeterred, he hit the bottle hard when Roby got to our house. It was roughly 5 pm on a Saturday. The three of us were breezing through a handle of shitty vodka and crystal light. This was nothing new. I only drink shitty vodka, and I always buy handles (go big or go home, right?). When the three of us are together, we of us usually drink an entire handle or something close to it. We drank the entire handle in less than 3 hours while watching re-runs of “The Girls Next Door” and some Lifetime movie featuring Donna from 90210. Not that it’s particular exciting but it what do you expect. It wasn’t even dark yet. So at around 8 we head out to Durty Nelly’s. Since Roby’s car is a sweet-ass 1998 Ford Contour, we begged him to drive. He obliged. The only problem was that he was completely retarded at this point. He drove 15 MPH on every back road between our place and Nelly’s as not to “get pinched” by the cops. He’s practically the only licensed driver in my circle of friends without a DUI, so who am I to argue? About 45 minutes later, we arrive at our destination, which was only about 4 miles away.

 

As we were approaching the bar, I saw Dave and Louise in the distance. I wanted him to be surprised by his friends, so Roby and I took him across the street to some shitty bar* that doesn’t have Budweiser products on draft. Look it’s fine to be a beer snob and not enjoy those beers, that doesn’t bother me. But if you’re a bar in America, and you don’t have Bud, you’re a fucking retarded bar and I hope you go out of business. Mike ordered a delirium. If you don’t know what Delirium is, Google it. Suffice it to say, it’s much stronger than beer. After Mike poisoned his belly with the pink elephant, we headed over to Durty Nelly’s.

 

 

*Editor’s note: The “shitty bar” we went to was Stubbie’s, a small beer joint with over 250 beers from around the world. It is great. Suggs is just a hater.

 

Upon arrival, Mike and Roby waste no time and slam a few red headed sluts (Jager is the main ingredient in these. I don’t do Jager.), and some Irish car bombs. I order a shot of vodka with a Budweiser back. God bless America. I’m not halfway done with my beer when I turn around in my seat and see the look in Mike’s eye. I yelled “NOOOO!” and pushed him towards the door, unfortunately, some people were in the way and he never made it to the door. Instead, Mike projectile vomited ALL OVER THE FLOOR, FRONT OF THE BAR, AND FEET of the people in front of the bar. It was absolutely ridiculous. It was the most vomit I have ever seen come out of one human being in my life (that’s including the time Roby drank 6 Sparks and hosed down the Oxford Manor parking lot). They immediately kicked Mike out. Please don’t forget Roby was just as drunk as Mike, he just decided NOT to ruin the night of everyone within vomiting distance. My friends Chris and Kerri were about to enter as we emerged from Durty Nelly’s reeking of erroneousness (and vomit). They assess the situation and Chris helps me get Roby and Mike into the car. They decide that the best cure for Mike’s nausea is Taco Bell.

 

 

After sitting in line at Taco Bell for thirty minutes we finally order. Everyone gives their money and by “everyone” I mean Chris gave me his money, Mike refused to pay, and Roby handed me a clothes hanger. We pulled up to the pickup window and Roby then tried to pay the taco bell drive thru lady with said hanger. Defeated, the woman at the window paid for Roby’s food. Mike was ravenous. He devoured that Cheesy Gordita Crunch like he hadn’t eaten for weeks. I guess that’s what happens when you go Mount St. Helens all over the bar.

 

Within minutes of getting back to my house, and Mike and Roby both passed out cold on my bed. I went into the guest room to see what Bridget, Kendra, and Holly were up to. After all, I had over an hour to kill until Saturday Night Live started. Mike definitely left Gainesville in style.



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