Ohhh haaayyy!

Guys. What... happened?! I haven't blogged in weeks and I bet you all (ya'll for my non-existent southern followers) are sitting there behind your lappy toppies screaming "give me moooore!" Have no fear... I has returned. Now I unfortunately blacked out a good 2 weeks of the last month but not for the reasons you think. I've said it before and I'll say it again. Sooo liiiike I have this job and I have to do work and sometimes I don't get to blog. So it's not you... it's me. HA.

ANYWHO! I went to the Yankees/Twins game last week. The game started at 1 in the afternoon so what do my friends and I decide? Well we naturally decide that our day'o'drinking must start at 9 am with breakfast. Wasssuuupp colllege??? Started the morning out right with some tast-ay breakfast burritos and a stiff screw driver. Turns out that liquor either hits you faster in the morning or the OJ does a fantastic job of masking the vodka. Welp. Time to get the 10:30 am train.

Our crew gets on the train and we apparently have a mental lapse and forget the fact that most people are just waking up/starting their days/drinking coffee sans alcohol but that doesn't stop us from being the loud obnoxious kids on the trains. "HEY. HEY. WHAT BAR ARE WE GOING TO AGAIN?"
It's fine. We were judged but to quote Miley Cyrus "Remember only God can judge ya."

Fast forward to the stadium, post making friends with a Yankees stadium food vendor and other Minnesota transplants to New York. To the bar we go! Who wants a fireball?? Errrryone wants a fireball. Bartender says "$10 per shot." Merrrrr. Nobody wants those shots anymore. Thanks New York for being ridiculously over priced. We just bought 4 bottles of liquor for a teaspoon shot. Over it. More beer!

Time to go to the stadium! Some baseball happens. Blah blah blah but I'm more concerned about some cheesey fries. My Midwest friends know what's up. I approach the vendor and very sternly say "I'm... from the midwest. And I LOVE cheese. Can you please drench those fries in cheese? I don't even care. I'll pay extra." Whatever I said worked because all I know is I got some fries with my cheese and I.Was.In.Heaven. Sometime between eating my fries and pretending to watch some baseball our friend informs us that he left his ID and card back at the bar. Fail. So we leave the game after the 7th inning to return to the bar.

We all have the sudden realization that.... well... we're innnn the bar... we might as well have another drink or 3... Party party party. Minor spaz on some New Yorker for calling me not cultured because I was from the Midwest. Exit bar. Train. Confusion. Lifetime movies to end the night. Sunday morning wake up with no hangover. Success. Call me a proooo-fessional drinker.