Northern Exposure, Day Three: Running the Marathon

I have a theory that hangovers tend to compound on top of one another when one drinks on successive nights. I had a feeling that this trip would serve as the ultimate field test. As it turns out, I was right.

Waking up on Wednesday proved to be one of the toughest things I've ever done. We all were brought to our feet however when our wrestling-loving friends from last night knocked on the door. As it turns out they still had 3 cases of beer and wished to just give them to us. Opportunity had literally just knocked on our door.

Despite the offer to just donate the brew to our cause Josh, a champion of men, offered to pay some cash for the outcast beer. As he toted the drinks into the room, where we were all still lying in bed, and announced that if we drank it all today then he would cover the cost himself. The gauntlet had been laid.

Bolting out of bed, our team went to work. It was noon. Whoopsie.

Unshowered, unshaven, and unprepared for the consequences of our actions, the tops started to pop. In addition to the cheap canadian beer, I was enjoying a few mixed drinks and indulged in about 7 or 8 screwdrivers.

It wasn't long before a shit-show ensued. The only other person who seemed to be on the same level as me was Vince. "Mosser," he said, "we're winning the sprint. Too bad we're running a marathon." He was right.

Soon after this we all learned about Kate's personal abhorration of germs. Living in a proverbial pigsty, hardly anything in the room that wasn't greasy let alone sterile. Even so, Kate decided to label her own water bottle and even garner the cap with a capital "K." Upon seeing this, Jason suddenly felt a yearning for a giant gulp of water. Kate then let out a blood-curdling scream that held more emotion than anything she had said all week. Thusly, the catchphrase of the day was, "AYEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" It had a ring to it.

Following this extended pregaming session the group decided to grab a quick bite to eat at the local Burger King. The fanciest. Apparently, however, East had been feeling no effects from the alcohol until he got his whopper. Things happened so fast that I only heard some ramblings about Honey Nut Cheerios and how the bee on the box was a smug bastard. These are the type of things that apparently go through his head and don't come out unless provoked.

Another quick trip to the Casino netted me an extra 30 dollars and also taught me a very important lesson: Old black women know blackjack and you should listen to everything they say.

Bussing over to Pepper's Bar and Grill, we started the night by once again going to a place where epilectic seizures are an everyday occurance. The keynote occurance of the stay was finding myself at the front of the dance floor on a stage and being told to get down because I wasn't a girl. I tried to explain to the gorilla-sized man who told me this that I had a pretty face and should be allowed to continue. Nevertheless, his stern look told me that I didn't stand a chance. Plus he had an earpiece. Gotta respect the earpiece.

A couple $8 dollar drinks and one rigged beer-chugging contest later we decided to move on towards another place where everyone else was drinking/dancing/falling down. There were women on the bar in bikinis. I was a little confused as to how they got there and whether or not they worked at the bar or if they decided to brave the windy Windsor streets in nothing but swimwear. Aside from the numerous mysteries of we were all starting to realize that this was our last night here...except for East, who was just pissed that they wouldn't let him in the hot body contest after he had already taken his shirt off.

It was during one of these celebratory toasts that Vince reminded me that we did indeed finish the marathon. So we heard last call, which is a train whistle in Canada, and went out looking for victory cigars and everyone followed in tow. As it turns out, cigar shops close at a decent hour and we all just ended up on the street telling stories about the last 3 days. For some reason, however, Whitney kept insisting we all get a cab. We kept putting this off and eventually she disappeared. A few minutes later she comes out from behind a doorway and a stream of liquid comes out from behind her. Whitney Whitis pissed on the street in Canada. I was completely impressed and showed this by laughing hysterically.

Continuing to walk home we decided to explore the space a little bit. This meant that we'd be going down every back alley we set our eyes on. Horrible idea. Along the way, though, I ran across a set of tires. Naturally, I took one.

Stuggling to carry the damn thing, which is a lot wider than it looked, I waddled back to the hotel. Upon arrival I considered sneaking in the back door and stealthily taking it up the steps but instead opted to throw caution to the wind and shuffle through the lobby and hope the man at the front desk didn't notice. Apparently...he noticed. As I as washing out my trophy for the week he knocked at the door and asked for the tire. Since we were almost home free without getting arrested, I obliged. However, I still wonder what the hell that guy did with the tire.

It was supposed to be a quiet night. We should have been exhausted. Turns out we're drinking for 16 hours and stealing tires. Oh, Canada indeed.

Tomorrow: The long ride home. Until then, keep your stick on the ice.