The End of The Rainbow

What do you find at the end of the rainbow I ask? ‘Well’ you’d say,  ‘after arriving at the end of the rainbow and convincing the leprechaun standing guard to let you pass…you would peer down at a glittering pot of gold’. Unless you’re me. In which case, the end of the rainbow is a toilet bowl and what you’re peering at is actually your own vomit.

That’s how my St Patrick’s day went- it was a long messy rainbow.

It began with a sober and determinably sad call to a boy who doesn’t like me…asking him why he doesn’t like me. A.K.A an appropriate launching point for a night of drinking.

From there it transitioned, as you might’ve already guessed, to a slightly blurrier adventure. University residence room party, to which I decided there weren’t enough people in such a tiny room to satisfy my drunken need for attention. On my white tank top, I drew a clover on each boob and in a spur of tequila infused judgement, wrote “Help me get lucky” on the front of the shirt.

“Jackson’s frat” was the next stop on my rainbow. Jackson being the douchy ex-hookup of a friend. Jackson was to me, the definition of a frat boy (see #2 on urban dictionary), with the build of an ex-high school foot ball player, wearing a muscle tee and oversized green glasses, and holding none other than a red solo cup. What this stop entailed was a ‘wee dabble into coke’ (don’t worry, I already told my mom). In a room full of frat boys snorting lines, I took a tiny detour into hard drug territory (courtesy of “Jackson”) and decided that it was a good time to make my exit.

Frat number two, had announced earlier that day that they were opening their doors for the whole day and night, so naturally we headed there. A basement frat, as dark and dreary as it sounds. A foosball table, a bar, and a sparse dance floor.

While it is seemingly easier to have fun when you’re drunk, it’s also easy to get bored. So we walked ten minutes to another frat and knocked awkwardly at a door that had no people standing in front of it (highly unusual for a frat). The guy who answered was mid turning us away, explaining that there was no party, when a much drunker and much more stereotypical frat guy came to the door with a pitcher of beer. Obviously ecstatic at the arrival of girls, he invited us in and gave us each a glass. I decided once again that it was a good time to make my exit.

A mere walk around the corner proved us successful, stumbling upon Beta something, or in other words, the house with lots of people standing at the door. I had to ask the self proclaimed frat door guard to let my male friends in for less than the twenty dollars he was asking for, but didn’t manage much other than a very rude response. Jokes on me for thinking he’d fall for the flirting I suppose, or maybe he was gay? Yeah, let’s say that he was gay.

The catch with finding a successful (busy) frat is that they never last long and soon enough the party was called off, which for us meant returning to the basement frat. Less dreary now that my alcohol intake had increased. I was tackled to the ground and got up (so I’m told) then I danced, played some foosball, lost my earrings, pined over the boy that doesn’t like me (so I’m told) and eventually found myself kneeling on the ground outside…staring at pavement…and vomit.

That’s when I had found my pot of gold, A.K.A. the toilet, which someone helped me get to and also which I spent over an hour hanging over. In these scenarios when you’re aware of very little besides the contents of your stomach, the background is an endless sound track of people asking “whoa, is she ok?”, “she doesn’t look so good”.

And they were right, I didn’t look so good, which is exactly what the Uber driver told me when we met him outside. “Just give me one second, I won’t throw up in your car I promise”, is a little play by play of that conversation. So I eventually left ‘my pot of gold’ and walked away from ‘the rainbow’ so I could go die in quiet…at home.

Little pot twist though- I wasn’t alone (the tequila in me just thought I was) and woke up with a lesbian in my bed. So make what you want of that.

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