Very Bad Things

Act I, in which I am fucked.

It started Thursday night.

I was scheduled to fly home to see my friend, The Doc, get married in Michigan.

My flight was delayed, delayed and then cancelled. Northwest booked me on a Continental flight -- since there were NO flights out of any THREE Washington airports -- at 7 a.m. the next morning.

Fine. I was up at 5 a.m. As I was getting ready to wake Cheese to take me to the airport I thought I would just check the flight status. I expected it to be fine. This was my 10th trip of the year and I hadn't encountered any problems before.

Cancelled.

Fine. Northwest booked me on another Continental flight that connected to Detroit in Newark. It was supposed to take off at 5 p.m. I got to the airport where I was promptly told my flight was....delayed. Time to start the game "How Drunk Can Scott Get Before He Gets On A Plane?"

As I was drinking beer after beer in the airport bar across from my gate I kept seeing my flight get pushed back in 15-minute increments. Finally, it held at a 7:15 departure. As I prepared to board they announced that it would be another half an hour. And my flight out of Newark was delayed as well.

Option A) Wait it out. Hope that my flight out of Newark is not cancelled, which, at this point of the debacle was entirely expected. And, if my flight gets cancelled in Newark so what? I hear there are some beautiful sites to see there, like corpses.

Option B) Recognize I did my best, say "enoughisafuckingnough" and go to the shore to see Heather and get wasted in Dewey Beach.

Anyone?

That's right.

Act II, in which I am inadvertently an asshole

I woke up on Saturday and planned to hitch a ride with SoberSunburn. She had a bachelorette party in Dewey so it looked like it would work out perfectly.

My clothes were packed and we were just about to hit the road when I got this text from Heather, who was already at the beach.

"Did we tell SomeGirl that SomeGuy has herpes?"

Who?

I didn't even know who she was talking about. The first weekend I was there I met, maybe, 20 different guys. Heather explained and I kind of remembered the guy.

Of course I didn't say that.

I mean, what kind of asshole....

...would tell a girl that SomeGuy...

...who I had just met....

...has herpes?

We were about an hour into the trip when my moment of clarity arrived.

During my first Sunday in Dewey I had four of these mind-fucker drinks in an hour and was shit-faced for the rest of the day. I don't remember a few parts of that day, but there is one that kind of popped in there.

I was standing at the deck at The Starboard when SomeGirl walked up to us. At sooooome point she asks me if I know SomeGuy. I, in my inebriated state mixed with my sarcastic nature, decide to tell SomeGirl that, yes, I do in fact know him.....

....because he gave me herpes.

Clearly she did not get the joke.

What followed was relayed to me by Heather: SomeGirl calls SomeGuy sobbing and explains that blah, blah, blah this blonde guy told her that he has herpes. SomeGuy, I guess, has to explain that he doesn't.

Now, understandably, if some guy I just met told some girl that I had herpes, without pretext, I would be pretty pissed too. But Heather assured me he was cool with it.

I arrive at the house to find that SomeGuy is not cool with it, and that he is quite wasted. And pissed.

Oh well. There wasn't much I could do then. If the situation were reversed and you tried to explain the whole situation to me when I was piss-on-a-couch drunk and was in a bad state of mind it would have only pissed me off more. Whatever, pass the beer.

So, pissed off about not being at my friend's wedding, and pissed off about the five-fucking-hour drive, and pissed off about the VERY bad vibe coming from the house, I decided that drinking a lot would solve my problems.

It did.

Act III, in which.....people tell me what I did the night before.

My second weekend in Dewey and I still haven't made it past midnight without passing out. Heather and I met SoberSunburn at the bar where she fed me water. Then, for some unknown reason, I got pissed and started walking home until they caught up with me and Heather quickly transformed herself from Fun as Hell Heather to Scott's Handler Heather. We went home and passed out.

SomeGuy, and a bunch of other guys in the house, were up until about 5 a.m.

They woke up to find: they needed a new door, because they had punched and kicked one until it was pretty much useless; the couch was broken; the door handle was broken; there was a chair on the roof; the inflatable swimming pool was puntured; a rake was broken.

I also woke up to find my mouth and nose sore as shit. For awhile I thought that maybe one of the guys had walked into my room and punched me in the grill.

Then Heather remembered.

Heather: MIKE TYSON'S PUNCH OUT! I PUNCHED YOU!

During one of my blackouts we were at a bar and throwing mock punches because we were talking about the famous Nintendo game. Apparently, she landed a punch accidentally.

Understood.

We also found out that it was just a weird night in Dewey in general. At breakfast a woman said she never saw so many people get kicked out of the bar before. And, when we met up with SoberSunburn, she told us about HER bachelorette party, where some girl in the party bitch-slapped another girl in the party.

And, apparently, SoberSunburn got quite the kick out of her letting me sip her water the night before.

Why?

SoberSunburn: You mean you don't remember drinking out of the penis straw?

Nope.