In case you were unaware, I hosted a pretty kick-ass New Year’s party last weekend. That doesn’t really have much to do with this story though, except that it’s important you understand why I had half a bottle of Captain Morgan’s Spiced Rum in my apartment. Because, not being a 19-year-old sorority girl, I don’t usually drink the stuff.
Anyway, the party was great, and we went through (without exaggeration) about nine gallons of liquor, along with several cases of wine and champs. We also had numerous cases of beer, but no one really drank that. It’s currently sitting in my refrigerator taking up lots of space, so please stop by if you want some free beer. Along with the beer, we brought the rest of the unconsumed booze up to my apartment. This was a fairly small item. I have been doing my best to give it away, but I wasn’t sure who would want half a bottle of the Captain, because I don’t know any sorority chicks.
I also had a bunch of leftover diet Coke. So last night I figured what the hell, I’ll have a Captain and Coke, and reminisce about the days when I was a sorority girl. Ok, I was never actually a sorority girl, but I was in college one and I did drink the Captain. Although I usually mixed him with my good friend Jack Daniel’s. (Better than it sounds.) Well I had one Captain and Coke and that was fine. I had another and everything was still pretty much ok. By the time I got to the third I was remembering that I don’t like rum because it makes me nauseous so I decided to go to bed. I had a very long day and was totally exhausted, and I fell asleep without incident. Then I started to dream. That’s where the real trouble began.
In my dream I was on one of my legendary shopping excursions with my best friend (the Crown Prince of Gaytopia). My credit score still trembles in fear at the mention of those trips, and the clerks at Barneys and Saks get all misty eyed if you bring it up. Ah the good old days.
During this particular shopping excursion we were being pursued by one of the Lithuanian terrorists from Back to the Future. They thought we had stolen their plutonium. In reality what we had was some sort of radioactive ecstasy. They can perhaps be forgiven for their error because it did look all green and glowy. (Important side note: Gaytopia does not condone nor encourage the ingestion of ecstasy, radioactive or otherwise, or, for that matter, plutonium.)
After leading our pursuer on a merry chase, which involved a high-speed bus ride, he finally caught up with us. It turns out that he wasn’t a terrorist at all and simply wanted his share of the radioactive ecstasy. I gave it to him and the Crown Prince and I proceeded to go shopping after taking our own ecstasy hits. Some time passed, and we wandered through store after store (or possibly one very large store) and I grew increasingly frustrated. For one thing, I couldn’t find a damn thing to buy (which if you know me is pretty freaking amazing), and for another, radioactive ecstasy apparently doesn’t have any immediate or apparent effect. The long term ramifications I prefer not to think about.
Eventually I gave up, and took my leave of the Prince, having just remembered I left our belongings on the bus. I retrieved them from under the bus seat and just as I was about to disembark, the bus began to move. I acted quickly, leaping out the window. Regrettably, in my haste I had once again left everything on the bus. I proceeded to chase the bus through the parking lot, and eventually the driver stopped and let me on. Unfortunately it seemed I was on an express bus (I probably should have remembered this since we had previously ridden the bus at high speed) and it wouldn’t stop for me to get off. It was also traveling much too fast to exit via the window again.
I couldn’t imagine what the Crown Prince was thinking at this point so I called him, only to discover he had left his cell phone on the bus along with the rest of our stuff. So there I was, trapped on a bus, barreling down the road at high speed, with no way to contact my best friend. I decided to try some more radioactive ecstasy. It didn’t help.
Eventually, the bus dropped me off (at another shopping mall…apparently it only operated between malls). At that point I remembered the Crown Prince had a second cell phone, which I called, and explained that I was somehow many miles away and that I would make my way back to him as quickly as possible.
That’s about where my adventure ended. I never did find out if I found the Crown Prince or was ever able to purchase anything. But I think this odd little dreamland excursion makes a pretty fair case to stay away from the rum, at least before bed. Also the radioactive ecstasy.
