Dads Playing Beer Pong

Yesterday I discovered two pros of being a graduate: 1) there’s a lot more drinking with parents involved which means alcohol is often bought for me and 2) even when me and all my friends wake up and we’re hungover bitches, it’s hard to be annoyed because we are all just happy we’re together.
Yesterday, I was at a graduation party and this morning I woke up from a dream about roast beef sandwiches that felt like it lasted for 12 hours. wtf? I hate roast beef and I usually don’t dream when I’m drunk. Weird all around. After 3 of my friends passed out between the hours of 11 and 1, myself and my one remaining friend were determined to not sleep. My friend group likes to make this pact a lot; it sounds good at the time but the problem is, we think that the more we drink, the more we will want to stay up and party, when in actuality, the more we drink, the more likely it is that we’re asleep in our clothes by midnight (such was the case with one of my friends who woke up in her maxi dress this morning with her sunglasses next to her on her pillow).
But before I get to this morning, I need to mention last night. If I had to assign a theme to the night, that theme would be: Dads Playing Beer Pong. I was on a team with my dad, who claimed he had never before played beer pong in his life. When he told me this, one million thoughts crossed my mind. “When was beer pong invented? How old is my dad? what did they do in college? I guess they played quarters; also…what’s quarters?”

Anyway, it was distressingly apparent that my dad had never played before because he only made two cups in our first game. Even more horrifying, I only made one. My dad’s lack of skill was understandable, but by my estimate I’ve played roughly ten thousand games of beer pong in my life so what was my excuse? As I got drunker, I got better and by the end of the night, our record was about .500 which was respectable but nothing to brag about. I needed to play Flip Cup immediately where I could really shine. When it came time to play the game that I was put on this Earth to excel at (flip cup), I got overly excited and shouted at a fifty year old father that he needed to “TREAT THE CUP LIKE YOU TREAT A LADY!” Whatever, it made him better and we won the next round.
After 12 rounds of flip cup, 20 cups of beer, and being “shushed” around 100 times, I finally called it a night and carefully coaxed my drunk friend to the edge of the bed so I could sleep where I wanted.
When I woke up, my hand was outstretched expecting a blue gatorade to be put in it, and all my friends were still asleep around me. I shuffled around to make enough noise to wake them all up without making it apparent that I was trying to wake them up. My one friend wondered what the fuck she was doing on the couch while another was confused as to why she was still in her maxi dress. I was feeling pretty proud of myself because I had managed to take off my bra, change my shirt, and remove my earrings. My one friend announced that she hadn’t been this hungover “since college” which sounds impressive but she could have just as easily said, “this is the worst hangover I’ve had since last month.” I can always count on my friends to make me feel like I have my shit a little bit together.
You never know which Hungover Me you’re gonna get. I could be a raging bitch or I could be asleep. This morning, though, Hungover Me was intensely curious about things that don’t matter. After eating our pork roll sandwiches telling each other that we hated each other a few dozen times, I started to try to better myself and my friends by asking the really hard questions: “if you cut off your ears, can you still hear? Would you rather have no arms and no legs or be blind, deaf, and mute? Are seahorses fish? What are lederhosen? Where does the saying “dressed to the nines” come from? What is sassafras?”

After learning about the dangers of sassafras, traditional German clothing, and Vincent VanGough, I thought it was the perfect time to make my exit before all my friends remembered how annoying I am when they’re trying to sleep and I’m trying to solve the problems of the world.
I guess post-grad life is only terrible if your friends aren’t perfect and if your parents are sloppy drunks.

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