When the crawl started, we hit the ground running. A game of "Anchorman" left me chosen as the anchor for chugging a pitcher of beer, providing flashbacks to my funneling championship days. The next bar required a shot, something I thought I could handle. However, nobody told me that in Cleveland shots are actually served in eight ounce juice glasses.
We had a lengthy ride to the next stop. Thank goodness open containers are allowed on limo buses! There was an abundance of drinks to go along with the wide array of headache inducing country music. By the time we got to the third bar, the reggae band playing sounded heavenly.
Our next stop was at a favorite local establishment of mine. They offer drinks served up in fishbowls slightly larger than your traditional beer glass. Before the majority of the party finished their fishbowls, myself absolutely included, a few members of the group were passed out against the wall.
Back on the bus two people had passed out, a girl was throwing up, and the misplaced 60-year old couple kept tripping and falling all over everyone. It was quite a sobering scene for Jeff and I, two of the final ten left standing. No passing out for us. That is for the weak!
Throughout the whole experience, I learned a lot. Ranging from pacing yourself to following drinks with water bombs rather than Irish car bombs. But, what has really stuck with me, is the fact that my husband knows a little more country than I find acceptable!
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