Well, I'm done. I wish I could tell you how it went, but sadly (read: retardedly) you don't get your test results back for 3 weeks. It felt like it went fine (as in, no self-imploding or anything) but it's hard to tell how that will translate. Some practice tests I would feel like it went great but I sucked ass, and other times I surprised myself with a good score even though I felt like I took a dump on the test.
When I know, you'll know. Well, I might not announce my score, but I can at least tell you good, bad, or ugly!
I can, however, tell you of my post-LSAT celebrations. I left the testing center- fairly manic- and jammed out to Miles Davis' "Right Off" (my theme song) while I drove over to meet my friend, Turtle, at a bar that I sometimes hang out at and infrequently harass the bartenders of. Wow, there's a sentence.
I started slamming Goose and Bull (doesn't that seem like it should have some sort of animal-y nickname?) but switched to beers when I realized my pace would probably kill a rhino in 3 hours. That and some new friend I made (who told me gruesome stories of working in the social-worker industry) handed me over a few shots of cheap tequila. Can you mix good and bad tequila? I don't know. But I did anyway.
As the afternoon wore on a few well-wishers dropped by to buy me drinks/shots and congratulate/berate me for taking the test. A few friends were out of the picture that evening, but quite a few dropped by periodically to help me get hammered. Krust was MIA on a covert-declothing operation, Sandbagger was at a wedding reception, and The Johann was out of town and returning later. This meant I had to hassle another friend of mine- who wasn't planning on coming out till later- to hustle her butt up and help me drink. Since she was also bringing her German friend/thinks-she-can-outsass-me-personal-trainer I told her to "Blitzkrieg the shit" out of getting ready and take to the bar like "von Brauchitsch took Poland." Yeah, I think I kept the WWII jokes going all night.
By the second bar I was full-on buzzed, though I would seem to not exceed this state all night despite copious amounts of drinks and shots. I have a dangerously impulsive attitude and an insane alcohol tolerance that sometimes lead me to say "yes" to every drink offered and even snatch shots off the bar away from unsuspecting patrons. If they're too dumb to notice- fuck 'em! It's my party, right? (okay, it's not.)
The good news of the evening for all involved was that The Johann finally broke out a few dance moves. I've warned of these moves already, and find it difficult to understate their epic awesomeness. Sadly the band sucked and he didn't really get into his full on "dancing with myself by the wall" groove, but people got a taste- and that was enough to prove me right. That kid can DANCE!
That party turned into a hometown party, where I drug otherwise peaceful city-folk into the county to experience the small-town shenanigans of my hometown. My cousins were out and about too, so it was extra fun. Cue karaoke, douchebag guys lifting up the skirts of some of my friends (luckily cooler heads prevailed there), and lots of shots. What? It's closing time? Screw it! Going to my house! Which, we did.
Speaking of cousins, I got to see another one of my cousins that night at about 4 AM. He works as a Sheriff's deputy. Yup, it had gotten a bit loud so we had to take it inside, but he is a really nice guy and was laughing more than anything. I think I drunkenly accused him of giving me a speeding ticket before, but I'm an idiot and it was actually a different deputy that did it. I suppose I should apologize?
After that it was merely a matter of everyone surviving until the next morning, finding their keys/cars/etc., and sleeping it off. Well, except for two friends who had some sort of epic fight, wandered around the town at 5AM, fighting, and walked over 15 miles back to town. Yes, I helped coordinate a rescue effort the next day (even utilizing the surveillance tapes at the gas station!) and yes, we found everybody and everyone was safe. I myself didn't make it through much of Sunday to enjoy it, but that's the price you pay when you drink like a fiend for over 14 hours straight!
Surprisingly, at the first bar I was at I was being hilarious (read: slightly annoying) to the first bartender (who rocks) and didn't have any problems, but when the new chick took over (who I do actually like too) I threw one ice cube at her (hilarious) and she said "Caleb, I like you, but if you throw one more thing at me I'm throwing you out."
Ouch. Buzz kill.
Did I throw anything else?
What do you think?!
She didn't catch me though! PS don't tell her
Caleb "I'm finally f8cking done!" Shreves