The Witching Hour

And there she stood: sobbing, covered in her own puke, unwilling to comprehend that repeating, “Where’s Stu?!” wasn’t going to cause him to magically appear.  But, before we get into that any further, let’s take a look at how the night started…

Just some casual two-person pool action.

Another Casual Friday, I had just finished pumping out some curls-for-the-girls at the gym, and it was time to head over to Lonestar for Craig’s birthday gathering.  As per usual, I was late arriving, but for once I had a cool excuse: for the first time in all my years of being a Meathead, a girl showed interest in me at the gym based on how much I was lifting – pretty cool if you ask me…(just let me have my moment here, ok?  It is fleeting, don’t worry…).  Anyhow, after I finished basking in the spotlight for a literal second, we all gathered ’round, eating, drinking, and being merry.  After a while, the manager tells us the patio where we are sitting is closing, so that’s our cue to move the party along.  The middle part of this story is pretty typical:  beer; friends; shenanigans; girls; the usual.
The tail end of the night, around 2:30am, is where things become worthy of note again.  Craig’s “new German friend” leaves with her friend, he is crest-fallen.  He thought he was going to get to have his cake and eat it too…maybe next year bud!  We exit stage left, and make our way up town to the real event of the night:  The Running of The River.  A little background:  there is a small “river” that runs through central Queenstown that the city, instead of diverting it, built a neat series of tunnels to funnel it under the roads and buildings.  Back to the night; shoes are coming off, iPhone lights are being turned on, and a group of drunk dudes start wading into a shallow “river”, and proceed to walk upstream, into the dark.  A very sober me, siting on the grassy bank watching a poorly-lit groups of Brits stumbling through the lazy current, realizes that this is no time for passing on participation, and with shoes still firmly tied to feet, hops in and wades up after the group.

The Running Of The River

The Running of The River is a rite of passage, and I’m quite glad I found my age again and walked through the Ninja Turtle’s house.  The water was cold, the footing was questionable, and the judgment was semi-sound.  Pictures were taken, jokes were made, and most importantly, a bonding experience was had – the whole package really.  Upon exiting the tunnel, on the other side of town, pies were bought, and the night was regaled with great enthusiasm and shit-talking.  That’s when the sobbing mess came stumbling by, blinded by booze, relationship issues, and being Basic.  I tried to help, and really, the end result was just that our new friend Steph stumbled off again towards the bars, instead of the woods like she had been originally.  It ain’t all “glass slippers and fairy godmothers” every time you put your heals on and go out I guess (I wouldn’t know anything about that at any rate).  Just another Friday Night in Queenstown…

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