Now this is going to be a fun one, the story of the worst sugar crash in my life (at least since I was a kid, where I probably binged on Easter candy and then promptly passed out after a series of destructive acts – running in the house, hitting my little brother, sobbing uncontrollably, etc.).
Last fall us Epsilon Sigma Alpha alumni got together per the blossoming annual tradition at a University of South Carolina football game. This is the girls-only gathering of the season where all the favs/the cool folks/those bringing the ruckus (eh?) relive our history together with a tailgate and observing a feat of athleticism. We love our men (the patent-pending ESA Fan Club), but sometimes we just have to thrive in our sisterhood.
This is a full weekend of events: dinners, drinks, late night gab-fests. But the day my demise came was Saturday, game day, as you likely imagined.
I want to paint this picture clearly. I took the lead organizing the event this year. I coordinated the schedule, the invites, the parking spot, the food and beverage checklist. I facilitated the pop-up tent and supply of chairs. This was my baby, and after months of planning, I was so happy it was all finally happening.
I was celebrating in proper form, with my beloved ladies on a beautiful sunny day in our old stomping grounds awaiting the hype of Gamecocks potentially kicking ass. Hugs. Drink. Cheer. Drink. Chat. Drink. Photos. Drink. Eat. Drink.
Among the girly vibes, I had a couple Bud Light Straw-Ber-Ritas. And when the countdown began for game time and we had to rush into the stadium and other peeps couldn’t finish their Ritas that quickly, I downed those. Must not alcohol abuse! (Feeling that ole college spirit…)
The game was good. We won. We all had many laughs and uproars over the course. Then came the disembarkment.
We barreled through the herds of football fans on tired tootsies, over the fairgrounds and through the woods. We piled into the SUV. We waited in the car in line for our chance to leave the parking area. We scooched along in heavy traffic for hours.
I was not myself by this point. As the sweetness of those Ritas depleted from my system, I got angry. I went from sugar-high happy-go-lucky lover of life to sugar-low snapping at friends biotch. One minute I have my head leaned against the window pouting, fully out of it. The next minute I’m threatening to escape the vehicle and yell at a cop. It really was like being a child, when you’re overcome with emotions and don’t know how to deal with them.
We finally made it back to the house where we were all sleeping over, and even had a few other girls meet us.
Getting out of the car, someone slammed the door into my head and leg, closing it because she thought everyone was already out. I think I hung my head and laugh-cried here. I was too downtrodden to attempt a McDonald’s run and instead ate leftovers from the refrigerator immediately. I felt sane again but couldn’t keep my eyes open. There I was, a lump on the couch fading in and out of sleep while my friends carried on splendidly.
I knew I had been a total brat, so the next day I groveled a bit. Bless those girls. They understood. After the worst sugar crash ever, I vowed that I would never again drink the straight glucose alcohol combo of Straw-Ber-Rita again. No Lime either, Bud Light!