Is Anyone Missing A Child? Gabby Gets Lost At The Baseball Game

Turning twenty one is the most important birthday a person will ever have. In my professional opinion at least. On this particular occasion that I will be discussing, is attending my two amigo's twenty first birthday duo celebration.

A few notes on twenty one runs. They are sloppy and atrocious. It is widely accepted in our drunken society to be completely obliterated on your birthday, therefore I am always game to celebrate. Some people on their twenty first have signs that they wear around their neck proclaiming that they just turned twenty one and eagerly insisting on anyone to buy them a shot so they can no longer stand and proceed to fall down an alley. People will write on the birthday sign saying how thankful they are that they made it to this glorious age and encouraging them to black out and to not die. Classy, yes.

Here is myself on my twenty first birthday with my birthday sign, one of the more "classy" photos. 

MOVING ON. So. In honor of celebrating a few friend's twenty first birthdays, they wanted to go to a Mariners game. I thought, what the hell, sounds like a good time, I'd love to celebrate. A few friends and I decided to day drink before the baseball game. Day drinking is never a good idea for anyone by the way. I went to a corner grocery and was looking for a cheap beverage since I am a college student and on a budget. I went immediately to the section where the forties were, also the Four Loko and Tilt section. They didn't have Tilt, so I decided to go with my liver, and check out Blast! by Colt 45. Sounded promising right? Worst idea ever. Not only did the drink taste like someone drank an eighteen rack of beer and burped directly into the can and sealed the bitch back up, but I felt like it was literally eating away at my insides. I would have opted for forties, but for some reason, I can't really get drunk off beer, and I always end up feeling bloated with quintuplets and gassssyyy. NOM.

A message about Four Loko, Tilt, and those other poisonous and cheap concoctions. STAY AWAY. I beg of you, please. Not only will you black out quickly, but you will have absolutely no control over your body. You could proceed to vomit all the colors of the rainbow, or just one big tar colored splooge. If you do find yourself low on funds and would like to get toasted, then go for it. Ten cuidado, ninos, you don't want to end up looking like this emerald jewel.

I fucking love Tara Reid. 

Some of the worst nights I have had were from Four Loko (before they took out the energy, damn.) One night, I had three Four Lokos, and came out of a black out while showing my friend our roof. You could have  imagined how surprised I was! Also, Four Loko power hours are another stupid idea. Allowing you to kill several Fours in the span of an hour or less. Whoever invented these is either a genius, or the devil. I still haven't decided. But after my trip to the ballpark, I'm going with the latter.

But alas, I continued to drink that strawberry watermelon arsenic. We proceeded to get onto a bus and ride down to the game. By this point, I felt as if my vision was going cross eyed. And I then started taking pictures on my phone of this obese women asleep with her mouth open which I thought was absolutely hilarious, then felt immediately bad afterwards. But I kept the picture anyway, because I am a prick.

We arrive at the game, this is when my memory starts to fade. We end up buying a few tickets from a scalper outside of the game and mosey our way through the sea of respectable, and probably all sober citizens. Something happens during the first few innings, although I'm not really sure what. But apparently I leave the group that we were with and I just start walking. God knows where, but I am walking like nobody's business. I come out of my blackout and discover that I am awkwardly following a large family group outside of the stadium. I'm not sure what in my right mind thought that this was a good idea, or that this was where I needed to go in my drunken state of mind. I must have looked like a lost mutt to them. But here I am, way far from where I should be, and completely alone.

I go into a drunken panic and try frantically to dial my friends, but not a soul is answering. I start crying because Colt 45 hates me, and my liver, and I am just about to dial my mother, when my friends appear out of the corner. I guess I had been gone for over an hour, shucks.

In short, do not drink those awful carbonated malt beverages. They may be $2.50, but they will burn your liver to a crisp, and rob any dignity that you may have had left.

Sexy, can I?

Next topic of discussion, Gabby goes to a gay bar.