“Shit. What time is it?” I ask.

“Ten a.m.,” he mumbles, reaching across me to snooze it.

“Oh God. I’m supposed to be somewhere.”

I call Diva and ask if she and group will wait for me as I get a ride home, throw on my swimsuit and pull my hair into a ponytail. I dump a bunch of stuff into a bag and realize that I’m still drunk. I get into my car and wonder if I could actually get a ticket for being intoxicated at this point.

On my way to Corky’s to meet Diva and Mascot, I stop and buy breakfast: a Big Grab of Cheetos and a 46-oz. bottle of water. I haul a 12-pack of Tecate to the counter and then look around for a moment; hmmm…something not quite right. Ahh, yes, a small package of Grandma’s vanilla crème sandwich cookies and a bag of Chex mix. Now I can survive for days!

At Corky’s the group of us pile into a couple of cars and head south. Mascot is driving, and Bill is in the passenger seat; Diva and I sit in the back, try not to watch the road in front of us and gossip. I fill in for her the parts of the night before that I remember. There’s something about Fado’s, shots at DeVille, and riding home in some guy’s truck…oy. And still, I’m feeling a little bit drunker with every sip of water. We stop on the way to buy more provisions; I am outfitted with a leopard-print koozie. Excellent! I feel complete.

I find it somewhat amazing that we make it all the way down to the river without incident. We pay for our tubes, crack open our first beers of the day—damn, it’s already noon!—and get on the bus to go to the drop-off point. I’m stuck with Bill again (nicknamed this because he’s Bill Nye the Science Guy – more on that to come) and he asks if I’m still buzzing.

“Oh yeah,” I tell him, “it’s the best way to avoid a hangover. Never come down!”

The water on the Guadalupe is, of course, deliciously cold and the sun keeps eluding us behind clouds. When in doubt and looking for the numb feeling, just crack open another brewski! Luckily, I’ve been tethered to one of three coolers and it’s the one with my Tecate in it. Yes, indeed, life is good.

Bill Nye starts putting the letter Z into almost every word he utters, which, of course, is making me laugh uproariously. It’s way too easy. We’re racing to see who can drink more beer; damn, he keeps lapping me. As I start on my fourth, he’s already half-way through his fifth. Then again, I am a bit smaller than him.

Diva is up river yelling at me: “Were you a ho for just one day?”

“Thas right!” I yell back at her. “If you were a ho for just one day, Hos R Us wants you! For the world tour!”

The two of us dissolve into giggles no one else can understand. We’re approaching some rapids and everyone drunkenly paddles to get into position; I’m yelling “BUTT UP” to everyone so that we can make it over the rough spots.

“Butt IZZup!” Bill yells, and I laugh, as if on cue.

It looks like Mascot is stuck. “Wiggle it, juuuust a little bit,” Diva and I sing, and it works – as his tube scrapes over the rock and dips down the rapid. I’ve decided to nickname him Titanic for the day, as his tube seems to getting a bit lower every few minutes. Meanwhile, Bill Nye the Science guy is explaining just how long it takes an aluminum can to decompose.

“Heee – you’re such a science nerd,” I tell him, accepting a cream cheese n chive cracker from Diva.

“Cracker for the non-cracker!” she says, sipping on her tall boy cider.

“Crizacker!”

“Hey Titanic, you could also be Mark Twain, because you’re measuring the water level for us!” I say, and explain that was how Mark Twain got his name.

“Who’s the science nerd now?” Bill Nye asks.

“That’s not science, that’s literature.”

I open another one and check with Bill Nye – he’s now TWO beers ahead of me. Damn! I float near Diva and ask her how she would change the world if she was in a beauty pageant:

“I would make sure the entire world smelled like eucalyptus,” she proclaims, finishing a cider and taking a new concoction out of the cooler. Yum, it’s a delicious vanilla vodka and root beer drink. It’s like a dreamsicle! A dreamsicle in a plastic bottle on the river. Does life get any better?

“Dude, gimme a bizeer!” Bill Nye yells. Heeee!

Corky is shaking his fist at the sky, as the sun has gone behind another cloud. “Mother nature, you bitch!”

Bill Nye explains what type of birds are nesting on the bridge. Oh Jesus. Bizirds. He also insists that he’s sober and explains his other scientific theory on that. He starts out ot 100% and as he gets drunk he assesses his percentage level. “Right now I’m at seventy,” he says.

“I call bull shit on that!”

“Were you a ho for just one day?” Diva asks and then looks at Mascot. “You a cracka-ass cracka!”

“Damn, Mascot, you are blinding us with your white skin!” Bill yells.

“Killing me softly,” Diva starts singing, and I join in. “…Killing me softly with his snow, killing me softly….I heard he never went in….the sun outside the door….he just let his skin get whiter more….”

Unfortunately, the tour is coming to an end and we beach the tubes on a sandy beach to the left. Everyone hops out and the guys start tossing a Frisbee. I stay in my tube and flip over to tan the other side. The boys are failing miserably at Frisbee; one of them can’t even stand up, much less catch a Frisbee.

“Ki-zetch!” Bill Nye yells, and looks at me. I giggle. Damn, it’s like a reflex I can’t control.

We’re out of beer as well; time to move this party to the next stage. We return our tubes, change and head to dinner. Weeeee! It’s been six hours and counting. At the restaurant, I find a display of circus coupons. Ooooh. Admit one for free! I hand them out to the group. A circus here in New Braunfels. I bet it’s amazing!

We scarf down food like we’re starving, talking about how amazing the food is. “Dude, we could be eating the bodies of people drowned in the river and it would be good,” Mascot points out.

We head back to Austin….but some of us are not ready for the party to end! It’s dark now, which puts us at nine hours of drinking, and there’s plenty of bar time left. We’re separating the men from the boys this time, as most of our crew goes home. Back at Corky’s, it’s me, Corky, Bill and Mascot who are bound and determined to get even more fucked up. Kickass! I put on makeup, twist up my hair and mix a cocktail. Per Mascot’s direction, it’s Dr. Pepper, amaretto and bourbon. Yum!

We grab a cab and head downtown, singing Kenny Rogers: “You got to know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, know when to walk away, know when to run…you never count your money…when you’re sitting at the table…”

“Dude, Shakira, how can you NOT be taken?!” Mascot demands.

We end up at Lavaca Street bar, where I begin to order vanilla Stoli and Coke. Over and over and over again.

“What percentage are you izat?” I ask Bill.

“Dude. I’m so sober.”

“WHAT-EVER!” I tell him.

“You know where we should go?”

“Where, Polly-esters?” I ask, excited.

Bill puts something in my hand. It’s the ADMIT ONE circus ticket. I crack up laughing.

“You have to get rid of it,” he says. “That’s the gi-zame.”

“Dude, Corky, check this out,” I tell him, and give him the ticket. “Your turn!” Bill and I yell.

Corky doesn’t have the balls to go up to the German chicks who have arrived at the bar and get rid of the ticket. We grab them and explain the situation, hand over the ticket and one of them drops it on the floor and walks away. Dude, Europeans so do NOT get us! I scramble to retrieve the ticket and Bill laughs.

“Now you’re STI-zuck with it!”

We proceed to play “Spelling Bee” – since the National Spelling Bee competition is on and I think that after 12 hours now of drinking, surely I can compete. I close my eyes while Bill looks at the word. He’s supposed to tell me the word so I can spell it, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I can’t even pronounce them,” he admits, and we both screw up our faces in wonder while staring at the TV. Those twelve-year-olds are smart!

“Hey, did you know you’re hot?” It’s an older guy with a porn star mustache and weird pants.

“Yes,” I say and smile prettily. “Here, would you like a circus ticket?”

“Only if you put your name and number on it,” he says with a leering grin.

I take the ticket, write: Mandy – 294.7338 and hand it to him. He puts it in his pocket triumphantly and exits the bar. The guys give me a high-five. Winner!

-Shakira 06.27.04