...And Then, On a Crisp Ohio Evening...Tuesday of the Living Drunk Girls

I'm taking a stroll through Oxford in an area known as the "Square Mile."

As I'm walking back to my truck to head home, a female college student walks up beside me and grins.

Actually, she sort of stumbled into me. I could smell the smell of vodka on her breath.

"Hey...why didn't you wave back when I waved at you?"

Slurring her words badly. Greek letters on her sweatshirt. Some famous clothing line branded down the leg of her sweatpants.

"Do I know you?"

She looked kind of pissed - don't think its the answer she was looking for.

"You don't know me?!? Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Then she looked puzzled, like most drunks do when their not sure if their mind is really translating what their senses are telling them.

"Wait...did we hook up at a party at [student apartment complex]?"

"Nope...think you've got the wrong guy."

"You're not Keith?"

"Nope."

Rather than give up, she proceeded to badger me about when or where we "hooked up." She gave rambled off a list of about a dozen names, high schools, fraternities, and dorms.

I've never met this girl before in my life. And I told her that, ad nauseam. I also told her that I'm not a student, and I'm certain we didn't know each other.

Almost sunk in.

"Wait...do you know Amy? Did you hook up with Amy?"

Again, no.

So she walked off, staggering, probably convinced she was still sober enough to not get a Drunk in Public charge slapped on her.

Sometimes, drunks remind me of zombie movies. Sometimes, they can be entertaining. At other times, they're nothing more than an oversexed script shoved into expensive make-up.

Not sure which category this drunk falls into. Maybe both?

I kept walking back to my truck.