a funny thing happened

One of my Sigma Nu brothers got married this past weekend. Now, I hate weddings because I always feel like such a loser. Even amongst all my good friends. Still, it was an open bar so I dealt with it. I got reacquainted with my friend Jack. Jack Daniels. Yup. Started out the night with a Jack and Coke. Five minutes later I was up at the bar again for another. Then the whole evening became a blur alcohol-wise. I don't know how many more drinks I had but if there was a frequent-flyer program I'd be at the top.
Chicken was the main meal. That'll come up later in the story, but for now I'll tell you this. Besides the bride and groom, I was the only person in the room that had a parent there. Nothing like getting totally plastered with your dad there. That would usually be enough to keep me drinking in moderation but apparently Jack thought otherwise. Suffice to say, I was so drunk by the end of the night that I was out on the dance floor (drink in hand) just pulling people to dance. Well it was kind of lame, not a lot of people wanted to dance. Alcohol dictated that I change that. So I'm sure I made a complete ass of myself. No, I know I made a complete ass of myself.
Well, after that, I had to top myself. Not getting behind the wheel of a car though. Pfft, like that was going to happen. No we have a designated driver. Still, you'd think that they would know where to go and not depend on the ramblings of a drunk (me). The hotel was only about a mile away. Down the road, on the other side of the highway. No problem right? We drove around for an hour looking for this hotel. Travelodge or whatever. An hour! There's like twelve hotels in the area, but we're looking for the one that doesn't exist. So we finally end up at La Quinta. Before we reached there though, the effects of dancing and drinking hit me. As soon as I sat down in the car I started to feel sick. We got to a gas station and I just opened the door and leaned. BAAAAAARRRRRFFFFFF. BAAAAAAARRRRRRFFFF. See? I told you that the chicken would come up later.
And of course at La Quinta there's two patrol cars outside, running with their operators inside talking at the front desk. For a split second I got an idea from Varisty Blues when Tweeter drives off in the sheriff's car, shouting as he's running towards the car "Time to go to jail!" But I realize that I wouldn't do very well in jail. So I tried not to act like I was a puking drunk guy stumbling in. So we get a room and I crash on the bed. Good night!