Pajiba

I have too many drunken stories to list their various vagaries, so to protect my fragile ego, I'll just include the most recent. I had a few too many manhattans with my friends and then staggered home with drunk munchies. I added spinach and meticulously chopped garlic to a frozen pizza, then popped that bad boy in the oven. I then fell asleep promptly. Five hours later I removed a smoldering garlic and spinach-topped charcoal brick from my oven and my apartment still smells like smoke. Motherfuck.

Probably waking up in the trunk of my own car, not knowing how or why. I later found out the night before, I'd rationalized that I was too drunk to drive home, so I'd sleep in the trunk so the cops wouldn't break my balls... because that makes perfect sense when you're drunk.

Oh, and as I was emerging from the trunk of my own car, my friend was waking up on the neighbors lawn. That's where we'd carried his mattress the night before. We were equally confused. Laughter was had and hungover pancake breakfast consumed. The end.

Pathetic. You folks need to get drinkin!

Lets see, I have re-recorded my outgoing message on my phone with a song about it being mischief night that I apparently made up on the spot. I did not find this out until mid-December.

Slept with a friend of mine who was rockin a Michael Bay sized peen because, well, what difference would it make to me if I couldn't feel it, might as well be a good sport... Yeah.

But usually I just try and paint my nails and end up looking like something out of American Psycho.

Oh I forgot the best one! I was staying at a boyfriends house and we'd had too many margeritas, and I sleepwalked butt naked into his dad's room, got up on the bed and started rearranging the books on the nightshelf. Nice.

I am the worst Pajiban (Pajibite?). I have no drunken stories. I drink rarely.

This is a low point.

One summer my friends and I decided that we would rent a house where we could drink, smoke and cavort to our hearts content. Early on, one drunken night, one person got the idea that we should move every mattress into one room, on the floor, for house wrestling matches. So we did. We wrestled. Hard and long into the night, until at about 4am we were all bruised and bloody and still (somehow) staggeringly drunk. Four out of the five of us passed out in that room, on those mattresses; which is where they remained for four months. The other rooms were divided into being used exclusively for clothes or porn or smoking weed -- whatever (pretty sure porn and weed were same room, actually). We were living like animals.

During this summer of -- let's call it "fun" -- we would obviously play drinking games quite frequently. Although, eventually these drinking games would devolve into "I bet I can take one more shot of beer than you can take *hic*." So one guy would take one shot. The next guy would take two. The next guy, three; and so on. One night in particular, I became determined to win this game (let's call me the "novice drinker" out of the group). No matter how many shots it took, I would win. The game came down to me and one other person, everyone else bowing out. I had to do 12 shots of beer in a row. Then fourteen, in a row. Then 16. In. A. Row. Finally it was time to do 18 shot, but my poor body rejected this notion entirely (here comes the low point). At one point, halfway through the shots, I had to run out of the room to vomit. However, this was somewhat breaking the rules, so my friends chased me with a full beer and a shot glass. I took those shots -- every last one of them, until I'd done all 18. In between every other shot, I would vomit again. So there I am, on my knees on a never-once-cleaned-in-a-house-of-five-twenty-somethings bathroom floor, leaning....NAY, kneeling on a disgusting toilet, taking shots and vomiting.

But I won, so fuck it.

By the end of that summer, the room where we slept eventually became the room where people pissed in the corner. The police visited us more than once (one time searching for a runaway sixteen year old girl, prompting my friend to ask the woman he was on the mattress floor with, "How old are you?"). We nearly hosted a race war between our african american gangsta' neighbor and a group of party crashing nazi skinhead douchebags. We had sex. We partied. We took 4 years out of our liver a'la the Princess Bride.

It was epic.

Ah, the follies of youth.

Ummm...nobody tell my fiance'.

I was discovered out by our pond (that is mud-brown and filled with cannibalistic catfish) by my dad. He told my friend that he'd "just go get her mom." I woke up the next day with around 30 ant bites all over my legs because not only did my dad find me yelling and drunk but also pantless. Why were my pants wet before reaching the pond? Because my friend and I had previously been swimming in the town lake and had to leave because there were some skeevy dudes that showed me their prince albert-so my wise friend threw my pants in the water so I wouldn't come out sans pants around the skeevy dudes. And why was I pantless at this point? Because my wet pants were keeping me from crawling quickly enough to get to the pond.

That night I also kinda kissed the freezer doors at the grocery store while my friend went to find the cheaper wine opener.

I'm not even a remotely interesting drunk. However, my husband did record my drunk, scathing ramblings about Twilight. I managed to use the word "poignant" to describe a cringingly bad scene, I don't remember which one, while laughing hysterically about the general shittiness of the movie. I believe I also told him approximately 287 times that Blonde Savant's cat is a good kitty.

Are you sitting? Comfy? Feet propped up? Here we go.

So I'm in Germany (Koln) touring with an international exchange group and we go to a costume party in a castle. Yes. COSTUME PARTY in a CASTLE. I was hit on by a guy named Haiku who wanted to have sex with me in the bathroom. I declined...but I digress.

All was fine and fun until we introduced tequila to the situation because tequila is the blood of the devil. I presume to get stupidly drunk and it is now time to leave.

Along the way, I fall down in the street, hug a Santa statue, and cry. My Brazilian friend laughs and takes photos. We are all staying with different host families so we wait in a train station for our respective trains. Somehow I get to the train I need, board, sit down, and promptly fall asleep. For two hours. And end up across Germany.

The train stops AT THE END OF THE LINE and I have to ride all the way back. I also am approached by the ticket guy on the train and of course I have the wrong ticket and only about 10 euros but he has pity on me and lets me stay, after taking the last of my cash. I also puke in a tiny trash can affixed to the wall of the train.

So, boys and girls, I FINALLY get to the right city. It's 7 am. This exodus home began at 2 am. I am drunk, but not the "woohoo fun times" drunk, but the "kill me now" drunk and I have zero dollars for a taxi. Also, it's SNOWING.

I figure, "Hey. I bet I could figure this out. I've been in this city for like 4 days and I am geographically hopeless. What could POSSIBLY go wrong???" Flash forward half an hour, I'm lost. I see a stranger pull over on the side of the road to recycle boxes and I approach them to ask for directions, holding up a piece of paper with the address on it like a deafmute. The person responds, "I'll take you." I hesitated only for a moment and got in the car because I figured worst case scenario, they would kill me and this epic journey of suck would be over. Besides, people that recycle at 8 am on Sunday mornings don't kill people.

I FINALLY am dropped off at the street. Funny story. This tiny town in Germany has two streets with the SAME DAMN NAME. I of course am on the wrong street. I suck it up, call my host mom (that I've known for a total of 4 days) give her the cross streets and she schleps over to pick me up at 8 am.

She apologizes to me because I will now have a horrible impression of my time in Germany.

*Takes a deep breath, and a bow*

Where to begin? I'll start with my most recent favorite. This is almost a couple years old because I have three small children now, so getting too drunk anymore hurts me way more than it hurts them.

The Mr. is part of a local unicycling group called the Unicycle Bastards who instigate and participate in various cycling shenanigans around town. One event they put together themselves was called Zombie Cycle Rampage where everyone dressed up as a zombie and rode around town bar and strip club hopping. Core Bastards were invited to a studio beforehand to get made into zombies by professional make-up and effects artists, which means that myself and about 10 others looked pretty darned authentic in the roles. There ended up being about 100-150 people who gathered for the event so we did a good job of taking over the downtown area for the entire evening. Later in the night when I was especially hammered I hopped on my bike to follow the group to the next stop and immediately crashed resulting in a shoulder injury that lasted me about 6 months. My response was to abandon my bike and set out on foot. For the rest of the evening word got around of my crash, and various zombie and non-zombie bystanders were coming up to me very concerned for my well being. I consistently reassured them that I was perfectly fine, but they were still very worried. I was completely baffled by this. It wasn't until the next morning that I realized I had a very realistic looking bloody gash running the length of my forearm, fleshy, bloody bits stuck to my face, and dirt purposely caked to my hands and legs. Then it all made sense. I still laugh when I think about that. At some point that evening my bike helmet miraculously made it back to me, which was totally random, and somehow I managed to remember where I had parked my bike so I could retrieve it. The Mr. and I rolled into our house at 3:00 that morning after a very long light rail ride and walk home, which probably helped with the hangover the next morning if only slightly. A lifelong rule learned that evening? If you're too drunk to ride a bike it's a good sign to call it an evening, not to carry on by foot.

Also, greatest post-drunk-night comment I've ever heard. In Edinburgh, after we all got blotto and crashed at a friend's flat, next day around midday we're touring the city and housemate from the above story halts and grabs my shoulder. "Holy shit, dude, I peed on their stove."
"What?"
"That's why his roommate was cleaning the stove and giving me the evil eye this morning."

I am the worst Pajiban (Pajibite?). I have no drunken stories. I drink rarely.

Nah, I can't play either. I don't drink at all, nor have I ever. Eek.

I can't really elaborate but I'll just say that one should never try to keep up with the English girls at one's going away party. We lived in England for about four years and all my best friends took me out for dinner and some serious partying about a week before we moved back to the States.

I will tell you that when I got home, I threw up Wagamama's in the fireplace in our bedroom because I couldn't get to the bathroom in time.

Mr Smith was not amused and I did not get out of bed the entire next day. That actually sounds kinda lame when I read it back. Sorry. I did have a great time though...

I have no drunken shenanigan stories since I drink only rarely. TWoP fan and Carrie and I will have to be designated drivers for the rest of you.

Hmm... I really don't do much drinking anymore, but one time back in college...

I was at a party at a friend's house with a relatively new boyfriend. We'd been dating a few weeks but not gone beyond snuggling and light kisses.

We both got fairly snoshed, and then he leans over and whispers in my ear, "I want you to fuck me, right now".

I had been thinking of doing just that for quite a while, and having already drowned my inhibitions, quickly agreed, and we went to my friend's bedroom, locked the door, scrounged around for the proper supplies and went at it.

My friends quickly became aware of what was going on (remember, no inhibitions, including about making noise) and a couple of them gathered outside the door and began smoking cig's frantically and blowing the smoke under the door, and then yelled "Fire!".

I wasn't so drunk that I couldn't hear them giggling about it, so ignored them.

The funniest part was that when we left the room, the friends were sitting outside on the floor, sick as dogs, because they normally didn't smoke.

I'm not really a drinker, so my stories are pretty much non-existent.

However, my cousin has the best story ever. He was hanging out with my sister and decided to walk home, an idea which was poorly thought out.

He ended up on Fillmore in San Francisco, which if you've never been has steps carved into it because it's so steep. Anyway, while walking home he gets tired and decides to sit on the steps and rest. Next thing he knows, he's in a cab.

Some total strangers have found him on the side of the road and are taking him home. How they found out where he lived, we'll never know. When they get to my cousins apartment, one of the strangers helps him out of the cab, and to the door to make sure he gets in safely.

And my cousin, who is possibly the sweetest boy I've ever met, is totally grateful and is thinking how next time he sees this guy, he'll owe him a drink. And then he opens his mouth to thank him and out comes, "You owe me 20 bucks!" And he slams the door in the guys face.

One of us was getting married so four of us went to Vegas for a batchelor party and drunken revelry ensued in our penthouse and when we woke the next day (on the floor) there was a tiger in the bathroom and a baby in the bedroom and one of us was gone and we met Mike Tyson, who slugged me while listening to Phil Collins and ...

Oh, wait, I think I dreamed that in a drunken stupor.

But ... why ith thith tooth mithing?

I just remembered one of my all time favorites. We were in Reno for a weekend visiting a friend and his girlfriend, who had just moved there, along with mutual friends who had come in from San Francisco. After eating dinner we headed out to party at the casinos, at one in particular where I really like their bars. Six of us sat drinking for a good two hours before myself and three others decided to play some black jack. My husband and a good friend of ours said they'd hold down the table. We came back no more than an hour later and found our table filled with a large group of people, husband and friend nowhere to be found. This was disturbing because, A) husband and friend were very drunk - very, very drunk, B) by this time we had accumulated a very large bar tab and none of us relatively sober ones had paid it before we left, C) there was a group of boisterous frat-ish type guys who had taken up the table next to us before we left, and husband and friend can get very condescendingly obnoxious when they're as drunk as they were, and D) husband and friend had no sense of direction by that point and didn't know how to find the house where we were staying. The four of us remaining confirmed that *someone* had paid the tab and decided husband and friend must be *somewhere* and we went to another bar to finish up the night. When we got home we heard from friend's wife, who had stayed home because she was pregnant, that they had burst through the door a few hours before yelling, "we left the dead behind!", and proceeded to puke and pass out. We have no idea how they made it back to the house, and we had to wait until our Visa statement came out a few weeks later to figure out which one of them had picked up the tab.

I love our friends.

My favourite drunken story to tell folks may not be as crazy as most others on here, but thats probably cause I can't remember 90% of it.

Basically, it was my mates 19th birthday (which is perfectly legal of course, because I'm in the UK :P), and I went to visit him at university. We hadn't seen each other in a few months so we went a bit mad. We both did 10 shots of 75% proof Absinthe, then a couple of vodka shots. I vividly remember watching the Family Guy episode 'Love thy trophy' until the credits. Then nothing till morning. Apparently I ran off shouting something about being in a war, and turned up 3 hours later.

When I woke up, I had no glasses, no watch, no phone. Being as blind as I am without glasses, I kicked my mate awake, who was covered in cuts and bruises, to go in search of my stuff. I found some glasses in a bush that had clearly been there for sometime as they were covered in grime and mold. But I cleaned it off and wore them so I could get the train home. (Of course I ended up wearing them glasses for 6 months until I could afford some new ones).

I still have no clue what happened in them 3 hours, nor did we find out how my mate got all the cuts on him. Not to mention that my girlfriend then was pissed as owt, cause I had not returned her calls or let her know how I was all day. Sheeez give a guy a break!

This is a pretty unpleasant one.

I went to a small private liberal arts school in Arkansas, the type of place it seems every state has at least one of. True to form, the student body is incredibly homogenous: white, middle to upper middle class, liberal overacheiving nerds.
The group of folks I hung out with had a habit of throwing knock down drag out theme parties. One of the biggest was called Ghetto Night (Motto: Nothing Good Ever Comes of Ghetto Night). Yes, a bunch of affluent white kids threw a party in which we did our best impression of the disenfranchised black culture. We had black people there (like 3) so it was ok, right? :/

We had "ghetto" drinks. The culprit in this case was orange Mad Dog 20/20.

I got extraordinarily drunk off...something, Colt 45s maybe, and spent all night scheming on an extremely cute redhead who was visiting from the local Church of Christ affiliated college nearby (if you don't know about CoC, the fact that she was off campus after dark was itself a big deal). It was going extremely well, even though I was probably spouting some crazy bullshit. Maybe it was my sideways hat.

At this point I should mention part of my costume was a giant glittery $ on a chain.

I lost cute redhead, and later saw her leaving with a guy I considered my inferior. I was so mad about this, I ripped my bling off and threw it through a plate glass window. I then stole a flask sized bottle of MD 20/20 from someone standing on the porch, drained the entire thing, and threw it 30 feet into the street, where it shattered.

I snagged a ride back home, sitting on someone's kind lap (I'm 6'4" 220). Somewhere in my sloshed brain I knew what I needed to do, so instead of going back to my apartment, I went to the bathroom in the dorm I used to live in, and proceeded to evacuate, in turns, everything possible that would come out.

The rear end was last. Next thing I know, I check my watch and realize that it's the next day and I had been passed out on the toilet for 6 hours. I stood up, no wait I didn't because my legs were dead. I finally staggered back to my apt and slept the rest of the booze off.

OF COURSE that day was the day mom and sister were coming up to see me, and for a function at the school. I dressed up nice for it, survived it (despite the soprano in my right ear) and went home. Sitting on the couch, I noticed a weird feeling. That's right, I had forgotten to wipe, and had been walking around like that for 12 hours.

That was the last time I had Mad Dog.

The piano has been drinking . . .

but not me . . .

not me . . .

First, I love this comment diversion. I could listen to/read about people's drunk stories all night. But onto my own...
I went to a bar a couple summers ago with a bunch of people to celebrate my friend's birthday. By last call, we were all staggering drunk and somehow got into a huddle: a sort of drunken, swaying group hug in the middle of the bar. This lasted a few minutes until someone stood up suddenly and crashed their head into the bottom of my chin, causing me to fall on my ass on the car floor.
On the cab ride home, we ordered on of those van cabs so we could all fit in there, and two of the people in our crew started fighting violently over two of the seats. Meanwhile, everyone is talking at a decibel much too loud for polite company and I kept yelling at everyone to "shut the fuck up motherfuckers".
I think the only thing that prevented the cab driver from kicking us out was that he was probably afraid we'd turn violent on him if he did.

My first kiss ever was drunk. And then a certain SOMEONE (*cough*PierreFitch*cough*) went ahead and told everyone so...yeah. If you thought your first kiss was awkward, imagine having it with a porn star who has the same name as you do and then having it announced to fucking EVERYBODY.

I talked to a box of Cheeze-Its for an hour.

That is all.

This one happened a couple of nights ago actually. Out in Dublin (Ireland, not wherever the fuck else there may be a Dublin) knocking back a lot of tequila at half price Sunday in one of my locals. Drank loads, pretty drunk leavin there, a bunch of us ended up in a members only place at about 1 am. Trendy bar, full of the trendy gays, the kind of place I would never normally go. Anyway, long story short, drank some more, kissed a girl (the first since I split with my gf about a year ago). got her number, lost her number, went over to inform friend of situation. Friend was chatting to a guy he liked, who was also chatting to the Irish guy who won Big Brother a few years ago. This former BB winner was being a totally obnoxious prick to my friend and me and at one point turned to a guy in the group and referred to my mate as "a chubby ginger". I saw red, verbally fucked the asshole out of it very loudly in the middle of the club and I stormed out with the asshole still roaring abuse behind me.
It was a proud moment for Ms. Sheepeyes.

I talked to a box of Cheeze-Its for an hour.

And what did it say?

Not so much a drinking story so much as a blackout moment.

When I was putting myself through college, I worked the graveyard shift at a warehouse. I would go to work @ 10PM and stay until 7:30 the next morning. That gave me enough 1 hour to get to my first class and I would stay there until about 4PM in the afternoon- unless I had a study group in which case I cold be there until the early evening at which point I'd stumble home for a power nap before doing it all over again by 10. Burning my candle at both ends was a rather perilous practice, supplemented by lots of caffeine. My favorite to this day was making coffee with pre-caffeinated bottled water(Krank-2-O) for high test java.

It all caught up to me when one night I decided to take a nap on my 3AM lunch break. I put my head on the table, blinked, and in an instant I was transported to my apartment bedroom 16 hours later. After assuring myself I had not been abducted by aliens and probed, I found out from my co-workers that I had in fact gone back to work on time (strangely silent), worked to the end of my shift, got and my car and drove off. I must have attended my classes because no one mentioned my absence. This was one mother of a blackout. I could have run a busload of nuns off the road and been none the wiser. I scoured the paper to find nothing bad happened. I counted my blessings and scaled back work a bit. I don't need booze- apparently I can do stupid all by my self.

No big epic stories for me:

I puked big time in my friend's parent's backyard. The friend, as well as his parents, saw it the next morning.

I am a bit of a...horny drunk at times. My former boyfriend and I attended a party where I got way more wasted than him. I don't remember this, but apparently I bit him a lot, more often as the night progressed and I got drunker. He said by the end of the night I was ambushing him around corners and stuff.

And here's my worst drinking experience ever...I was 18, and it was my boyfriend's birthday. He made jungle juice with big ol' watermelon and pineapple chunks in it. I love fruit, so I start chomping away at it while also drinking. Without realizing it, I was suddenly very, very drunk. Then a well known pothead from our high school class came with a joint, and I took far too many hits on it. Next thing I knew, I was in my boyfriend's bed screaming and sobbing, utterly convinced that my heart was about to burst and that I was dying. I have not mixed weed and alcohol since.

Ooh, and a good one of my ex's, not so much what he did but more what his friends did to him, still a great story though:

It was my ex's birthday, and him and his friends all went out on a boat together. They went to the shore one night, got piss drunk, and played with fireworks. My ex was so drunk that when he couldn't find his left shoe, decided to use the (huge, wholly un-shoe like) box instead, dragging it along with him at every step. He promptly passed out once they got back to the boat. His friends, irritated that he had the gall to pass out before they got to eat delicious delicious birthday cake, went for it anyway, smeared his face with frosting, and put a spoon in his hand. The next morning, they blamed the maimed cake on him, and he not only believed it, but apologized for ruining the cake for everyone. They didn't tell him the truth until months later.

I love drunken shenanigans stories... This is not my most shenanigans-y as that one cannot be told for fear of a fresh revolt led by exiles from a country I cannot name, but it's a fun story nonetheless.

When I was in school, I lived with two guys (not in the sexy-time way, especially cause one had the hots for my younger sister and evenutally married her, so: ew). We went out every weekend to the same local bar, and one weekend, met a group of Scottish marines. They 1) had accents, 2) were foreign, 3) were marines, and 4) had one guy in a kilt. I did what any normal girl would - I invited them over the next night for a party.

To my surprise (and, I'll admit, horror), they actually showed up. Things were going swimmingly, a little flirty action, a little whatcha got under your kilt winky-wink buiness, a little naughty talk. We all gathered for a group photo, handed one of Scotland's bravest the camera, and turned to pose. He dropped his pants and took the picture. Those pants never made it back on.

Most of the night is a blur of lily-white man-ass (those Scots do need a little sun now and then), but I do remember coming downstairs in the morning and seeing a completely nude Scottish marine, passed out facedown on the green brocade couch we kept on our back porch.

My roommate and I took one look at him, shrugged, headed to McDonald's for a hangover cure, came home, and he was gone. I have no idea how he got home, cause I'm pretty sure his pants were still at my house.

Years and years later, any one of us can say the words "naked Scottish marines" and everyone knows what we're talking about.

I've told this story so many times. Here's the condensed version:

Cinco de Mayo party. Free Chipotle! My roommates and I get drunk. I spend the night in my boyfriend's room. One of my roommates is so drunk she confuses the closet for the bathroom and shits in my dresser drawer. THREE. STEAMING. PILES. OF. SHIT. I punch a wall. She's from Nicaragua. We call her Scatina. The end.

One summer I worked shift crew for a community theater production of Peter Pan. It was a good theater, but a shitty production. Me, the stage manager, and Tinkerbell (she worked the tinkerbell light and sound effects) would go out every night after the curtain went down and get hammered on tequila. Shots and sunrises all night long. It was fabulous.

The stage manager knew some random people, and one night we ended up in this huge house with a bunch of equally drunk strangers. We all decided it would be awesome to make a sock-puppet porno film, so that's what we did. Someone found a camera, we got a bunch of socks, and those socks got busy. We made props and everything. We had a scene with a sock-puppet hooker and john (with two other sockpuppets smoking crack in the background), a shower scene, a threesome, a scene with a Peter Pan sockpuppet that I'd rather not remember, and, naturally, an orgy. All using sockpuppets. The shower scene was hilarious -- the people doing the scene were crouched in the bottom of the shower stall, holding their arms above their heads, bumping together their sockpuppets awkwardly, and getting soaked in the process.

That was a fun summer.

This was only the second time I ever drank hard liquor. The first time was in a Carls Jr. when I drank a bottle of Ten High Whiskey on a bet. (the fact I didn't get sick made me think I was impervious to alcohol, which leads to this, even though now I can't smell whiskey without getting nauseated).

I was a senior in high school, working at a Sizzler. A close friend of mine (we had fooled around but never been a couple) was having a party at her house the night before Easter Sunday. I was going right to her house for the party after a shift, so I changed at work, packed my uniform in a duffel bag and got on the bus to her house. While on the way, I chowed down on a burger and some of that all you can eat shrimp.

I got to her place early, there were only about 5-10 people there. We went into the bedroom and were fooling around, then she stops me and abruptly gets up and goes out to the party. My 17 year old brain wasn't hardwired to accept that. I got pissy, we got into a little fight and I went to the counter with all the booze and proceeded to make a drink with every liquor on the table and a coke in a 32 ounce cup. Since I didn't know not to mix tequila, J.D., rum and whatever other crap was there, I chugged it down, made another and chugged that one down as well.

My friends showed up, I was pretty tossed. The girl (let's call her Stella) says to take me out of there. Since my friends were on the basketball team and pretty big, it was easy to carry me out. They were carrying me to the car as I looked back, arm outstretched, screaming "Stella, Stella!!!".

Well, I was thrown in the back seat of my friends Datsun B210 and we were going to a party in the Palisades. I remember being on PCH, turning onto Sunset.........

.....and then I woke up. Sunlight was beaming through the backseat window. The smell of the car was horrific. I look down and I'm wearing my Sizzler shirt, inside out, and work pants with no shoes. I have no idea where I am. I unlock the car, fall into the street and realize I am in front of my friends apartment building. I walk up to the apartment where a bunch of my friends are sleeping, nudge my best friend and say "I need a ride home" whereupon he reaches up with his hand and starts choking me and says "get out of my sight".

I took his advice and started walking the 12 blocks home. As I was walking, I passed a church where I saw several classmates, all dressed up in their Easter finest, pointing and laughing at me.

I get home, put the key in the lock and my mother flings open the door. I brush past her, disconnect my phone and hand her my phone and car keys and say "I know I messed up, I accept whatever punishment you give me, let me sleep". She made me eat a full meal then go see Bright Lights, Big City and every time I tried to go throw up, she held me down. That movie must have been seven hours long. It was a horrible day.

My friends didn't speak to me for about a week. Finally, I cornered my best friend to ask what happened. Here's the details:

"When we turned the corner, you started throwing up on yourself. Jack opened the door and kicked you out of the car (we were going like 5 MPH). You rolled and ended up face down in front of the gas station. The cops roll up. They ask what happened. We say we don't know, we just picked you up. One of them rolls you over with his book and you throw up all over his legs. They say clean you up and get you out of there before they throw you in the drunk tank."

"We took off your clothes and left them there, it was too gross, put on your uniform and still went to the party. You were pressed up against the glass and people took pictures of you. I didn't want to take you home like that, but you stunk so much we left you in the car."

To wrap up, never fooled around with the girl again, my friends were pissed because my other friend didn't clean the car until I paid for it to get detailed, which took a week and a half, so the smell was ridiculous. I'd like to say I never got hammered again, but that's not true. However, I never have blacked out again, and that's a positive achievement.

I don't really get adventurous when drunk, since it takes a lot of alcohol to get me to incoherence. Irish heritage plus many years building up tolerance multiplied by attending a party school for college equals I can hold my shit together. But I have one good story, fairly recent even. We were at a block party for Halfway to St. Patrick's Day, and me and a few people from the group went into one of the bars to get more beer. We got said beer in our plastic to-go cups and started to head back out. That's when we were accosted by another worker who told us that we couldn't exit with any alcohol. Why the fuck not, we had no idea. So back upstairs we went. We spied a door that led out to the balcony and stumbled out. The only clear area was toward the back, so that's where we drifted. One of us discovered that there was a stairway leading down back behind the bar. Another one of us put two and two together and came up with "there must be a back way out". Down we headed, stumbling our way through an empty part of the bar and back to another part of the outside, where we met a fence. I saw a gate latch and lunged for it. I opened the gate only to be confronted with ANOTHER fence. I put my hands up to feel it, not believing that it was real. Well, being that I was drunk, I used a great deal more force than was necessary and I broke the fence down. After several shouts of "holy shit!", my group skedaddled through the torn down fence and out to the freedom of the night. We continued to use our "escape route" for the rest of the night.

So I was drunk for like 2 years, 24/7(seriously, not exaggerating). Did a lot of stupid shit that I shouldn't have survived. One day I drunkenly checked into rehab. Almost 14 years ago now. While I have had many shenanigans since, none were drunken.

I think I might win as worst boozy Pajiban.

The piano has been drinking . . .

but not me . . .

not me . . .

Posted by: anon at February 3, 2010 7:00 PM
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Pasties and a G-string
Beer and shot.

So my worst drunken shenanigan is a really quite horrid. I got really drunk off of free white wine at an art show and went home with a fairly unattractive woman. That in and of itself is not so bad as have gone home with a number of less than attractive women when pissed. The problem emerged when I went down on her and found that her pussy tasted like rotting fish. Yeah, it was really disgusting, and I was really drunk, and so vomiting ensued. I vomited on her. Not my best moment.

I'm a horrendous drinker - the kind who keeps going way past inebriation and doesn't stop until a black out ensues, so I have a ton of disgusting/humiliating stories. I also have a hair trigger gag reflex, which results in stories like this:

My boyfriend and I are extremely wasted, in a club with some friends. A guy standing near me vomits on the floor, which makes me instantly do the same however I choose instead to lean over the balcony next to me and let fly. Straight on to the crowded dance floor below me.

The boyfriend grabs my hand and proceeds to run to the toilet, yanking me along in his wake. We make it to the toilet door, when all of the rest of the vomit that I've been struggling valiantly to keep in projectiles straight out of me, and all over the back of my boyfriend's lovely head. Which is covered in dreads. We spend the rest of the evening trying to wash/pick chunks of sick from his no longer lovely hair, whilst I simultaneously cry/laugh.

And that's one of the nicest stories I can share.

Was attempting to stroll briskly (=lurching breathlessly) home at 11am after a night of pub-crawling, gatecrashing and after-hours clubbing. I miss NYC. And my youth.
As I was heading into Times Square with glazed eyes, counting the blocks, my foot suddenly struck something. When I looked down at my feet I realized I'd overlooked a double amputee pushing himself along on a skateboard. I'd accidentally knocked him off the skateboard and he was now sprawled on the sidewalk yelling obscenities at me.
Yup. Some people vomit or babble when intoxicated. Me, I kick cripples.

Oh man, epic thread of doom.

I guess my story is that I was hanging out with 2 friends in Annapolis, & we proceeded to split a bottle of vodka. This exorbitant amount of booze unexpectedly mixed with my medication, & I blacked out for the 1st & only time. In the missing 6 hours, I proceeded to sell, for these 2 bastards, pretty much every double-team pro wrestling move imaginable. I took it all: the 3D, the Hart Attack, camel clutch/boston crab combo, double DDT, all of them. The only thing I remember is waking up with a loose hug around the toilet bowl while dude peed over my head. Apparently I was prepared for this, however, because I had a can of air freshener in one hand, & immediately jumped up & blasted him in the face with it. I don't hang out with that dude anymore, he's pretty much awful.

I punched Brian Prisco in the face when I was hammered at my 19th birthday party. He got me boxing gloves when I turned 21, because it is always safety first for him.

This is a pretty sprawling tale.

A friend and I went to visit another buddy in Toronto. This buddy lived with 2 or 3 other guys, and each of the roomates also had people in from out of town, add in a few locals, and by the time we left for the bars, we were 15 people strong.

We were denied entry into several bars, but finally got into one. Much drinking happened, but not much else exciting, until we left.

I guess when completely shitfaced rolling in a big crew you gain an inflated sense of confidence. I decided to body check a mail box, and it tipped over. The next thing I knew, 5 or 6 cops on horseback come out from around a corner. At the same moment, a large hand falls on my shoulder, spinning me around. A cop on foot saw me knock the mail box over, and didn't like that, so he's screaming at me to pick it back up. I can't do it, luckily some other drunks are walking by and they help me out.

I get back to the crew to see the horse cops have sectioned them all off from each other. One guy is cornered against a building with the horse closing in on him. Another is mouthing off about how he has to pick up his dog shit, so why don't the cops pick up their horse shit. Said cop was lining his horse up to kick my buddy, i'm pretty sure.

Another guy got punched in the back of the head, and we somehow escaped.

We went to a pizza place and were annoying to everyone there.

We got on a streetcar, taking up the whole back section, and started singing and clapping. An older black gentleman, in what I remember as a brown polyester suit, got up and starting yelling at us to shut up. One of the mouthier guys asked if he wanted to dance, he said yes, so we all started to sing and clap again. Then the old guy, ACTUALLY STARTED DANCING! We all laughed and wished him a good night.

I'm not too sure about the rest, but I think someone in a car pulled a gun on us because we cut them off when crossing the street.

This one wasn't me, but I once actually saw a girl handcuffed for an MIP walking behind a mounted unit in college. How humiliating.

I forgot the time that, in my local, I was playing pool (badly, seeing as I was hammered) and decided to do some sort of Bruce Lee type thing with the pool cue. After much ducking of other patrons, and the smashing of 3 lights, I was politely asked to leave the table...

I actually know what the "whippets" being referred to in the story are, but I have a whippet-mix dog, and my mind goes to puppies before inhalants. So I kind of had to read it twice.

Whippet good!

Being a Unicycle Bastard I remember that wonderful night a couple of years ago when we zombied up and worked over Portland. That night I ended up riding my unicycle streight into a police barricade then when I jumped on two wheels to head home every 100 yards or so I would look down to see my peddle hitting the curb. I distinctly remember thinking aren't sparks cool. There was Lot's of "I Love you man" moments as my fellow Bastard left me at my door step.

The most recent best story is when I was out with the Bastards and after taking our Uni's onto a local Latin dance floor we headed home. On that ride home Max had the great idea to drag race and Me being over confidant thinking I might have a chance I took him up on it. While at the bar I took off my gloves as to better grip the drinks. I safely stored the gloves in my shorts pockets there they stayed. I gave it all as Max and I headed up MLK Blvd. I don't know how far I got but I didn't make it to the light when down I went. I bounced off my hands, knees and landed on my face. Over the next few weeks I learned that there are all kinds of new cool bandages out there.

Each night there is a lesson. That one for me is to never-never take off my gloves until I crawl into bed.

Yes us Bastards like our drunken shenanigans.

I'm so depressed; just found out bf was cheating on me so these stories are really lifting my spirits. Makes me think of the times I used to have before I tried to settle down. Think I'll just start carrying cab fare and condoms with me.

I got so drunk on beer at the Kingfish in Berkeley that I screwed a guy I had just met in his Datsun Z28 (I knew his friend). Since I'm 5'8" I consider that a real accomplishment. Couple years later I'm with my aunt, who's a professional singer, in a piano bar and I'm so drunk on wine (yuk) that I start singing. She turns to me and says, "I didn't know you could sing." Unfortunately, after our duets and driving to the East Coast (she was driving and I don't know if she was drunk or not), as soon as my feet hit the Atlantic Ocean, I threw up in it. She gets me back to the car and drives us to the B&B we're staying at, where one of the owners helps her get me to bed. I have no recollection of the days following.

However, I found out I can't mix alcohol and pot at my friend's wedding a few years ago. I was fine drinking until the pipe was passed around and Charlie started rubbing my head. Which promptly got me so horny I couldn't stand it. So we go into the bathroom and he's going down (tongue stud--yeah!), and a friend walks in. Apparently, I was able to please both guys although one of them had to constantly remind me not to bite.

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