How Drunk Were You?
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How Drunk Were You?

By Mrs. Julien | Comment Diversions | April 6, 2013 | Comments ()


I haven't been drunk in 13 years. There's no heartbreaking, but ultimately uplifting story behind that, it's just that I don't drink. At all. Mostly because I've never found anything I enjoyed the taste of. Now, this is when people pipe in with suggestions of what I might like, so I should add that alcohol often makes me angry and depressed. The last time I had anything, I was inebriated enough be irrationally angry with Mr. Julien, yet rational enough to realise it was completely unjustified. It was always a 50/50 shot. No joy in that, so I gave it up. On an up note, it makes me super cheap date as I eschew alcohol, coffee, and pop. Tepid water is my drink of choice. But I wouldn't set up a diversion like this an not give you a story about me being rip roaring drunk:

New Year's Eve 1999. I have had a very bad year. Illness. Death. Heartbreak. I made a conscious decision to be very drunk to say good riddance to the old year and ring in the new. God knows, it had to be better. Here is what I remember:

I was at the party with other members of my comedy improv class. It was one of those programs like Leslie Knope sets up for Pawnee on Parks and Rec. When I met the other class members, I knew two things a. these were my people and b. I was a geek. I had not realised it until then. The party was at the home of someone from the class I had dated briefly during the preceding summer. My memory, such as it is, tells me the alcohol took the form of screwdrivers and jello shots. Green jello shots. I consumed them in the kitchen. I remember speaking sharply to someone about a racist comment. I remember at midnight, that I had no one to kiss, so for the first and only time, I kissed a woman. Really, it was just a peck. Her lips were very soft. Then there's a blank space for about 3 hours. I remember walking home. Alone. In the middle of the night. I think someone may have stopped and offered me a ride which I did not take. The walk would have taken about 20 minutes. I relieved myself behind a low garden wall at the public library on the way. Classy. When I got home, the vomiting started. So much vomiting. Hours of vomiting. The kind of vomiting that goes on so long that you start to wonder if it's ever going to stop, or if perhaps you should see someone about it. Then I slept for about 12 hours.

It's not much of a story is it? Pretty heavy on the vomiting. I'm sure you can do better.

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Comments Are Welcome, Bigots and Trolls Are Not

  • Stina

    I'm a bit late to the party (pun intended), but here's my story. I was in the midst of my graduate degree in science and at an annual "eat stinky cheese, drink boat loads of wine and play games" retreat in the mountains with my research group. Normally it gets a bit drunk and loud, but everyone's supervisors are also there and no one wants to get too crazy with the bosses to whom you'll eventually have to defend your thesis.

    Except the year that none of them came. Add in a 2 L bottle of tequila, drinking Jenga, a unicycle and about 30 over-worked, perpetually stressed grad students and post-docs with a free night and no where to drive. What does that give you? Red wine puke-stained carpets (not me, I thankfully hit the garbage), many massive hangovers, gaping black holes of memory, and one broken foot (mine). To this day, not a single person there has any idea how I did it!

    Although I don't remember anything after knocking over the Jenga tower and having to take a double shot of tequila, I apparently was happily walking around for hours with no sign of pain. I just though it was sprained at first and kept walking on it for almost 2 days before finally seeing a doctor!

    The next year, we almost weren't allowed back to that place even with the supervisors there.

  • Frank

    4 yrs ago. My best friend had just finalized an ugly divorce right before Christmas. I go with him to do some Christmas shopping for his two sons. His birthday was that same weekend, but he was still reeling from the divorce, therefore not much in the mood to celebrate. I convinced him to stop by a local place for a drink that for some unknown reason, I'm sure there was one, but can't remember it, ended up being "Golden Margarita Especiales". You know the ones, giant frozen concoctions with an extra shot of tequila poured on top. 2 each of these later, his brother picks us up and off to the bar. Everything else is a blur. My girlfriend, now my wife got my car, and as we were on the freeway, I felt the urge to vomit, I remember trying to cover my mouth with my hand, hoping to make it to the exit. All that accomplished, was making the vomit spray in between my fingers onto the dash. Tortilla chip chunks everywhere My friend woke up in his brother's backyard, but did not know where he was until he stumbled inside to puke. I've seen a pics of that night, and still deny everything, Things such as me attempting to give my friends sister in law a lap dance. Rough night.

  • My best drinking memories and hazy half-memories all come from the summer between my junior and senior years of college, and all involve an on-campus Tuesday night piano bar. One night I cried until my more put-together roommate drove me around town to find a place we could buy some form of pizza at 3AM. We got a frozen one from somewhere. I somehow dropped a slice at the wall between two of the bedrooms while in the midst of what I'm told was a very loud conversation with my other roomie, leaving a grease stain that we could never completely erase.

    Several nights I walked home with friends, chasing bunnies through courtyards, and along creeks. Often there were heated negotiations until someone agreed to be the one to keep me from running into the street after the bunnies for the duration of that particular evening.

    One of my summer roommates threw up on our couch after we got home one week (I'm super sensitive to the smell of vomit even today. Back then, I'd get queasy at the mere mention of it.) and since it was really, really late/early, I was still buzzed, and I knew half of my neighbor-ish friends had weird work schedules, I just holed up in my room until daybreak with towels stuffed under my door and my creepy-alley-view window open. I'd given him a trashcan when I came in and found him just sitting there, staring glossy-eyed at the opposite wall, but it was too late. It took him three days to fully get all signs of the incident out of that couch. I got a free ticket to The Dark Knight out of the ordeal.

    Then, mid-summer, our bar of choice (The Canopy Club) hired a new bartender who made us proper, adult-person Long Islands with much less soda in the mix. I had three before things rapidly went south. I remember yelling at no one in particular that it was time to go home. I remember not being able to climb back up on the wall where we usually sat. Then I threw up in a trashcan. There was a car ride with this guy who had a crush on one of my other roommates. I woke up several hours later on the floor in my own bathroom. Someone had given me a pillow (Thank you, someone!) I continued throwing up off and on for the next, oh, ten or twelve hours. Eventually I made it back to the god-awful couch. I didn't throw up on it, but I was sweating profusely. I hope the landlord had the good sense to burn that thing once we moved out, but something tells me that's not the case. It wasn't until the next day that I realized Canopy Club's Long Islands taste exactly the way anti-bacterial orange Dawn smells. This seemed disconcerting, but two weeks later, I was back at Piano Man, drinking like nothing had ever happened. I stopped using that kind of dish soap, however. College priorities.

    One week I couldn't go because my little brother was having an emergency appendectomy on Piano Man night. I called couch-vomit roomie, who was already out pre-gaming, so that he wouldn't worry when he got to the bar and I didn't show up. He didn't pick up, so I left a voice mail. I guess this one is sort of a not-drinking story. Anyway, I'm home, hovering over the phone, biting my nails, freaking the hell out. It finally rings, but it's not my mother calling; it's the roomie. He doesn't say anything. He just holds up the phone so I can hear everyone drunk-singing "Build Me Up Buttercup", which was and still is my favorite of all the Piano Man selections. Sweetest moment of the summer (that I can remember, anyway).

  • fasha

    Heck yeah Urbana!

  • Burnett's flavored Vodkas were our pre- and post- gaming shots of choice. I can't find them anywhere out here in SoCal. This has really put a damper on my nostalgia drinking. I think the cherry variety played heavily into my messy pizza adventures, and the peach got me through that long night trapped in my room. That shit was terrible, but it was also like $3 a liter, so we tried every flavor. Usually with Sprite. And sometimes prayer.

  • katy

    I'll just start by saying that I'm no stranger to the hooch. I have countless stories from my youth and beyond of good drunken times. But now I have three kids, and making an evening of drinking is almost always the hubby and I at home with a couple of bottles of wine after the kids have gone to bed. Pretty tame anymore. But last Halloween we sent the kids off for an overnighter with grandparents and went to a costume party/fundraiser event at a well known party bar in town. And since one of the people throwing it was a good friend of mine my husband agreed to be the driver that night. I went into it thinking I'd take it easy, but hours later when he dragged me out of there I was wasted. Trashed. Literally falling down drunk. The last thing I remember was demanding that he take us to 7-11 on the way home so I could get food. Then, nothing until morning. When I woke up the next morning my first sensation was a sore throat and raspy voice, and asking incredulously, "did I smoke last night??" Sure enough, I was awake for a good two hours at home that I had completely forgotten about. Total black out. I was informed that I was quite entertaining, and had indeed smoked the cigarettes I insisted on getting at the store. The weirdest part though was the 7-11 nachos. I would never eat these in my right mind to begin with, but when drunkenly assembling them I had belligerently insisted on dumping ladle after ladle of relish on them (like, for hamburgers and hot dogs), and I hate the stuff in real life in all capacities. I got them home, took one bite, and was SHOCKED! that they had been ruined by relish. The whole thing was in the garbage in the morning. I also had my husband make me more drinks, which he did as I was quite entertaining, ranted and raved around the house, and then put on a good *ahem* show for him later before passing out for good. Thank god I was a middle aged lady with her husband for this whole thing instead of some young, college student out for the night on her own or something. Another one for the 'do as I say and not as I do' list for the kids.

  • katy

    But my favorite drunken night story, that I fully remember, was about 6-7 years ago when we joined up with a cycling group for our city's first ever 'zombie cycle rampage'. We were friends with a well connected group of cyclists who were friends with a make-up artist, so the group of us went to her studio beforehand and had professional zombie make-up applied to our bodies. We were the real deal. We then joined up with about 100-150 other people and bar hopped on our bikes throughout town like a bunch of punk-ass bitches. About half way through the night I attempted to take off on my bike with the crowd, but promptly crashed in a highly public area. I shrugged it off, parked and locked up my bike and proceeded on foot. Later in the evening a few people came up to me, apparently having recognized me from my epic crash, and asked if I was ok. I was (although I had a bum shoulder for about six months), and nonchalantly told them I was just fine. The kept pressing me though, with real concern, until I finally got them off my back. It wasn't until a short time later that I remember I still was in full zombie make-up, including blood on my face and a huge, and realistic looking open gash running the full length of my arm. Oh, did I laugh and laugh and laugh! Suckers.

  • jlou13

    It was my boyfriend's birthday so naturally I had to be the drunkest one there. If he took a shot, I took a shot. Just being a cool girlfriend! I started a fight at a neighboring bar while picking up some cigs w/ my best guy friend. Apparently, a guy called me a slut and I laid into him. My guy friend had to peal me away and tell said random drunk dude to let it go. Said random guy grabbed a few buddies and decided to come fight my very sweet and semi-sober friend. 20 minutes later and a bar thrown into madness the cops were on the way. As the story goes, I happily sat through the fight, drinking my drink at the bar, and watching the fight like a live version of my favorite action movie was happenening for my viewer pleasure. The minute I heard cops though, i was running like mad. My boyfiend, myself, and his brother ran out the side door and up the stairs. We watched and danced on the roof while the cops came and then left w/out arresting a single person(of course). Unfortunatly, we were now stuck on the roof as the stairs back down ended w/ 6 foot high fences. Being the natural super hero I am, I channeled my inner spiderman and decided to scale down the 3 story building. People watched in amazement below as my scaling was more of a dropping while scraping the old wooden building on my way. As I crashed hard into the sidewalk people gasped. I thought it was b/c I hit a perfect landing. I laughed it off and thought we should procede w/ drinking! My boyfriend had enough sense to take me home(Happy Birthday honey) and attempt to clean me up as I was bleeding and was semi-convinced I broke my foot. Once I got home and realized my injuries I naturally started vomiting all over the bathrooom. My bf had a meltdown(he was also drunk), called his dad(did I mention his dad is a cop), and had him come to take us to the emergency room(it was 2:30am). After 7 hours of nurses picking splinters out of my hands and arms, an x-ray showing a major sprain but no breakage in the foot, they sent me bandaged and on my way. Not the most memorable birthday I would imagine for my now ex but such a fun story to tell!

  • b

    oooh, it's a toss-up between two absolutely embarassing events.

    first round: vegas, with three of my friends, one of whom i was irrevocably in love with, but who had a girlfriend. he and i we were kind of hanging out together for the first time after talking online and being afraid to say we loved each other for ten years, throughout one of us or the other having a significant other and still kind of holding out hope, because sometimes it's just like that. i was so nervous to be in his presence that i hadn't eaten all day and as soon as my friends- the one i was in love with, his girlfriend who was supremely adorable so i couldn't hate her, and the friend i drove there with- and i were camped in our hotel room, we broke out the shots. i don't know how many drinks i had, but it apparently led to me spilling my vodka cranberry all over my shirt and me being so utterly inebriated that my friend i was in love with and my friend i'd driven there with had to pull me-forcefully- from whatever club we were in to our hotel room, which involved a rather lengthy jaunt on the strip. i was, apparently, so beyond the pale that i yelled at cabs for not taking free passengers, and dragged myself along the wall of the luxor screaming about the pyramids being amazing. my shirt still bears the rips of some brick wall that i actually pulled myself against for support. i was then photographed while passed out, and treated to its posting on facebook. kamikazes are apparently a dangerous drink.

    second time: my fiance and i were living in ohio, very much poor and distraught with life, but very much enjoying thanksgiving because it meant that we both had the day off work and school. we lived behind a 24-hour CVS, and dutifully my fiance went down to them and bought us a classy box of white wine to have with dinner. i cooked all day in our kitchen that literally was once a closet, listening to the godawful dubstep that was insanely popular at the time, and managed to cook an entire turkey with all the fixings (our oven opened directly against the cabinets and sink opposite it, so i have no idea how i even managed to load and unload the bird in there) but as i did, i imbibed quite a few plastic tumblers of wine. enough that when all was said and done, i produced for each of us a plate laden with turkey, gravy, spinach inside bacon cups, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, cranberries, rolls and pie, and promptly passed out from the drunkenness. i don't even remember piling up the plates or serving it, but my fiance posted the picture of my untouched plate on facebook (a theme, methinks) and titled it 'thanksgiving 2k11: the massacre.' so, yeah. apparently white franzia is also a very dangerous drink. but waking up at 3 am and making leftover turkey sandwiches and watching southpark is the best, so, i still think i won.

  • poopnado

    Probably the drunkest I ever got was when I went out for drinks with coworkers, including my supervisor. It was all women, and we were all really responsible and pretty level-headed, and all of us were experienced drinkers (we were in our mid-20's and early 30's), but for some reason we all got insanely drunk, really quickly. I remember using my supervisor's hunting bow (not loaded, I just kept pulling the string back and aiming at fake deer) and stuffing her pet snake down my shirt. We stumbled around the small downtown area and drank martinis, then ended up at a seedy club. At some point one of my coworker's boyfriends came to pick us up because apparently we had become so drunk that we couldn't really walk anymore. I might have been thrown in the back of his pickup truck, I can't recall. I held my supervisor's hair back while she puked into a trash can and then falling asleep next to her and another coworker.

    In the morning I had to miss a volunteering gig I had set up because I was so hungover. I spent most of the morning crying on the floor of the shower and periodically sticking my head out of the bathtub and over the toilet to puke. It was the worst hangover I have ever had in my life.

    To this day none of us really understand what happened. Maybe we all had to blow off some steam?

  • lowercase_ryan

    No coffee??!?! How the fuck is that even a thing?!?!

  • Mrs. Julien

    I do make a breakfast drink that includes instant espresso, if that makes if more palatable.

  • lowercase_ryan

    Totally. So long as there's caffeine.

  • APOCooter

    It was New Years Eve... 2005? See,
    that's how drunk I was. We had all made plans to party at a friend's
    house, because fuck going to bars on NYE. He had a girlfriend who
    was trying to set me up with one of her friends. She... looked like
    a horse. Like, Sarah Jessica Parker with no make up, droopy eyes,
    and jowley, bulldog like cheeks. We had met before and she had been
    trying to talk to me on AIM (oh man, remember those days?). I was
    ignoring her.

    I had to pick up another friend on the
    way to the party, and I told him, “Dude. I know how I am when I
    get drunk. You HAVE to run interference for me. I can't sleep with
    this girl.” He looks at me and just smiles. “No. No. For
    real, you can't let me sleep with her.”

    “Okay. I'll just
    third wheel it and be all awkward. But dude, you know you have the
    worst beer goggles, right?'

    Sigh. “Yeah. I know. The way
    I figure it, one of three things is going to happen. One, you do
    your job well, I don't get too drunk, and nothing happens. That's
    best case scenario. Two, you get wicked drunk and she latches on to
    you and you sleep with her. Great for me, bad for you, so we'll call
    it a wash. And then there's three: where I get so drunk that I don't
    even care any more and sleep with her anyways.”

    Yeah. I'll see what I can do.”

    So we get to the party. We
    had a younger 19 year old friend, fresh back from his first semester
    at college, who claimed he knew how to drink, wasn't a lightweight,
    and that long island iced tea was a bitch drink. So we start the
    night with long island iced tea. There's six of us, so we start a
    Magic: the Gathering draft at the host's kitchen table (yeah, we were
    all giant fuckin' nerds, so you'd think one of us would be over the
    moon about a guaranteed lay).

    As we're playing, the girl walks and
    stands next to me. She starts getting handsy, rubbing my neck and
    shoulders. In between games, she starts kissing my neck and sucking
    an earlobe. I just shrug her off and say, “Seriously, I'm busy
    here. Stop.” She walks away, kind of in a huff.

    I'm like two and and a half pint sized
    long islands in now, so I'm pretty much wrecked. Thus, I play
    terribly and lose. The game breaks up and I'm sitting in the kitchen
    with one of the guys who doesn't know the deal about me sleeping with
    this girl. The one who does is no where to be found.

    She walks back in and sits next to me.
    “You're really mean.”

    I turn to her. In my drunken state,
    her eyes are more even and less droopy. Her cheeks look normal and
    less like a bulldogs. Her nose is much shorter. And I notice that
    she actually has a really nice body.

    “I'm sorry. I just get really
    competative when I play cards.” Which really is true. I just
    happened to leave off the part where I wanted nothing to do with her

    “It's okay. You can make it up to

    “Oh yeah?”

    “Yeah. I don't have anyone to kiss
    at midnight.”

    “Oh. I might be able to help with
    that. When's midnight?”

    “In about 45 minutes.”

    I don't want to wait that long.”

    So I kiss her right then. The guy to
    whom I was talking knows the conversation is over and walks out of
    the kitchen. And we're full on, sloppy drunk making out. Tongues out
    of control, saliva flying every where, weird noises coming from god
    knows who or what. And it's really awkward, too, cause we're both
    sitting on these hard wooden kitchen chairs at weird angles to each
    other. We're in there alone. My hand goes down the front of her
    pants and things start escalating with some very, uh... heavy petting
    (still fully clothed, thank god).

    “Oh shit. God dammit. DUDE! What
    are you doing!”

    I look up to see the friend who was
    supposed to run interference standing in the doorway. I just get
    this big, shit eating grin on my face. “I'M GOING FOR THREE!” I
    shouted, quiet loudly. And I go back to making out with the girl.

    The rest of the night is mostly a blur.
    I remember her shoving me against a wall at some point. I also
    remember heading into the guest bedroom (that had no door on it, by
    the way). I also remember being too drunk to perform, which you
    would think would be a good thing. But really, the damage had been
    done at this point, so might as well have the sex, right? Well, we
    didn't and just did the drunk naked oral manual dance.

    I also remember waking up. Top three
    hangovers of my life. God that was brutal. I also remember looking
    over and realizing that her eyes were still droopy, her cheeks were
    still jowley, and her nose was still horse like (she still had a
    really nice body, so there's that).

    I also remember the giant, baseball
    sized hickey I left on her right boob.

    I still get shit for that night to this
    day. Thankfully, I've only ever seen the girl twice since then, and
    she's happily married now.

  • APOCooter


  • APOCooter

    Well, so much for writing in a word file. I'm far too lazy to fix the formatting for that.

  • Samantha Klein

    My pseudo-dad's surprise 50th birthday party, which took place at his favorite bar. For a sports bar in Georgia, those bartenders make a mean Mudslide. I couldn't tell you how many I had. What I can tell you is that after a few, I went into the bathroom, barfed, came back out, and HAD SOME MORE. I might've repeated that at least one more time, too. Somehow it seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do. At some point, I concentrated really hard on the song playing over the speakers for several minutes before looking at my boyfriend and saying "I know I really like this song, but I can't for the life of me recognize it right now." I'm pretty sure I told everyone there that I loved them, which is true, but somehow seems more acceptable to say when you're staggeringly drunk. We took a cab home, I threw up one last time, and went to bed. I'm not even sure I had a hangover in the morning. Ah, to be 26 again.

  • F'mal DeHyde

    A co-worker was having a going-away party and they threw her a big dinner and drinks party at the club on base. I had just broken up with a very troublesome boyfriend and one of the foremen kept asking me rude and inappropriate questions about it. I was already pretty shitfaced by the time dinner was served and I ended up covering what was left on my plate with the napkin. Once again, asshole asked me "so where's Todd tonight?" and after he left, I said I'd like to smash his fucking face in, while I demonstrated with the food, grabbing a handful while it squished between my fingers... and making a really ugly face the whole time.

    Lucky for me there was someone wandering the party with a video camera and got the whole thing recorded for posterity.

  • kirbyjay

    The first time I ever drank I was 12. Four beers and a half bottle of Tango. We were down "the park", a secluded ball field with the drive-in on one side, the river on the other and surrounded by woods and old fire roads. A perfect place for teenagers ( or tweens) to hang and drink, keeping in mind that this was the 60's. I vaguely remember slip n sliding into a mud puddle ( on purpose) and tripping over my jeans as I tried to pee and falling ass first into a prickly bush. I certainly got better at it over the years and discovered the hard way around 35 that me and alcohol do NOT get along. I only drink beer socially and never have hangovers. Live and learn

  • Return of Santitas

    I was never a drinker in high school, because I was convinced I would get caught and then I would have to actually interact with my parents while they asked me if I had a drinking problem. This was hell to me at the time. So I sipped a weak-ass screwdriver once and that was it.

    When I got to college, I went briefly apeshit for drinking. Like, drinking vodka straight out of a cup. I seemed to have an amazing tolerance for booze (this did not last). But I could not stomach beer...the taste, the I only did hard alcohol.

    Fast forward to the summer after my junior year. I was doing an internship in New York. I was flat broke and pretty lonely. My roommate wanted to go down to the Village for Ladies' Night at some bar on Bleecker St. I tagged along. It turned out to be ladies who love ladies night, if you get my drift, so my roommate was off hitting on laydays and my shy self was alone. So I drank. The cheap-ass beer. Probably eight of them, with no idea what beer would do to my system compared to the hard stuff.

    I stumbled out of that place and headed for the subway. After the torturous wait for a train that characterizes late-night subway travel in NYC, I made it three stops before I had to get out and throw up. Then another wait. Then another two stops and I had to run out and puke. Repeat.

    It is all very hazy, but at some point the garbage train started running alongside ours, and at a couple of stops there were garbage men waiting for me with paper towels and once, a bottle of water. I remember these garbage angels with all the love my drunk heart could muster.

    I finally made it back to Queens. During my epic journey, my roommate had time to keep drinking, go to some girl's apartment and hook up, and take the train all the way back home and then wait, frantically wondering if she should call the police, before I finally turned up.

  • Alright so here's the story of the first and only time I allowed myself to get black out drunk. I live in a boring mid western town that resides in the snow belt so the only thing to do during the 6 months of winter is to hit the bars and be a drunk. My friends and I took advantage of this and got a big group together for dinner and dancing and fun. Really it was a great night with a really fun group of people. Drank quite a bit all night but never actually felt overly drunk and certainly never out of control, until the very last bar we went to. We loved this place because they always had these mason jar cocktails where they would fill the entire jar for only $5. So we had a bunch of those and we also had quite a bit of the free popcorn they give to tables. We call it a night and head back to a friends place where I promptly realize just how drunk I am when I trip face first over her baby(dog) gate and then spend the next 5 minutes on the floor just laughing at my dumb ass. We head to bed all feeling great.

    Next thing I remember I am bent over her toilet vomiting up popcorn(yuck!) and crazy amounts of alcohol. I had lost my pajama pants at some point and her roommate so sweetly put me to bed on their couch in a new t-shirt and a bucket for "just in case." I wake up pretty early the next morning and go to my friends room where they proceed to giggle and tell me about my late night escapades. It seems I woke up in the middle of the night needing to puke but missed the bathroom and ended up in her roommates room where I threw up in her hamper of freshly cleaned and folded laundry. She very patiently guided me to the bathroom where I missed the toilet and got popcorny vomit in their floor vent so the bathroom stank. She then stayed up with me for hours while re-washing her clothes, dealing with my drunken idiot ass, and being so incredibly kind. We had a good laugh about the whole thing but I felt so bad about doing that to her roommate so I apologized profusely and then became known as the fun crazy drunk at our workplace.

  • Uriah_Creep

    OK, your definition of "fun" may be different from mine.

  • Haha, I was already known as a fun drunk that night was just a little too much too handle

  • Aaron Schulz

    2003, 19 years old, Southern comfort black. I remember bits and pieces, friend of mine whos house we were at and I decided to start bowling in his hallway much to the chagrin of the others at the party. I dumped a glass of something, bacardi maybe, into his computer, his response? start singing ac/dc really loud at me, not sure why that was a response. I ended the evening laying half in the shower fully clothed singing very loudly. Yes the shower was on and i had locked the door so no one knew what the hell i was doing.

    Proceeded to vomit for 3 straight hours and the following 2 days, worst hangover ive ever had hands down and to this day if i smell/recall the taste of southern comfort i nearly throw up. Oh the vomit.

    Fast forward to 2010 and my friends are visiting myself and other buddy that now live in chicago, go to some dive bar in wrigleyville. 4 dollar pitchers of PBR mo'fucker! A pitcher was my glass all evening and man was it amazing.

    I mostly stayed outside since i couldnt smoke indoors and i was king out there. Those were my people, we were a ragtag group of alcoholic smokers and that sidewalk was our domain. I was a fair and just ruler. We defended against the burrito people from across the street when they attempted to usurp our lands. And by that i mean we demanded they bring us burritos and when we wouldnt shut up they left. The heady days of revelry and good fortune were short lived before i found myself throwing up on a strangers car as my friends attempted to finagle me into a cab. Threw up behind my hotel bed that night and had to buy a new shirt the following morning since mine still had the battle damage taken during the longest cab ride ever. Those are, in order, the worst then best to much drinking ive ever done. Good times, although theres a reason ive been sober now for close to two years.

  • ,

    The only time I puked ... I really hadn't had much to drink, just a beer in one town and a shot in another, and I was sitting at the bar and something felt ... not good. I excused myself and headed toward the men's room. About halfway there, I commenced to trot, and then to sprint. I flung open the door and some poor sap at the urinal took one look at me and uttered a little shriek, at which point he zipped and bailed faster than anyone I've ever seen. I proceeded to barf my guts out, loudly, in the trench. OK. But when that was done, like an idiot I decided to try to nonchalant it back to the bar as if nothing had happened, which was ridiculous. They must have heard my rolfing in the next county. And, in fact, one of the guys I was with later told me they were having a good laugh at my expense whilst I was heaving.

    My only other story ... I wish this would happen again, but one night at home I drank a Blithering Idiot, which is Weyerbacher's strong barleywine, and a shot of Jack Daniel's, and no shit, I got a buzz off that. I mean a full-on electrified dope-fiend buzz. I felt like I was plugged into the wall outlet. It lasted for what seemed like an hour, and it was fan-fuckin'-tastic. I have tried to duplicate that formula many times and to my dismay it never happened again.

  • chanohack

    St. Patrick's Day 2008, Seattle. I'd been working ten-ish hour evening shifts on the Stennis for something like thirteen days straight (which is technically not allowed, but saying so is bad form and a sign of weakness). When my friend Kevin and I got to work on Saturday, they told us that we were almost finished and that we'd be going home early. I called the next shift (which included my friend Brittany) and told them not to come in. "So wait," said she. "None of us are working tonight? And none of us are working tomorrow?" It was our first day off in weeks, our first more-than-one day off in at least a month, and it just so happened to be the functioning St. Patrick's Day. Perfect storm.

    We drank like sailors on shore leave. I didn't drink much in college, so I missed out on a lot of college drinking lessons, like 1.) Irish car bombs are totally delicious, 2.) Irish car bombs are totally evil, 3.) just because you feel okay doesn't mean you should have another car bomb, etc. We didn't pace ourselves at all. Things wound down a little when we misplaced our friend Clayton and I didn't make it quite all the way across the dance floor to the bathroom before puking in my hand a little.

    Brittany walked me home, which was at the top of a big hill in Seattle. I felt like I was going to die but was still trying to hold it together. To prove I was at least somewhat in control, I concentrated very hard on the walking signals, and when they changed, I reminded myself what to do by thinking GO or STOP really loudly to myself in my head.

    Yeah, I was actually screaming it out loud.

    When we got to my house, Brittany tried to get me to drink some fluids, and I cried and accused her of trying to kill me or something. She let me finish barfing for what felt like hours before she turn her turn.

    Our friend Clayton, who had in fact disappeared to catch the ferry home without telling anyone, started puking in one of those trough-like urinals on the ferry. He looked up and made eye contact with the dude peeing in the other end.

    Our friend Kevin woke up wearing a t-shirt like shorts, with one leg out each arm hole.

    I kissed a girl one time, too, mostly to prove that I'm super cool and give zero fucks. I didn't dislike it (and my boyfriend didn't mind it). I've also passed out in my bathroom and only realized it at all because Ghostbusters was playing in the living room and I somehow missed like forty minutes of it. And I've projectile vomited. And sat on the ground outside a friend's house on the exact spot where ALL the dudes had been peeing all night. And one time I tried to leave a bar and got lost in a back room and a bouncer came in and looked at me like WHAT THE FUCK and I raised my hands and almost cried and said, "I'm just trying to get out of here," and he helped me because, what a mess.

  • Uriah_Creep

    Finally, a Comment Diversion that's in my wheelhouse! As a younger man,
    not only did I never get hangovers, I also never got sick after drinking. I
    will let you decide whether or not this is a blessing (my friends thought I was
    the luckiest guy alive.) Later in life I started getting the most horrible
    hangovers (I still don't puke, though), so I felt compelled to cut down on the
    adding of strong liquids to my alcohol stream. Oh, I also used to wake up not
    remembering what I'd done the night before, a fact my friends took great
    pleasure in exploiting. Some lowlights:

    - In a bar one night, we were drinking tequila and I decided that draft
    beer would be a great chaser. When we left, there were cars parked near the
    exit door, and I promptly decided that the hood of one car was an ideal place
    to go to bed. My friends had to peel me off the car and take me home.

    - My friends and I used to party at my best friend's place because his
    mother, frankly, didn't give a shit what we did. His sister was very hot, a few
    years older than me, and engaged to a very big guy. Nevertheless, she and I
    used to flirt just for fun. One night I got smashed and I remember dancing with
    her even though no music was playing. The next day I could remember nothing
    after the first dance, and was told that I hit on her so much that they got
    into a huge fight and she threw her ring at him on the front lawn and they lost
    it. I freaked and looked for that ring for a half hour, expecting the fiancé to
    come and pound me at any minute, until they admitted that they were messing
    with me. Ha ha, funny. Another time, they told me I did a strip tease on the top
    of my friend's piano while drunk, and I had no reason to doubt it, but that
    also a joke. In truth, I apparently played Chicago's "Color My World"
    very loudly on it (I am not by any stretch of the imagination a keyboard

    - At a staff Christmas party one year, I drank boilermakers all evening
    and when it came time to leave, I was very proud that I'd left my car at home.
    When told that there was a one-hour wait for a cab because of all the parties
    in town, I decided to walk home. The only problem is that it was about -20
    degrees C out and I was dressed in a suit , over which I threw a thin jacket I used to keep in my office. I had no gloves or hat, and was wearing dress shoes. No one tried to stop me, because apparently they thought I was kidding. I lived relatively close to work, but by the time I got home 25 minutes later, my ears were seriously fucked. They were like pieces of frozen steak hanging from the sides of my head, but I went to bed anyway. When I woke up the next morning (Sunday) to go to work for an abbreviated shift, they had patches of black on them. During the day, co-workers kept telling me how bad my ears looked and that I should be going to the hospital, but I insisted on finishing the day. Then I did go to the ER, where the doctor and nurses were quite amused by my story (hell, I didn't try to bullshit them). I didn't suffer any permanent damage, but I had to put cream on my ears for a week, and to this day they are infinitely more sensitive to cold than they were previously.

    There are more stories, but I'll stop here before all you anonymous
    Internet strangers lose all respect for me (it's too late already, isn't it?)

  • I respect the hell out of a fellow fun drunk when I see one!

  • Uriah_Creep

    Thanks. I did a lot of stupid things while drunk, but I was never mean or violent. People loved it when I got faced.

  • Kris

    Does anyone remember making "suicides" as a kid? There was an urban myth that a certain combination of sodas would result in instant death, so of course all of us grade schoolers played soda roulette at every party, picnic, or serve-yourself soda fountain. Fast forward about twenty years to a Halloween party. A friend of mine and I, confronted with a smorgasbord of hard liquor on a table, decide to make alcoholic "suicides" in those 12 oz Dixie cups. The drinks tasted like ass, so we chugged them to get them out of the way quickly. Then, we somehow decided that maybe the concoctions would taste better if we made them for each other. This approach was semi-successful, as most of our taste buds had already run for cover. The rest of the night is a blur. I know I ended up throwing up in a sink because my friend was already retching in the bathroom. The next thing I knew, it was morning, and three of us were lying across a bed. (Here comes the creepy sexual assault bit; cover your eyes.) I was lying next to a married couple that I'd met the night before; they were dressed as gangsters. The husband had moved my hand onto his dick while I was asleep, and when he saw I was awake, he tried to force my head down into his crotch. I must have been still slightly drunk, because the only reason he stopped was when I whispered, "Sorry, I think I'm gonna puke." He let go of me; I stumbled up and found my shoes. As I crept out the door, his semi-conscious wife waved at me and said brightly "It was so nice to meet you!" I was still thinking how surreal that was when I was throwing up in the bushes outside my apartment on the way home.

  • Kris

    Okay, so that story was kind of creepy and sad. My only other really-drunk story is better, I promise. A little background: I had met this really hot guy, Chris, at a friend's birthday party three months earlier. We hit it off beautifully - I mean, we spent what I considered our first "date" running around Borders playing "Have You Read This? Seriously, It's Awesome!" Unfortunately, we seemed stuck in the friend-zone, and I had no idea how to get out of it. I'd never asked a guy out before, and we were such awesome friends that I really didn't want to screw things up, but I also really really wanted to get in his pants and oh wow this is making my head hurt even remembering it now. This went on for a few months. Anyway, he came up one weekend, and we went out for dinner to an Italian place that had been recommended to us. The food was awesome, but unfortunately the place was also super-romantic. Seriously, it was straight out of "Lady and the Tramp." The waiter wouldn't stop gushing about what a cute couple we were, and how finding the person you love is really what it's all about. I drank two glasses of house wine. Quickly.

    Then I decided to take Chris to a party this other friend was having. These particular parties were notoriously awesome; there would be an open bar, a DJ, the works. I made half a round of meet-and-greets, then stopped to get a tequila sunrise. As we continued on talking to other friends, Chris would solicitously go get me another drink whenever mine ran low. It sounds crazy, but he was completely innocent - super-sheltered, not a partyer, with no idea how much hard alcohol I was consuming. The bartender knew what I was drinking, but Chris just thought it was orange juice. Eventually he figured it out when I started stumbling; he promptly cut me off and took me out on the front porch for some air. I leaned against the wall, squinted at the Chris in the middle (since he'd suddenly become triplets), and demanded "What's it going to take to get you to kiss me?" The light bulb going on over his head was almost visible - he thought I was out of his league, and had no idea I had a crush on him. Needless to say, he made up for lost kissing time, though he wasn't about to go any further when I was that blitzed. A year later, we moved in together; a year after that, we were married. It's been three years, and I'm happier than I've ever been in my life. Never let it be said that nothing good ever comes of getting drunk.

  • Rochelle

    Ridiculously sweet. He's a keeper.

  • Strand

    I was at a friend's anniversary who happened to have cases of 'soju' (essentially Korean vodka). If you've never had it, it comes in green glass bottles like beer and the taste is unnervingly mild, almost like water. I was drinking this stuff straight from the bottle when I saw two people taking it in shot glasses.... uh-oh.

    How many had I had? Three I think. Oh shit! Then it hit me all at once like a boxer who was only winding up this whole time. I'm generally one of the heavier drinkers when we go out and the least drunk by the end, so I like to think I have a fairly high tolerance for alcohol. That night though, I puked my guts out like I was 17 again.

    Of course, there's the raft of truly mortifying drunken stories that I like to forget. 90% of them between the ages of 18 and 21, and involving some variant of whiskey dick. I do visit the Full Moon Party in Thailand every year just to get it out of my system and it's glorious.

  • Three_nineteen

    I've only thrown up from drinking once. Unfortunately, it was in public. And my "friends" left me there because I smelled. Fortunately, I had enough cash to take a reallllllllly expensive cab ride home AND I remembered where home was.

  • frankly

    Too much vodka at a Jane's Addiction concert in New Orleans. Got backstage after the show. Yelled all snotty like, "So, is this the line to blow Perry Farrell?" Dave Navarro sat me down and gave me a gallon box of Goldfish Crackers and told me to keep eating until they were gone. Thank you, Dave Navarro.

  • competitivenonfiction

    On the rare occasions that involve more than 2 glasses of wine, I obey a set of rules:

    1. Never drink more than 1 drink with people you don't like or don't know well
    2. Never drink on an empty stomach (obviously)
    3. Stop and ask the person who is mixing your drinks what is in them
    4. Stop drinking when you start to think "fuck it. Tonight I'm going to
    par-tay!" (This is hard, but it's always the thought that occurs just
    before I do something very very stupid)
    4. Never match my in-laws or anyone over 40 drink for drink
    5. Never drink with co-workers
    6. Go home. Just.... go home

    And never ever do all these things on one night, or you WILL wind up throwing up in your future husband's boss's bathroom after a Christmas party. You WILL wake up on a grungy bathmat, passed out next to the future husband, who has also been puking and is also passed out. You WILL have to have your clothes cleaned by your husband's boss's wife, who will drunkenly slur "just keep 'em" as she hands you something to sleep in. And you WILL wake up in their spare room, embarrassed, and unsure if you should really keep those clothes.

  • competitivenonfiction

    Oh God! This isn't even as bad as that time in Vietnam when I got really drunk on Canada Day (I'm Canadian - from BC). I told some Quebecers to stop being such fucking whiners,* because they told me that Quebec was more ignored in Canadian politics than Western Canada is.

    I later woke up in my hotel's bathtub.

    *I have nothing against Quebec and am, in fact, part French Canadian. This statement was taken out of context and I assure you these guys were being horrible whiners.

  • NoPantsMcLane

    I'm drunk right now. Because fuck you, that's why!

  • yy

    There is, during Mardi Gras, the most wondrous of parades, the Box o' Wine Parade. Although its not so much a parade as it is a procession of drunks, shambling down St. Charles Ave whilst carrying, you guessed it, boxes of wine. Franzia, for the most part, but some adventurous folks were carting around that fancy Pepperwood Grove.

    The participants of this mobile work of art are also more than happy to share their wine with onlookers. Which is part kindness, part cruelty. A bit heavier on the cruelty if, in a foolish move you've already polished off a liter of some ungodly swill (rum and coke, and more rum) during the preceding parade.

    So as the parade passes by every other krewe member stops off to refill your cup (whether its been emptied or not), and you learn that red + white doesn't equal pink as you'd been lead to believe in art class, but instead a color that might charitably be called brown. And it would be rude to refuse a gift, so you continue drinking everything thats poured into your cup, common sense and tastebuds be damned.

    Things are going great.

    Until, you wake up the next morning, discover its actually closer to the next evening. And learn that on the previous day you broke your phone, befriended a cop, and attempted to headbutt a street sign.

    Boxed Wine. Never Again.

  • Oh should have known you'd be in trouble by mixing rum & coke with wine. I try not to mix wine with anything unless I want to feel like human garbage and have a headache for two days after.

  • F'mal DeHyde

    I can't mix anything without getting sick. Rum and then vodka? No.

    I love cheap boxed wine though, that sounds like fun.

  • I'm in Aussie Land, trying to automate a bunch of cranes. Australia is a wonderful place to visit, but utter hell to work. Pretty much EVERYTHING is expensive there, especially beer and smokes.

    I couldn't really afford to drink there. Well we finally get a couple of the cranes to move (which was a small miracle because Australia electrical safety standards are insane). So the Finns (I was working for a Finnish company at the time) took me and some other folks out to celebrate.

    Just by myself, I consumed around $300 worth of alcohol. I came to in my apartment shower, with the water running, fully clothed, trying to get my cell phone to work.

    Another time, while I was in the military, I woke up face down in a baday. I had scheduled a tour of the Sistine Chapel in the morning. I ended up vomiting in my shirt, so as not to mess the floor up in the chapel itself because I got vertigo so damn bad staring at the ceiling.

    I also once ended up chained to a pipe in the brig of the carrier after a port visit in Crete. Not sure what happened, but I had a couple of stab wounds, a broken hand, and a broken eye socket. Apparently the eye socket was from head butting shore patrol or something.

  • googergieger

    I once went bar hopping with no real plan to get back home. So I ended up hitch hiking when it was closing time, got dropped off at the trolley station that was no longer running, and decided to walk back to my old neighborhood which I thought was pretty close to me. Ended up walking around in a huge as fuck circle and ending up back at the trolley station I started at, and ended up hitch hiking again where I got a ride from my then bosses cousin by random. Ended up getting dropped off on a friends stoop where I crashed until his mom opened the door in the morning and let me in, woke up an hour or two later and went to see my then psychologist for my appointment.

    Another time me and my friend who just started drinking(didn't start until I was twenty one myself) found out about 99 Bananas which is schnaps. Anyways bought a huge bottle, went to another friends, drank it back and forth, found some cholo's to hang out with, my friend went to sleep in his car, cholos and me went to buy some baccardi rum, drank that, later on threw that up, was mugged for like five bucks, went to my friend's car to join him, threw up a bit in it, woke up later on and washed his car for him in a quick stop car wash, then we went to a shitty Denny's for breakfast, and to this day neither of us can eat a banana.

    Then got drunk off an entire bottle of Vodka and my other dick friend got drunk off beer and wrongfully assumed gay guys can't fight.

    And basically just those three times. When I rarely drink now I don't get drunk anymore. Drink slowly. Drink little. Get buzzed at worst. And really only when I'm with someone or people who are drinking already. As no fucking way am I going to be the only sober person where everyone else is drinking.

  • Lovely Bones

    I probably shouldn't bother commenting on this diversion, but in both in traditional Pajiban contrarianism and genuine desire to share with the rest of the community, I will anyway. I am part of a very large family, with eleven aunts and uncles on one side, which is French, while the other side has four married siblings that are pureblood Irish. There is a lot of alcohol flowing in this family. Although many are smart and moderate themselves, many also do not. I worry about them frequently. That, complemented by an unpleasant experience with vodka when I was younger and my sharing a lack of ability to moderate with those family members, has effectively and largely turned me off alchohol. I have thusly resolved myself to being a teetotaler.

  • MissAmynae

    Amy's freshman year of out-of-state college, also known as Amy's only year of college. I was dating the place kicker for State's football team. Could NOT believe my luck, or his thighs. Seriously, oh my god, they were bunk-worthy. ANyway, as per usual, found out he was cheating on me with a girl known as "the queen of bj's" by men, and "the succubus" by ladies.

    Enter pissed-off 17 year old me. With my peeps in tow, a 1.75L bottle of Kamchatka and a 2-liter of Sprite. Challenged her to "Popper" shots, whoever threw up or passed out first was the loser. Half vodka, half sprite, hand covers top of tall shot glass, bang on table, shoot. 6 shots in, I'm tipsy, she's tipsy, we've drawn a crowd big enough to move from her room, to the common room of the dorm. Money is being exchanged, and lines are being drawn in the proverbial sand. At some point I "stood" up and announced that "this whore is blowing my boyfriend and she thinks I don't know it. Who wants to see her puke?" Cheers from the girls, "oh damn!" from the boys.

    11 shots, most of the bottle later, we're out of Sprite. We take #18, I swallow, she swallows (ha!) then promptly turns and projectiles over the crowd, splashing several of her dorm-mates and the furniture. I celebrate my victory, "Who's the better swallower now, BITCH?!" proclaim her "the Empress of Spitters" and am promptly aided by my besties to a luxurious private stall in the girl's bathroom, where I throw up my shoelaces. We went out for pancakes, she had to clean the common room. I won, bitches, and dumped his sorry gorgeous ass the next day. She ended up marrying him.

    Fuck you, Vanessa S at K-State. Enjoy his teeny weeny peeny.

  • e jerry powell

    Remind me to blow your boyfriend. I'll put you under the table, young lady, and come out of it ready to steal everyone else's boyfriends.

  • MissAmynae

    Promise? ;-)

    I'll tell the husband to take a shower and get all cleaned up for ya!

  • e jerry powell

    Why do I get the feeling that you'd lose the drink-off intentionally? ;-)

  • MissAmynae

    *whistles* *twiddles thumbs*

  • Buck Forty

    Wow. She had to clean up the common room AND marry him? That must have been some bet. Are they still married? Because that would mean you're still winning.

  • MissAmynae

    Oh the cleaning part came from the RA. She made it clear when moved to the common room that whoever threw up, cleaned up. Last I saw they were still together, so...yeah....

  • Samantha Klein

    This is an utterly fabulous story, and I salute your 17 year old self.

    The best-looking guy I ever dated actually was extremely well-endowed, but was under the impression that that was all he needed to bring to the table, er, bedroom. Ladies, I don't care how big it is: if he says "I don't do oral," drop him.

  • MissAmynae

    Drop him, then warn all your friends!!

    and thanks Sam 😊

  • Rochelle

    We may have dated the same guy. Was he also a do-gooding lawyer?

  • beartato

    What if you don't like oral?

  • F'mal DeHyde

    Best looking guy I ever went out with had a teeny weeny as well. What a disappointment.

  • TheOriginalMRod

    Stuff happens and sometimes I can't remember. But generally I try to stop before that happens. Generally. I try to be a professional...mostly. To maintain the good feeling and not the vomit feeling, unfortunately at some point reason goes out the window... I am Nora to someone's Nick Charles, so I am generally trying to catch up. And sometimes I succeed. I generally don't trust people who do not have vices.

  • e jerry powell

    I haven't been drunk since January 1 1999. A guy whose husband wasn't all that interested in me was still trying to get into my pants nonetheless, keeping vodka in front of me from the start of happy hour until midnight. Fortunately for me, the bar was about a block and a half from home, so I staggered into the house, managed not to step on any cats (my roommate had about 16 at the time, but within the next year the number would grow to 32) and fell onto my bed. Sleep was instantaneous. I was vodka-ed out. Shortly after that, I was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes, and not long after that, with bipolar disorder, so I haven't had even a glass of wine since June of 2000.

    The last time I got vomitously drunk was 1995 or 1996. I wasn't doing my usual ugly-sister chaperoning of my regular cadre of pretty boys that night, so I think I must have had three tall double screwdrivers. This time, my apartment was a half-block from the bar (and across the street). I remember being fine standing up (even on the elevator), but lying down was a real issue, and the vodka decided to make a return appearance as soon as I fell onto my bed. Fortunately I was face down and the wastebasket was at the head of the bed. That much done, sleep was, once again, instantaneous.

  • Kelly Anne Williams

    Florence, Italy. I was studying abroad, and there were only 6 of us there from my program. We gave friendship a shot, but ultimately these were not, as they say, my people. It was an incredibly lonely semester. One night, I let myself get talked into going out with the group. It was a club called Faces, and catered specifically to American students (it was the only place in Florence where you could play beer pong. Yup). After paying an exorbitant cover charge, I decided to treat myself and ordered champagne. I was given a bottle with a straw in it. I drank that bottle, all of it, through that straw. I wasn't much of a drinker back then (I'm a lightweight to this day), so it's a miracle I remember even the things I do.

    I flirted aggressively with the cute German boy in my Italian class (oh, Mattias, I hardly knew ye); called two of my best friends long distance in America to tell them, among other things, that I looked good naked (I was so poor that I'd stopped eating lunch, and so had lost a lot of weight. It seemed imminently relevant at the time); fell asleep on the floor in a subsequent bar we visited; and later gave our cabbie instructions to my apartment in perfect, rapid Italian (a grasp of the language I would have sworn I did not have.). I was still drunk the next morning, so I missed the bedroom door and walked into a wall.

    I am told I was delightful throughout. I hope this was true. I was not, evidentially, delightful enough for Mattias. Damn his heartbreaking German eyes.

  • missbisque

    After my first night at Faces, I woke up the next morning on the cold marble floor of the hallway in my Florentine apartment with a Peroni in one hand and Ender's Game in the other. It was thereafter referred to as "getting Faced."

  • ViciousTrollop

    You are IRL Penny from Happy Endings!

  • The world needs more Penny Harts!

  • Zuffle

    I once got so drunk that I kicked a deaf girl in the back, and another time I downed a pint of mixed spirits and got blown by a girl I worked with in front of a roomful of people.

    In both cases, I went to work the next day - I was chairman of the campus and worked in the student union shop at my university - and someone I worked with had to tell me what had happened, and I apologised to everyone involved.

  • YLlama

    During college, some student group or another threw a karaoke party/fundraiser. I also had a friend come in from out of town, and we had dinner before we went to the karaoke party. We ordered a bottle of wine with dinner. As it turns out, the three other diners didn't want wine. So I drank the bottle.

    Then we went to a bar to meet up with some other friends. Because the karaoke party wasn't set to start for another hour or so. Had a couple of mixed drinks.

    Then at the karaoke party, I had another mixed drink. In a big red frat party cup. A vodka and cranberry or something. Another friend took a sip, and suggested it was really strong. But I couldn't tell. I found out afterward that the bartender had been pouring mixed drinks all night that were 80% hard liquor, 10% ice, and 10% mixer. So I suppose you can say it was strong.

    Someone signed me up for a song on the karaoke machine. I didn't actually know the song that well, so I was trying to read the lyrics from the screen. Unfortunately, the screen wouldn't stay still. So I just mumbled along loudly for several minutes. And then I forgot that the karaoke machine was on a stage, raised about two, two-and-a-half feet from the floor. And so fell down pretty hard as I walked back to my table after the song finished.

    On the walk home, I apparently decided at one point to sleep in the bushes. And dodge a "moving tree" by running into the street. And urinate on a parked car. [Thankfully, I was with some folks that were going my way, and weren't nearly as drunk.] That night, I slept in the bathroom, hugging the toilet, waking periodically to fill it from both ends. Actually, I'm reasonably certain, that pattern continued well into the next day, perhaps as late as dusk.

    [Of course a *true* drunk would have gone out the next night. Which I didn't. Yea, me!]

  • Rochelle

    I got hugely drunk at my friend's boyfriend's company Christmas party, which is tacky to start with. Later I thought I was being a good guest by barfing in my sleeve instead of on the floor. It made sense at the time. I haven't been that drunk since.

  • brite59

    1980 boyfriend and I had gone down to Mexico for a romantic holiday. We'd been there about 4 days, had befriended some locals from one of the bar/restaurants and that evening I decided I was going to show that gringa girls can drink tequila too. Most of a bottle of tequila done in shots, with Heineken chasers over a couple of hours, then it was time to go to a local dance with our new friends. As I peered at my boyfriend in the dim light I could see about 8 of him and knew it was absolutely, no delay, imperative that I get back to the hotel right quick. There followed a long blank period which came into focus with me stretched lengthways across the bed dry heaving into a waste basket. This went on for a long enough time for me to realise that I was in fact dying and started begging my boyfriend, between retches, to call a doctor. At some point he took me seriously and someone who might have been a doctor appeared in our room and gave me a big shot of something (probably Gravol) in the ass. Another long blank period broken by mid morning sunlight and the absolute amazement that I was still alive. I was shaky and sick for the rest of our stay and to this day, cannot bear even the smell of tequila. Your body never forgets.

  • Brooke

    New Years Eve six years ago. I just decided I was going to get drunk (for only the second time in my life) so I went out and bought some strawberry wine, not the cheapest they had, but close. My husband didn't drink with me, he preferred to enjoy the show. I drank the first bottle, then things get really hazy. I'm told I spent much of the evening in bed watching Muppet Show dvds, repeatedly yelling into the next room "Honey, Honey, the Swedish chef goes Bork, Bork, Bork." Halfway into the second bottle I got really honest and began giving my real opinion on any and every topic. Before I finished the second bottle I was sitting on the bathroom floor, crying, telling my husband that I forgot how to breathe. He put me fully clothed in my pajamas into a cold shower and I remembered how to breathe right quick. I was so hungover and sick the next day that I swore I'd never drink again. Anytime I get the urge my husband reminds me of that cold shower and I change my mind.

  • Winter 2005, I was living in the Manayunk section of Philadelphia, where the hills never end and neither do the drunk frat boys. It was start of a blizzard, so I walked to my best friend Jay and his brother's house four blocks away-we bundled up and pounded red wine on the covered porch while watching cars slide down the hills. We met up with Jay's cousin, who also lived at the house, and walked around the area. At this point there are maybe 14/15 inches of snow on the ground, and I'm wearing sneakers. I averaged 1 slip and fall per every half block. But the snow looked gorgeous. Last thing I remember was throwing snowballs at cars and yelling "I used to play softball, look how far I can throw!!"

    I have never in my life woken up more sore than I did that next morning. But I was 24 and could regroup quickly so we spent that whole Sunday at our favorite bar playing pool. Now I can't ever let myself get more than a little buzzed or I vomit for hours. And life is too short for alcohol-induced puking.

  • Danar the Barbarian

    Unfortunately for me, I don't vomit when I get drunk. It would be so much better if I did. Instead, I just suffer the goat-humper of all hangovers the next day. For instance:

    For my 27th birthday, I told my fiancee I wanted to go to a strip club. We lived in Hollywood so it wasn't hard to do. I drank many margaritas (with extra salt on the rim, because dehydration = awesome) and then my fiancee got me a lap dance in the back room. Totally nice girl, we both giggled the whole time. The bouncer yelled at me to unwrap my leg from around her waist, and the dancer rolled her eyes at him. Time to go - I staggered out to our car in my ill-advised eff-me heels. My man, who wisely chose to refrain from drinking to take care of me, drove us home.

    (Scene missing)

    The next thing I remember, I am squiring iodine on my fiancee while he takes a shower and laughing hysterically.

    (Scene missing)

    Then we are having sex that was aggressively initiated by me. I'm being truly obnoxious, telling him to smell me because I smell like the dancer at the club.

    Next morning, I couldn't get out of bed I was so ill. My poor, long-suffering fiancee brought me water occasionally and let me stay in bed all day. I think he watched football and played video games. I would have given anything to be able to wretch and get the poison out, but the thought of hoisting my throbbing head off the pillow to then put a finger down my throat was more than I could handle. It was 24 hours before I looked and felt human again.

    Did that turn me off drinking? Hell no! But that was my one and only trip to the titty bar. The end.

  • PDamian

    I don't drink much -- don't care for beer or wine, and can drink the hard stuff only when it's mixed with something. I don't buy alcohol for drinking at home, and my limit is two drinks a night when I'm out with friends, and I usually don't make it to the second. Yes, I'm the middle-aged lady you see in the bar drinking something frozen and disgustingly fruity with an umbrella stuck in the top, drinking with a bevy of the same.

    So here's my quasi-drunk story. One of my male colleagues is married to a real piece of work: a militantly homebound mom, in charge of all the school bake sales, member of the PTA, who looks down her incredibly long nose at her husband's "career gal" coworkers (no shit, that's what she calls us, and we're all college profs). It's astonishing that she's only in her late 30s; you'd think she was straight out of the 1950s.

    So one night, after a day of grading finals and finishing up paperwork for the semester, my department decides to go out for drinks to unwind and celebrate the end of the semester. Husband of Piece-of-Work comes, loudly announcing to all that he can have only one beer, because Piece-of-Work gets upset if he drinks more. We all smirk, and I order my usual fruity foamy frilly drink. About two hours later, I've ordered my second drink, which arrives when Piece-of-Work shows up. Several of us stand up to make room for her at the table, and I overbalance, tip my drink on the table and nearly tip over myself. Having had only one drink, I'm not even near drunk, but that doesn't stop her. "Oh my goodness, how many drinks have you had?" "Only one? Are you sure?" "Do you need a ride home?" And an hour and a replacement drink later, she's still going. "Should you have that drink? You know, alcohol affects women differently ..." I was about a second away from slapping her face and blaming it on the drink later. That was about three years ago, and when I see her at department events, she watches me like a hawk to see if how much wine I drink. As I don't like wine, and my department serves the boxed stuff anyways, I never drink at those things. She's very disappointed, I'm sure.

  • Got drunk on Canada Day and grabbed onto the roof rack of a passing van. Was dragged, then thrown. Cop told me I was an idiot, was right.

  • F'mal DeHyde

    I kept reading that as "Canada Dry". der

  • Maguita NYC

    Was it in Newfoundland?

  • Friendly Manitoba, actually.

  • Maguita NYC

    Even when rednecking-it*, Canadians stay so damn gracious and polite. Americans would fare so much better if we treated each other with the same graciousness. Cheers!

    *Roofdragging on a moving van. Come on!

  • I thought friendly Canadians were a myth, but I just moved back from living overseas for the last few years, and it is ridiculous. People apologize for EVERYTHING.

    The cop didn't take me in or anything. He just called me an idiot. It was surprisingly effective.

  • Sandra

    I am now near middle age and therefore a tremendous lightweight, but in my younger, stupider days I could toss 'em back with the best of my Irish cousins. But at a party one weekend, spurred on by some younger co-workers who were currently attending my hard-drinking alma matter, I met my match. Homemade jello shots straight out of the pan (my recipe was a brutal 50 percent water to 50 percent alcohol), vodka shot upon vodka shot with a Czech co-worker with a taste for the fine stuff, Bailey's shots upon Bailey's shots with a co-worker with a taste for the less fine stuff, a margarita, a couple of grain alcohol coolers and then, in a moment of complete insanity, about half a 40 of coconut rum. We abandoned the party and ambled down to a nearby beach, where I collapsed in the sand with my rum and contemplated the non-existent surf. At one point a couple of 13 or 14 year old boys came over and, upon appointing me their Rum Goddess, bowed down before me while I "knighted" them with my bottle of Malibu rum. When my boyfriend - totally disgusted with my behavior, I might add - finally came and found me lording over my "subjects," he dragged me back to the party, where I passed out on the ground and then threw up in a nearby rockery, the end. Had I not, I surely would have gotten food poisoning. Very impressive work indeed.

  • Sandra

    Sigh, alcohol poisoning. We'll save the food poisoning stories for another thread.

  • Superasente

    First, every story should begin, "I was at the party with other members of my comedy improv class." You instantly set the stakes very high, and the rest of the tale is primed to be a hoot. I wish you had paced yourself better for what was almost certainly the most awesome party ever thrown.

    Second, giving up drinking because you had a bad drunken night when you were already having a shitty year is like giving up masterbating because your hands were chapped that one time. That being said, I commend you for knowing what is and isn't healthy for your lifestyle, which is a talent most never learn (I myself only drink grain alcohol and rainwater).

    Third, my story: Where to begin? Asking me to tell a story about some notable evening of drunken humiliation is like asking Idi Amin about that one dude he killed. I suppose the memory that burns brightest in my memory today is a white-water rafting trip I took the summer after my senior year. I and eight other close friends went to the Youghiogheny River with a few of our fathers for two nights of rafting, grilling, drinking and sleeping under the stars. Also there was my improve comedy group... it was awesome. On the first night our fathers were pounding drinks. Just obliterating themselves. Someone brought a bottle of vodka and was passing out shots. I wasn't a big fan of vodka because I'd gotten very ill on it recently and didn't want to be the first idiot to puke in front of his dad. But, I was the only one not taking shots then, and a pack full of drunken boys weren't going to stand for it. Soon the wods were filled with cries to have me take the shot. Specifically, the cries were "Take the shot, son," which are the words of wisdom my father spoketh that started the whole ruckus.

    So I did. I drank merrily throughout the nigh and eventually vomited on myself while I was laying in a field naked after the pitch-black midnight football game (which was far less homoerotic than it sounds).

    The next day my friends and I stood side-by-side in the majestic Yough and crapped in it. I watched crap squeeze out of my friends butthole and drift off downstream. My own chased me back to the boat, because I didn't wait long enough to swim away from it and the swirling water dragged it along behind me.

    Ah, my youth; where have you gone.

    Anyway, there were others. I caught chlamydia twice somewhere along the way, got beat-up pretty badly once, and ended the night without my clothes on more occasions than I can count.

  • Genevieve Burgess

    As I've mentioned here before, on New Year's Eve 2011 I managed to sprain an ankle and break a finger. I don't actually know when these injuries happened, or if they happened at the same time. I remember falling out of a cab (classy!) after doing one too many shots after not having enough dinner, but I still don't know if one or both injuries happened then. My memory isn't entirely blacked out, but it's pretty hazy. I did spend the rest of the night in my five inch heels though, so clearly alcohol was both the cause of and solution to my problems that night.

    Waking up the next morning in my car with all of myself aching, several new and dramatic bruises and a pinky finger that didn't work right wasn't terribly fun. Neither was the memory of being the first one to get sloppy drunk. I still drink, but I avoid shots and make it a point to eat a nice filling meal before I embark on evenings out.

  • Genevieve Burgess

    To clarify, in case anyone was wondering: I didn't drive drunk. I went back to my car in the parking garage, cracked a window, drank the gatorade I'd stashed in the backseat and fell asleep for a few hours.

  • Maguita NYC

    It was a stressful time for me. Coordinating a three-day Finance conference that took more than three months of preparations, reservations, changes, presentations, ego flattering (hotel-room attribution), and at times, dealing with nincompoops who like to shit on people and fuck everything up.

    Back then, I was executive assistant to one of the nicest Finance VPs ever. We got along great: He needed me to boss him around so not to miss any of his many deadlines and meetings, which I routinely accomplished with greatest joy, and basically left everything that had nothing to do with spreadsheets for me to handle. And I loved it! Even thrived on it. High tension adrenaline fueled hours-upon-hours of stress, little food, and not much sleep.

    Naturally in such an intense environment, I was inching closer to one major... Faux pas. To put it kindly.

    The meeting was held off-site for three days, and I was running breathless making sure everything goes accordingly. There were more than 70 Accounting and Finance executives at that meeting from all over the States. Everything was going great. Until the last evening.

    To celebrate the ending of a wonderful and productive time, a few of us decided after an amazing wine-soaked dinner to go out and party. I did shot, after shot, after shot. Feeling the tension of the last few weeks simply slip away, intended on basking in the glow of our smash success.

    Now see, I didn't feel that drunk just tipsy enough to be really happy. And better still, being the consumate professional, always on the clock, I kept an eye on everyone and made sure they had fun as well as stayed safe.

    Around 2 a.m., it was obvious that all were beyond ready for bed. Except for me, of course. So I hustled the whole gang unto the street, and started pushing towards our hotel.

    I really thought I was fine until the streetlights became too bright, the white lines blurry: That's when I realized I was in trouble. We finally got into the lobby, I pushed my hair out of my face, forced my eyes to un-smize and stare wide (because when you're not drunk, you have a wide-eyed stare) and somewhat reassuringly at the frightened guy handling the front desk.

    While talking to everyone, I head towards the elevators - there were two right across the front desk - and pushed the "Up" button between both lifts. Wanting to get everyone quickly to their rooms.

    I finally hear "Ding!".

    One of the lifts was here. And naturally, when dealing with a large group, you first enter the elevator and hold the doors to let everyone in. I take two huge self-assured steps into what I thought was the elevator, miss, and smash face first right into the wall between both lifts.

    And fly backwards almost 6 feet. To land on my ass. Hard.


    More silence.

    Then everyone at the same time rushes towards me. My boss was first to reach me. With the shock of the hard connection, I just laid still on my back. He comes hovering over me and starts asking "Are you o...."

    That is when I threw up straight in his face.

    Remember the Witches of Eastwick, when the ladies were throwing-up disgusting rivers of cherries? It was exactly like this. But with so much more torque. Unendingly, in my boss's face.

    Words could never express my mortification.

    The next morning when I came down for breakfast, I got a standing ovation.

  • This story is amazing. The standing ovation at the end is just wonderful. If that happened to me I wouldn't be able to keep a straight face. Did your boss handle the vomiting well?

  • Maguita NYC

    He was quite gracious in the beginning, then started using it as a negotiation tool when he didn't want to attend one of his tedious meetings. Yes, a kind fiend if you will.

  • Rochelle

    That is spectacular, but not truly stupid. I used to work at a place that had a "leadership" conference every year for a week. Worst week of my year. Every year on the last night, two of the senior staff members would get blind drunk and yell "f*ck you!" At each other in a hallway of the hotel for hours before passing out. Every year! The rest of the year they pretended to like and respect one another. It taught me to work somewhere else, and never drink with people I don't like.

  • Maguita NYC

    That unfortunately is quite prevalent in most big corporation environments.

    The smiles and pleasantries exchanged even when people hate each other's guts, the support they give each other when it suits their own purposes, and games they play up until one of them is let go. And when that happens, it always breaks my heart to watch when realization dawns. The fired senior is beyond stupefied by the deception; Especially when they'd believed they were part of that special brotherhood at the top, the inner circle in the know of all schemes. They feel kind of... bushwhacked. And yet, they keep on playing the same games on each other. Always falling for the same schemes.

    And I understand your POV, it is hard emotionally persevering in such an environment. However, and I am ashamed to state it/type it clearly... There's always that paycheck, and the promise of a more comfortable retirement. So you keep on trucking, hoping a better outcome for yourself.

  • Fabius_Maximus

    Halloween, a few years back. In Ireland. It wasn't much of a party, but the host had opened a large bottle of (ironically) Glenfiddich he got as a gift recently.

    I may or may not have drunk half of the bottle (and nothing else), spaced out over the evening. I was pretty pissed already, when a friend of the host invited me and another guest to a club several kilometers away. When the taxi finally arrived there, my head was spinning so badly, I told the driver to turn around immediately and drive me home. I managed to get to my bedroom, but couldn't get into bed. So I laid down on the floor and fell asleep.

    The funny thing is: I don't even like Scotch that much.

  • the new transported man

    Last weekend I was a little crunk & discussing veganism/vegetarianism & The China Study with a friend at a party. Definitely a little wobbly around the mouth-hole but still contributing coherently. Then Lance Corporal Buzz Killington, aka my wife, ponies up to the conversation & I completely lose it, stammering all the way down. I had to excuse myself in order to avoid the discomfort. The next day my wife said, "You were funny last night," to which I replied, "Let's talk about something else."

  • chanohack

    You were discussing veganism at a party and YOUR WIFE was the buzz killer?

  • the new transported man

    I'll take HUMOR for $100, Alex.

  • L.O.V.E.

    Hotel in Guadalajara. 1992 Gas Explosion rocked the city. Met a nice local girl making a very good go of convincing me to take her back to the U.S. Left for the high country half way to Puerto Vallarta in a bus full of chickens and produce. Drank shots of raicilla (Mexican Moonshine) that put me out of commission for four days. The girl had to go back home and I was in no condition to travel 2 hours in the back of a pickup. Just laid naked on a bare mattress with two pans in the room. Alcohol poisioning. No medical facility within an hour. Days of dry heaving. Delirious. Fever. Chills. No phone. No one but the girl knew I was there. An old lady would come by periodically to bring water and corn. Then Monte's revenge hit.

    Good times.

  • Captain D

    They should make this into a movie starring Brad Pitt

  • L.O.V.E.

    Well, if there is ever a comment diversion about riding around in the woods with a meth-head construction worker while puking so much chili through your nose that you physically cant breath; or making the mistake of trying to become a member of the mile high club on a Southwest trip from L.A. to Vegas with two sister strippers right after 9/11 and pulling a Don Draper-at-a-funeral maneuver in front of the cockpit, I got those stories locked and loaded.

  • F'mal DeHyde

    God, I feel nauseated just reading that.

  • A. Smith

    I've only been drunk once. I was far from my dorm room and had to walk a pretty sizable distance back. I tried to take a shortcut and I came across a hedge. I tried to jump over it but what I hit was a stone wall. I hit my shin so hard it fractured and because it was about and inch under my knee made walking next to impossible for about 3 weeks. Even now when Winter comes I get the occasional sharp pain that comes out of nowhere. After that I basically gave up drinking heavy.

  • Mrs. Julien

    So what you're saying is that you know when winter is coming?

  • AudioSuede

    The closest I've ever gotten to a truly embarrassing drunken story was a party where I downed three hard ciders in about fifteen minutes, and my stomach hurt so bad I was doubled over in the bathroom for about half an hour, unable to move even to throw up.

    And then I went into the living room and my friend was waggling his penis around, and that was my night.

  • e jerry powell

    So everyone was drunk and things were relatively tame. If the wagging penis was doing much else, that would have pushed things into another realm.

  • AudioSuede

    A sexy, sexy realm.

  • e jerry powell

    Or incredibly embarrassing. Depends.

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