She can't go into them because the the courts are still out on them.

So on graduation night in 1994, I went to my first actual party where the actual "popular kids" were. I brought along my gang of freaks who were invited by proxy (one of the twins who was throwing the party wanted to do me and that is why we got invited). I hardly drank at all so...okay so I had some boones and some cups o beer. After I sucked face with one of the twins, I staggered into the kitchen where someone shoved this huge Sparkletts water vat in my face and told me to drink. I did. They said "No down to THIS LINE!" And everyone is standing there, cheering me on (it was 3 yr old fermented tequila. I did not know this). Out of the corner of my eye is Johnny! Johnny the top wrestler in the school! In the county! Le sigh...I wanted to impress him so I drank out of that vat until they were satisfied. Then I went and sat down next to my friend and yakked all over the floor. Blackout. As the story goes, I was carried by some friends to a few bathrooms where I continued to vomit while they took my picture. Meanwhile, the popular kids yelled at my friends to clean up my puke so my best friend (bless her) was scooping up my vomit with plastic cups. THEN, the cops came and people panicked and tried to HIDE ME so I ended up in the arms of a complete stranger in the backyard. Then when my friends tried to fetch me, the other kids wouldn't GIVE ME TO THEM and that started a fight. Meanwhile I'm completely gone. I remember nothing. So...they finally get me and throw me in the hatch of some car and...okay I wake up in my friend's room and I don't know where I am or who is in the room. I am surprised that I have puke in my hair. Surprised! I find a bathroom and flip on the lights and...there is a giant swastika between my eyes Charlie Manson style. Also some anarchy signs..."punks not dead" etc. all over my face and arms. My combat boots are GONE. Stolen. I spent the rest of the day in bed by the time I got home. Epilogue: A year later I met up with Johnny and found out that he didn't drink. Uh...I didn't impress him that night. And i am forever known as the girl who puked all over the Alvarez house. :(
Check it out...

Well, here are a few of my tamer ones. This post's theme is Goth Clubs.

Back in DC I these two wonderful older friends who would ply me with vodka redbulls (and vodka and crans, before redbull hit the market) by virture of the fact that I was the younger kid they took care of. So every week for 4 or 5 years, I would go to this goth cub and get just faced.

During one such outting, I was sitting with Kim (one of my older caretakers) talking, the usual self pitying "I'm not pretty enough" crap that I'm happy to say I'm too old for now. Not really all angst ridden, just this little game we were playing called, "Am I pretty enough for this person."

A girl in a tight vinyl cat suit walks in and we both give her the elevator. Girl is hot. Somehow Kim and I are talking about which one of us she'd prefer, I think it was part of the game where I was saying that I'm not pretty enough for this girl and Kim was saying she wasn't but I was in an attempt to make me feel better. Generally, I'm too shy to introduce myself to people, particularly at clubs but I'm chockabox full of liquid cuurage and if nothing else I can get a closer look at this girl. So, I grab Kim's arm and I drag her over to this chick and start to say, "We were wondering which one of us you thought was more attractive..." Except that I'm really drunk so I'm rambling and it takes me a really long time get to my point, but I never get there; I get 99.9% of the way there. As I'm rapping up I realize that the girl in we've been talking to is my ex-girlfriend Rachel. So, I smooooothly finish my last sentence with, "...and I want you to disregard the fact that we've had sex before. Because it probably counts against me."

On another evening, Kim and I are on the dance floor, which is fairly empty. I think not many people came out because it was raining. Kim disapears, which can only mean that soon I'll have more booze. I'm already fairly drunk, but I dance better when I'm drunk. I'm dancing away, twirling around, and just kinda checking out the other dancers. There are a handful of girls, maybe six, and they are each in turn meeting my eyes. So, maybe I'll go up and talk to one of them once... and then the alcohol haze in my head clears like steam fading from a bathroom mirror when hit with a blowdryer at full blast. I want to step away from my story for a bit to make clear that I am not a slut. I actually do go to goth clubs for the music. But I have had sex with every single girl on that dance floor. I do what I feel any brave and rational guy in my position would do, I rabbit.

An hour and a half later Kim finds me in a corner, cigarette in one hand with the other hand covering my face. She is carrying a Vodka Redbull, that all of the ice has melted in because she's spent all that time looking for me. She hands it to me and I down it. She asks me what's wrong and I say, "I can't dance. They'll know."

Funny thing about the liquid courage...I used to get about 7 whiskey sours in me and then whisper all the things I wanted to do (insert obsession's name here) in his ear. And the next day demand to know what I said and I never got any straight answers. :p

Lux, for some reason the comet right next to the bud in that picture cracks me up.

Me too, Gil! That and the look on her face.. I'm very sorry Lux, but I snickered.

We can't get into the debauchery because in remembering all of my drunken escapades, well.. I learned a few things about 'the pattern of her drunkeness' and it is rated [Unsuitable for Public Audiences of People Who Will Remember And Tease Me] due to it's um... adult content.

ok THERE! now shup.

This is the best thread EVER.

My first business trip sent me to Arizona to scout hotels for a conference I was organizing. After a relatively tame stay in Phoenix, I drove down to Tuscon. All I knew about my hotel was that it featured the only 5-star restaurant in Arizona.

At the time I was a budding gourmand, so I knew I'd have to experience the place to the fullest. At put it all on my expense account, ofc.

So I head down to the restaurant & I've got at least 5 waiters, each with their own norrowly-defined job. There's the guy that brings me my plate, the soup guy, the silverware guy, etc. I have NO idea what's going on.

So I order a cape cod to start things off. Eventually the food waiter shows & I place my order. I forget the entree, but I know the appetizer was a lobster bisque. The entree was something equally creamy, and probably fishy. (I wasn't eating red meat or poultry at the time).

Everything is amazing. At some point I finish my first drink & ask for another. Somehow the phrase "Cape Cod" got converted to "Cakebread", vinter of very thick red wine - Cab, probably.

So out comes this bottle of red wine. I'm a little bit buzzed (the drinks were strong) and way out of my league in the world of fine dining. So, despite the fact that I'm having a creamy fish entree, I figure the arrival of a bottle of cab makes PERFECT SENSE. So I drink most of it.

Then the waiter realizes his mistake and brings me another cape cod. So I drink that too.

Teetering back to my room, I puke creamy fish & red wine all over their carpet. After stumbling to my bed, I call the concierge & tell him that "someone" vomited all over the floor. Then I passed out.

And Gil is in line for heroship and ZAN! YOU ARE SO FULL OF BULLSHIT!!

I have no shame.

COMPANY CHRISTMAS PARTY!

I go to work for a family-run home builder in Pennsylvania. 4 months into my 6 month employment there, we have our company Christmas Party.

At this party will be the owners, their families, my coworkers, and their kids. Everyone involved with the organization, including all of the sales people in the different developments.

I had a very busy day that day and I had nothing to eat the entire day. We go to the party and I say to my best friend, "Do not buy me shots. I haven't eaten all day and I'm gonna get drunk way too fast and enter 'The Zone' very early." He agrees, but you know how best friends get.

I decided to have one drink before dinner. I'd get something to eat and then, once I had some food in my stomach, I could drink freely. Unfortunately, I never made it to the dinner table before getting completely and utterly knee-crawling, camode hugging drunk.

You see, at the bar a few women from the sales offices were getting their drink on. The drinks start flowing and then one of them says, "Let's do shots!" My best friend believes this is the best idea he's ever heard and starts lining up shots of Jaeger.

Most of what happens next is a bit of a blur. I know one of the salesreps exclaims to me, "Look at this new tattoo I got on my shoulder" and proceeds to slip her dress off of her shoulder to show me. Not to be undone by a fucking bird, I respond, "Oh yea? Look at this shit!" and take off my shirt to expose the tattoo that takes up about 2/3rds of my back.

When I turn back around they notice my piercings and another asks with a wink, "You have 5 earrings and a couple of other piercings. Do you have anything else pierced?" Coyly I reply, "That's a secret." Not to be denied this information, she attempts to take my pants off. THANKFULLY my friend restrained her because I was just standing there, smiling stupidly. She got my pants down around my knees, only exposing my boxers.

Luck would have it that the bar we were at was directly across the dance floor from the dinner tables. The dinner tables that the majority of the guests were sitting at. All 200+ of them. Watching the bar.

Somehow I managed to get my shirt back on. I went up to the buffet table and while standing there trying to figure out what the blur of food before me was, I thought I saw the most beautiful girl. Ever. My drunken heart swooned! So I turn to the guy standing next to me and say, "Holy shit. Did you see that girls ass? What I would do to that. Do you know her name?"

He replies, "Yes. That's my daughter." It was the owner of the company.

At some point, my best friend decides that I've done enough damage to my career and tries to take me home. I'm with a gaggle of women getting my pimp on when he does this. I'm obviously not amused and when another guy comes up and says, "You should go home now," I get right in his face and scream at the top of my lungs, "YOU FUCKING SUCK!"

That ended up being the owner's son-in-law.

Needless to say, I spent the next two months with my head down until I got a new job.

Val... I won't say it, but that was awesome. And the part about 'standing there smiling stupidly' while the chick tried to take your pants down totally fucking made my DAY. I needed that.

I'm glad my idiocy can bring a small sliver of sunshine into your day, Sher!

I don't find that idiotic at all. I think you just had the bad luck of being around some stuffy, stuck up, corn-cob-up-the-bum office types!

They are the problem, NOT YOU! NOT YOU!

YOU FUCKING SUUUUUCK!

YOU FUCKING SUUUUUCK!


I have no idea what this is about, but I feel the need to apologise.

And Gil is in line for heroship and ZAN! YOU ARE SO FULL OF BULLSHIT!!

Heh, I was wondering if anyone was paying attention... :)

Further pictures of Lux on party night:

Basically.

Val that was fucking awesome!

YOU FUCKING SUUUUUCK!


I have no idea what this is about, but I feel the need to apologise.

HA! no she was quoting Val I believe...

Two more quick stories for the road. This posts theme is "friends", in air quotes as homage to Killian's story.

I had this friend Kevin back in high school, we didn't go to the same high school, and whenever we would hang out he would get me in no end of trouble. See, Kevin liked to party, which really means that Kevin really liked to chase tail. The boy had a number for, or a lead on, or an in via a common friend with every single girl in Montgomery County, the state of Maryland, the D.C. greater metro area, and probably up and down the eastern seaboard. And what a guy like this needs is a wingman. Back in high school I was a great wingman.

Story one: In which Gilad is in fact, not a great wingman.
Kevin decides we should go to this party cause a girl is going to be there. All I really know about this party is that most of the people are from a high school that my high school has a rivalry with. I don't want to go, but Kev needs a wing man. We get there and introduce ourselves around a bit, Kevin scouts for his mark while I draw the attention of some of the guys. No, I don't go to your high school, I go to Paint Branch. Sports, I'm on the ice hockey team. Oh, *name Kevin tells me to drop* invited me, is that cool.

Kev disapears, and one of the dudes I've been talking to, a real practical joke from the way he talk is is like, hey let me introduce you around. He introduces me to a rack of people a pulls five guys along with him and leads me to the back deck. We chat for a while, looks like I'm talking to a peice of their high school's hockey team, and I"m not in their district, but my travel team (my non-high school pay to play hockey team) is. I'm talking to these guys about hockey and the dude that brought me out disapears and comes back with two drinks. He hands me one full of purple stuff and says , "here you go man." I thank him and take a sip. It tastes like purple kool-aid. “No, no! Like this man,” he says and seems to start chugging. “What is it,” I ask, and one of the other guys tells me it’s called “Purple Jesus.”

What the hell, I start to chug. Just as I finish the cup and I’m bringing it away from my face, a hand crosses through my field of vision, slaps my hand, and knocks the empty cup to clatter across the deck. “The fuck?” I say as I turn to stare into Kevin’s eyes. “The fuck did you just do?” It is at this point that I realize three very important things: 1: The hockey players around me are grinning real big, humorous, but mean like, wolfish. 2: Kevin, does not have the “stop embarrassing me” face that I had expected but the great big “I’m so sorry” eyes reserved for the giving of bad news of an inevitable nature. 3: The guy what gave me the drink’s cup is still half full, and may have started out that way. In a very secondary way, I’m also aware that everyone on the deck is watching this little exchange.

I turn to the guy that handed me the cup, “What’s in a purple Jesus?” I ask. He breaks out into hyena like laughter, and his little coterie follow suit. “What’s in a purple Jesus!” I demand of Kevin. I a very low voice he replies, “Grain alcohol and kool-aid mix.”

For the briefest of seconds, I’m relieved, because while grain alcohol is no picnic, I’ve done shots of it before…. And then the harsh reality of the situation come down on me. That I have not in fact imbibed several shots of grain alcohol, but in fact downed 12 or 14 ounces of almost pure ethanol cleverly concealed by sugary purple powder. That is for the record, one of the worst feelings in the world. The sensation of being stone cold sober, knowing that you’ve just written a check that is about to be cashed for the worst drunk of your life, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Not even enjoy the drunk, just wait through the panic.

This story is hella long, I’ll post the second one later.

Oh no. You almost died, right?

Hurling it up wasn't an option?

...lucky it wasn't draino.

Hurling it up wasn't an option?

...lucky it wasn't draino.


In the clarity of looking back on it ten years later, force puking would have been the smart thing to do. Plenty of puking was involved anyway. I think my retardo teenage mind wanted to avoid giving them the satisfaction. I vaguely remember sitting down afterward, while Kevin went back to chat up the girl a bit, and being quite uncontrollably stumbly by the time he was ready to pour me into the car. I'm fairly certain, pulling over and or puking from a moving car was involved, as he had to wash his car the next day. The second story isn't so much a drunk story, more a miscommunication at the wrong time story, but I may post it anyway because it amuses me.

MAN! I was reading through that, Gil, thinking 'oh this is gonna be like in Almost Famous where they had LSD in the punch' but NOOOOO, it was worse.

I, on the other hand, being the big boozer that I am and was back then, used to handle my 'Purple Passion' with dignity and aplomb. And use the bottles as a fake Madonna bra, as in 'VOGUE!' with big pointy purple things attached to my boobs.