Sunday Links: Hell if I know what's happening Edition

if they tried that with my cat, she’d kick their asses.

i’m not a drinker, no drunk stories here, sorry. i’m pretty much a boring quiet person.

Poor things.

my friend turned 21. I ended up having about 14 drinks (9 beers, three shots of rum, and a few mouthfulls of boxed wine), and I was convinced to go streaking. Now, it had been raining heavily by then, and this party was at his girlfriend’s empty four story house on a golf course, so the hills were really slippery and muddy. So as I was running down one of the hills, I turned my left ankle and collapse. I hobble back to my clothes and the to the house and ice it for the next couple of hours.

What made it worse? I was in the middle of rehearsals for a dance heavy musical at the time. I had to sit out a few days of rehearsal, but I touched it up to do the show just fine a week later.

But THE worst part? My stage manager and director wanted me to get x-rays to make sure it wasn’t broken, even though I was 90% sure it wasn’t. So through a series of unfortunate events, many of which included other people not knowing what the fuck they were supposed to do, I now owe nearly $500 in hospital bills.

And I didn’t even get any that night!

The first time I ever drank
I was 15 years old and about 100lbs at the time. I had never had alcohol in my life at that point. A group of people convinced me that in order to get drunk you had to drink an entire fifth in an hour. So that’s exactly what my friend and I set to do. We were in my basement listening to some “awesome tunes” while we cracked open a fifth of fucking… i don’t even know… but anyways, she chickened out so I ended up drinking nearly the entire fifth by myself within 30-45 minutes. Nothing was happening. I didn’t understand. Minutes and minutes went by and nothing happened. That’s why I downed more and more. Suddenly it hit me. I couldn’t feel or control my body, and then suddenly I got voilently ill. My friend had to drag me to the bathroom while I left a puke trail on the floor. The basement was covered in puke the next morning. We told my mom I got the stomach flu in the middle of the night. We never got in trouble, but I hope to fucking god she wasn’t that clueless.

The morning the ambulance picked me up
yeah that was dumb…
“Christine, we’re calling 911” – roommates
“uhh… no you’re not”
“you’re going to puke up blood”
“no I am not leave me the fuck alone”
“ok the EMT’s are here”
“WHAT?! NO!!! GO AWAY!!”

Up north
I wasn’t present for this event, but my friends have a cabin up north where they like to go wild and drink. So they were drunk as hell up north, they made a campfire and eventually passed out. One friend passed out in front of the fire and the other two were in the tent. The one around the fire woke up in the middle of the night screaming, “OW!!! MY FEET!!!! MY FEET HURT!!!!YOU BURNT MY FEET!!!” My two friends in the tent kept ignoring him but he kept screaming. So finally they get out to see what’s wrong. The guy woken up in the night and walked through the campfire, his flipflops melted to his feet. Since they were in the middle of no where, an ambulance would not be able to find them. So while they were still drunk they had to drive him to the hospital with his feet hanging out the window.

It was my sophomore year of college. I was still underage (in fact, I think I was four days shy of 20). At a dry campus.

It was 3:15am or so. The Wednesday night tradition among a group of us was to get plastered at this apartment where four of my buddies lived on campus (I lived at the same apartment complex but not the same building), sometimes hitting one of the two town bars or going other places. The apartment was on the second floor. It had a balcony that hung over a sidewalk. And I was plastered. After all, it was early Thursday morning and I didn’t have any classes on Thursdays during that semester.

Below their apartment that night was a party involving a few gals we all hung around with. They invited us down, but for whatever reason I couldn’t open the balcony door. So I decided I was going to climb over the balcony and gently let myself down. But, then again, I was plastered. Great fucking idea. Should’ve just knocked on the door.

So after I’d gone over the balcony, I tried to hang on to one of the posts to release down to the ground gently. Didn’t happen the way I planned. My hand slipped and I fell onto the sidewalk that adjoined the girls’ apartment. My right knee took about 90 percent of the blow, my nose taking the other 10 percent. I was bleeding profusely and I am lucky I wasn’t concussed.

I went to a hospital the next afternoon for an examination of my right knee, which thankfully showed no structural damage, but it was swollen for a good three weeks following.

Many members of my family, most of all my sister, have never let me live this incident down. My mother never let me live it down either, especially after I’d called her the next morning to tell her what happened (naturally, she laughed her ass off BEFORE she asked if I was OK. I love you too, Mom!).

In a bit of irony, I found out that my niece (who goes to the same school now) lived in that exact apartment last year.

a rarely drink much past a very slight buzz. I hate that out of control feeling.
But I enjoy reading about other’s stupidity immensely.

but it’d make me look like an asshole so i won’t.

My 20th birthday was a mess. I was the idiot sopho that thinks he can handle superfluous amounts of Jager and Cuervo. After a while, my friends just started pouring beer and tequila, jager and vodka, other shit, alllll into a pitcher. They told me if I chugged it, they’d go buy me a birthday card. Well I chugged it, but never received a card. After challenging everyone in my path of mayhem to a Roshambo, I was taken back to my dorm. I was carried, all 200 lbs., up four flights of stairs. Apparently, after I blacked out, I threw a party in my dorm. With my head dangling forward, with my chin against my chest, I managed to request that the Red Hot Chili Peppers be turned on, and left on, before spewing up everything I’d consumed in the last 24 hours. I woke up to find that I’d pissed all over my rug, destroyed a rubbermaid storage bin with vomit, and that my head felt like it had been bounced off of concrete for 6 hours. I was miserable for two days.

Moral of the story: don’t drink with my friends.

Dr. Zhvegas (sp?) was just starting out as a new band and was playing at The Galaxy (Former Club 1227 on Washington). Me and the AMC had a TON to drink that night and some dude didn’t like one of us making time with his lady. A group of about 8 of us took it outside to the back alley. One by one we started throwing. It was wild and it was fun as shit. Good old fashion street brawl.

Each side recruited more and more dudes. It got to be about 25 of us and then all of a sudden we hear, “He’s got a gun!!!”. That was the end of the fight. Us white boys hauled ass back to North Co to celebrate Thanksgiving the next day with fat lips and black eyes.

But on south grand there was a mexican place….I cant remember the name…..but on wednesdays they had $1 margaritas….A friend had a house on the street behind the place so parking was cool and we’d just walk there……after a month or so the owner of the place got to know us really well……and one night when my gang was all there he brought out these HUGE punchbowl glasses and the margaritas were brown they had so much tequila in them……Well I drank 4 then decided it was time to head home…….yes my foolish ass drove……well I was headed back to BelleVegas which shouldnt have taken more than 30-45 minutes…….I left at 8:30…….I didnt get home till 11:45 that night……and I have no memory whatsoever of that 3 hours and 15 minutes……but I do know no money was spent and when I “Woke up” I was in the parking lot of Illinois Distributing near Our Lady of the Snows……man that must have been one helluva ride…..

My first trip to the mac daddy kegger party. We all meet up at the Hofbrauhaus to get oiled up and make a vow to drink a stein in every beer tent. First tent was the Lowenbrau, then the Spatenbrau. In the third tent we run into some Army Rangers egging on some Brits. One of the Brits had climbed up the main support beam and hung their Union Jack Flag. Once back down the Brits had proposed a toast to the Queen. Being the rude Yanks we turned our steins upside down on the table which meant “Fuck the Queen”. About that time one of the Rangers climbed up the same pole and cut down the Brit flag.

It was on.

I woke up out back of the beer tent in the drunk pile. They used wheelbarrows to clear the aisles of passed out drinkers and take them out back to sleep it off or puke. All I remember was swinging on a little Brit army dude and the lights went out. I was hoping them big boobed blonde frauleins serving the beer would provide first aid but no such luck that night.

Ten, fifteen years ago. I was touring in a band. We played the HoJo’s in Rapid City SD. They’re closing the doors forever after we play our last show at the end of the week. They stayed open an extra week to specifically have us close it out. It’s Thursday night. I have a wicked bronchitis attack. I claim I’m not gonna drink. I asked the waitress to save up my courtesy shots(bought for me) until the next night or saturday and I’ll have a good ol time. Dumb ass was pouring them and leaving them in the cooler. She brings them all out at the last break. “Here are your shots.” Are you kidding me?!?! I forgot to mention we were sponsored by Jaegermeister, so all comp shots HAD to be them, for obvious reasons. THIRTEEN M@THERF@@KING SHOTS!!!! I told her to give them away. An incredibly scary native American fellow claimed he and his brother bought the lions share of those shots and wanted them to go to me. I was all hopped up on cough medicine, so I figured a couple wouldn’t hurt me. There are ten minutes before we go back on. I do five of them. A crowd draws. Five minutes left. The bass player (and a good friend of mine) is dying laughing. “You’re gonna drink them all anyways, aren’t you?” Five more shots down. Three minutes left. I poured the other three into my orange juice and slammed it on the walk to the stage. My buddy was glad handing me and laughing, saying he never witnessed me do anything quite that stupid. I got three steps up onto the stage and headered right into the monitors. I rolled over to my back and put my feet up onto the wedges. I asked for my guitar. My buddy brought me my guitar and put the mic into my face and told me to “Roll over if you have to puke.” I played and sang, from the floor, finished the 60 minute set. There’s, allegedly a video and I wish I had it. …‘cause I don’t remember anything after the stairs!!! …and some of the stories I hear of people not finishing show!

You have a video about tea-bags. You have an attractive female scientist explaining how to use the tea bags.
Yet there is no tea-bagging joke in the comments? You’ve failed me once again, internets.

As a result of this, I wound up having to buy someone a bathtub because somehow I’d headbutted the tub so hard repeatedly that it cracked the fiberglass and split the frame of the tub in half.

After that I learned not to kill cases of Bud Light on my own with no food in my stomach.

I also started drinking nothing but good beer after that and still won’t drink Bud Light unless it’s the only thing available. Apparently it gives me superpowers and removes all sense of control and responsibility from me. No other beer or hard alcohol does that to me.

Why couldn’t something good like Schlafly give me superpowers?

…both prompted and unprompted.

Shrimpy is quite talented.

B.

coincided with a St.Pat’s party at my fraternity in Rolla. Those of you native Missourians who remember the 1970s will understand the implications of that. Party punch was some kind of fruit juice and Everclear concoction and I impetuously (which is a fancy word for stupid) declared that I would have one glass for each year of my life. I only made it to 14, after that I don’t remember anything else, although my good friend told me later that he had been gradually spiking my drinks with additional Everclear and it was a good thing I hadn’t drunk the last one because it was about 50-50. I have a hazy memory of coming to briefly in the john stall, seated on the throne with my head leaned against the wall before passing out again. Then I made it to my room eventually and I know that 30 second trip lasted 3 and a half hours. But I didn’t puke. I don’t have many points of drinking pride, but that I’ve never puked from drinking is one.

That was, of course, a zillion years ago. I’m a complete lightweight now. 3 beers and I’m buzzed