See You In Hell!

Friday, August 19, 2005

Tell me your "drunk" stories...

Let me start the ball rolling with the time at Carmen & Craig's wedding, where we went out and all got mega ultra trashed after the ceremony. When we got back to Carmen's parents' house (I was staying on the couch), I was trying to get out of my jeans and into bed, but I couldn’t for the life of me seem to untie my doc martens boots. I drunkenly fumbled with the knots for what seemed like hours, and finally decided that my only escape was to saw through the laces with my keys. This probably took another 20 minutes, but I managed to get the job done. In the morning I was shocked when I went to put my boots on and saw the shredded laces.

28 Comments:

Blogger eM said...

Hmm, soo many to choose from!

Let's stay on the wedding theme! as we're leaving the reception(where oddly, i didn't really embarass myself--we left at the perfect time!), I tell Dyl that I think we should go hit a party his friend is having, he isn't so sure about that, and we head to the car which is on the other side of a pot-hole filled lot. i step in one and almost fall, but gracefully (free wine at reception. fuck.) stagger my way through, noticing a few people across the lot. I tell them loudly i was in a wedding, they knowingly nod and walk out of their way so as not to be anywhere near me. we get into the car and i immediately change into more comfy clothes...this is your average surface lot that is somewhat well lit. Dylan suggests that we just go home instead of to the party. We pull up to the house and i promptly open the car door and hoark into our own gutter...as our neighbor walks by and Dyl attempts small talk..after filling the gutter with cabernet, i fumble into the house and doze off snuggling up on the bathroom shower mat.

a personal fav was waking up in high school wearing weird pajamas that i hadn't worn for years (bunnies and everything) with a slight memory of what happened the night before and worrying if mom and dad knew what had happened.
they knew...as did the folks at the police station...and the ER...and the RA at the guys' college dorm where my 'friends' left me passed out in a stairwell.

i did enough get some weird props from the people in my minor in posession classes i had to take tho. there were all the known 'cool' people and then me. i didn't notice anyone else there who was in my advanced physics class, oddly enough.

Friday, August 19, 2005 at 11:39:00 AM PDT

 
Blogger eM said...

i grammer me good. why can't you edit posts?

Friday, August 19, 2005 at 11:50:00 AM PDT

 
Blogger Jege (Jen) said...

I've just remembered a couple more good drunk stories:

THE TIME I WAS SO HUNGOVER, I PUKED IN MY OWN CAR:
A true low point. It was while I was living in Albuquerque, and I was driving home in the morning after spending the night at my boyfriend's house. For some bizarre (and lucky) reason, I had a bucket on the floor of the passenger seat, so I used that, and kept right on driving. When I got home, I hunched down in the front seat of my car while I waited for my roommates to leave the house. Then, when the coast was clear, I took the bucket into the backyard and surreptitiously buried the contents in the garden. Yay me!

THE "WHAT THE HELL" MORNING:
Strangely enough, this also occurred in Albuquerque. I got so drunk at a party that I don't even remember how I got home, but when I woke up, I was wearing just my bra & underwear (and socks), and was curled up on the bathroom floor, using my fuzzy green bathmat as a blanket (WHY I even had a fluffy green bathmat in the first place remains a mystery).

Friday, August 19, 2005 at 12:15:00 PM PDT

 
Blogger Thomas said...

Um, I can't remember any. Somehow I always end up in a jail in Mississippi though.

Friday, August 19, 2005 at 12:29:00 PM PDT

 
Blogger Jege (Jen) said...

(SHIVER) whoa, I just heard dueling banjos...

Friday, August 19, 2005 at 12:42:00 PM PDT

 
Blogger Jim V said...

A guy got so drunk at a party in highschool (we were all, um, over twenty one in high school) that he passed out, fell into a door, broke his nose, and bled all over the floor. Everyone thought he was dead so they left, about 150 people pouring out the door.

So now what do the five remaining partygoers do with a 200 pound drunk passed-out guy? Well, you need something with wheels on it. YES! A grill. That has wheels. We hoisted him onto the grill and rolled him into the bathroom where he began to come around and started hurling (and some even went into the toilet).

Then things got a little wierd. We decided to teach him a lesson. This is standard among guys, never pass out drunk around guys if you're a guy. Well, probably not a good idea if you're a girl either.

We put him in his car, stripped him to his underwear (thus removing the blood and puke soaked clothing), drove him to a local diner and left him in the parking lot. This isn't so bad except that he lived an hour away and had no idea where he was when he woke up, and why he had a dozen roses in his lap.

Friday, August 19, 2005 at 12:50:00 PM PDT

 
Blogger Jim V said...

OOH OOH OOH!! Me again, me again!

Last one, I promise. I was at an acid party in Iowa City (acid was, um, legal back then) but I didn't do any acid. I was an athlete those days and didn't drink or anything. But I knew that people on drugs usually liked munchies. So I went out and got four huge bags of Doritos. They were well received to say the least.

Later, I fell asleep in a recliner. Note the whole "don't pass out around other guys" warning from the above post. They decided to duct tape me to a light pole as punishment.

As I was being carried out of the house and protesting as much as I could, the team carrying me was stopped by a group on the porch.

"WAIT WAIT WAIT... DUDE... THAT'S THE DORITO GUY!!!"

I was lowered to the ground like a war hero, hugged and patted on the back a while, and given my freedom.

The lesson? It always pays to be a nice guy. That, or "always bring chips to acid parties."

Friday, August 19, 2005 at 12:55:00 PM PDT

 
Blogger Jege (Jen) said...

I think I just wet myself.

Friday, August 19, 2005 at 12:57:00 PM PDT

 
Blogger Jege (Jen) said...

Dude, I used to live in Iowa City!! Level with me; you bought the Doritos at Dirty John's Grocery, didnt you?

Friday, August 19, 2005 at 12:58:00 PM PDT

 
Blogger The_Bad said...

My buddy Mike used to torture the hell out of his roommate. Craig would get smashed and pass out, then Mike would go to work on him. Well, one night Craig got his entire face (including in his ear) painted solid with black magic marker. Imagine his surprise when he woke up late for work the next morning.

As for me, it seems every time I get hammered, I just end up sleeping on the floor.

Jim - I still have that picture of you puking at Dave & Busters. Too classic! Jim was an early drunk at his bachelor party. I had Jim 15 different kinds of drunk within the first hour of the party.

Friday, August 19, 2005 at 1:14:00 PM PDT

 
Blogger Jim V said...

LIES LIES LIES!! I have puked from being drunk, yes. Once, it was a beautiful arc of undigested spaghettios. The Bad can tell you all about it. He cleaned it up.

BUT, and that's a big hairy but, I NEVER puked at my bachelor party. I wanted to. So bad... I could taste it. Literally. BUT I WAS STRONG. I never let go. I did spend about an hour in the stall and D&B's driving the porcelain bus, though.

Another good torture for passed out drunk people: Spread Ben Gay all over their back and start screaming that they are on fire to wake them up.

Friday, August 19, 2005 at 1:29:00 PM PDT

 
Blogger kari said...

oh boy, let's see.....
do i dare to tell the tale of an everclear challenge by chris gieser about 12 years ago? i don't know how many shots we did, but i know that i ended up outside sans t-shirt in the snow b/c it felt nice and cool.
north dakota winter -- probably december. nice and cool. that would be called AN UNDERSTATEMENT.

and em, no mention of your recent bucket incident?
"BUCKET!"

Friday, August 19, 2005 at 8:04:00 PM PDT

 
Blogger eM said...

i was going to mention that one, but was attempting to maintain some level of dignity. i know, it's been gone for some time, i need to accept it. This one's for you, Kari :)

So, i went out for happy hour 2 days after defending my thesis and i was still a bit weirded out by everything and feeling odd...so i thot i'd drown that out by having a few...then i felt better (or just a bit out of it) and thot a chick drink would be fun...and one more would be great! I excused myself to go to the bathroom at some point...it was warm in there and i spent a little too much time in there so friends came to check on me...i was not doing well. So they go tell my husband Dylan to get the car. I have to go from one end of the bar in the bathroom to the front door. I make it about 10 feet and mumble 'bucket.' then louder 'BUCKET!!!!' my quick friends get a bucket from a worker at the bar (a college bar where it's obvious i'm waaaay too old to be having these problem as i'm not using a fake and should know better) and present it to me. i immediately spew into it and then stumble to the front door and fall into the awaiting car....So i'm now known as 'BUCKET' by a few close friends..ahh yes.. But even cooler than all this is that once we get home, i become a bit beligerant (sp?) and want to sleep in a mosquito-infested garage. After being eaten for a half hour, Dylan realizes his nicely spoken 'come on em, let's go inside' isn't going to work..So he gets all smart and tries to pick me up. usually this is an easy task but not when i'm dead set on sleeping in mosquito-ville! i scramble out of his arms at one point...onto the driveway! oh yes. so on top of a nasty hangover, i get 2 extremely scraped up knees, that require bandaging beyond a few simple bandaids and several scapes on my arms. To make it all the more fun, the next day was my 'done w' mofo thesis party' and it was really warm and humid. i wore capris to cover my atrocious knees and spent a good chunk of the day hoping i wouldn't need to call on my trusted buddy, ol' bucket.

Friday, August 19, 2005 at 8:47:00 PM PDT

 
Blogger Jege (Jen) said...

Bucket...I am humbled.

I'm not worthy!!! I'm not worthy!!!!!

Friday, August 19, 2005 at 9:55:00 PM PDT

 
Blogger Jege (Jen) said...

I still can't get over Jim's "put the passed-out drunk guy on the grill" story.....

Friday, August 19, 2005 at 10:11:00 PM PDT

 
Blogger Jege (Jen) said...

...although "BUCKET!" is pretty fucking funny.....

Can we maybe combine these stories? Perhaps Em can hoark into a grill instead of a bucket?

Friday, August 19, 2005 at 10:14:00 PM PDT

 
Blogger Thomas said...

I am having a "drunk story" right now. Though I am taking a break to write this comment.

Saturday, August 20, 2005 at 8:09:00 PM PDT

 
Blogger Jege (Jen) said...

Yay, Thomas!!!

P.S.- Avoid grills on wheels

Saturday, August 20, 2005 at 8:50:00 PM PDT

 
Anonymous Anonymous said...

OK.

So, my name is Curtis.

I am an Aries.

I am also an architect - sort of...

Oh, and I am a homosexual.

Totally.

This really happened to me and Jen.

So, like, this one time I was at my friends house in Albuquerque and, um, it was like during my second year of grad school at UNM and we were drinking and stuff and eating pizza and it was really cool. I mean, we used to do that a lot - like, WAY more than we should. I mean, during school. Anyways, I was drinking, like my 5th fat tire - cuz I REALLY like fat tire and I decided to avoid this totally bullshit conversation about Jacques Derrida and fuckin' bullshit decon architecture - like I'm supposed to believe Eisenman and Hadid aren't doin' all this fucked-up design shit cuz they WANT to????? Reasons? RIGHT... Anyways - oh yeah, so I go into my friends bedroom and notice that she has this, like funky lookin' teddy bear that has been sucked on way too many times and I go and pick it up and just like, stare at it. I think I had more than the 5 fat tires I mentioned earlier... My friend comes in the room; beer in hand and goes "ooooooh, so you met Barry... He's, like my FAVORITE thing from my fucked up childhood and I sleep with him every night and... "PUT HIM FUCKING DOWN, YOU STINKY TWAT!!" she screams at me. You see, like, I totally started dry fuckin' Barry while she was waxing sentimental on my ass and, well, she didn't appreciate the humor of me bonin' her cute and fuzzy... I of course, did find the situation humorous and continue workin' the little guy over. "YOU BETTER FUCKIN' PUT HIM DOWN OR I AM GONNA' MACE YOUR LAME, FAGGOTY ASS..." She wasn't kidding. She maced me - or at least, my ass. After I realized how serious the situation was - I mean, like my shirt was stained (over my left ass cheek) and everybody in the house was totally coughing and Barry was pretty pissed off and my friend, well - she totally gave me SOUR face and then locked herself in her bathroom. It took, like, a whole hour of kissing her pissed-off-architect-ass to, like come out and be normal and drink the rest of the beer and - like, I NEVER fucked her teddy bear again. EVER. My shirt is still totally fucked up. She should get me another one. Flowery twat.

Fuck, I really miss her.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005 at 4:02:00 PM PDT

 
Blogger Jege (Jen) said...

I love that story, Curtie. And I'm eternally sorry that I maced your ass.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005 at 4:08:00 PM PDT

 
Blogger Jim V said...

Curtis,

The bear was a cry for help. You need a boyfriend... fast.

Sorry, I'm married. Oh yeah, and I'm not gay. Damn. We could have been so beautiful together.

Wednesday, August 24, 2005 at 5:32:00 AM PDT

 
Blogger amycita said...

funny, I always envisioned "Barry" the teddy bear as spelled "Beary". Hmmm.

Wednesday, August 24, 2005 at 7:51:00 PM PDT

 
Blogger Jege (Jen) said...

He is actually "beary", not "barry". You are correct, Amycita.
And he has almost recovered from Curtie's assault....sometimes, I still hear him crying at night, though....

Thursday, August 25, 2005 at 8:15:00 AM PDT

 
Blogger eM said...

yeah, i thot it was spelled that way too. Kind of like i have Hippy (the hippo) and Dyl has Walrusy.

Thursday, August 25, 2005 at 10:21:00 PM PDT

 
Blogger Lisa said...

Though I can't possibly top the Beary story. I'll add one of my own, just because drunk stories are so much fun. I was at a party for an old boyfriend who was going to the peace corp the next day. One thing led to another and I was just way too drunk to walk home. (This was in Iowa City b.t.w., no one drives there.) Solution: borrow a bicycle. It worked too. It was only much later that I even questioned the logic of the whole thing.

Dawn, aren't you going to tell the wedding party/cartwheel down the stairs in a dress drunk story?

Friday, September 9, 2005 at 1:17:00 PM PDT

 
Blogger dawn said...

Ah sisters, always there trying to put you in your best light... All I am going to say about that one is, at least I landed on my feet.

Intead I will regale you with the story where I didn't land on my feet. Eric's office holiday party. Waaaaaay to many martinis. And white wines. And beers. Happily for me, when I get too trashed I tend to not remember what stupid crap I did the night before. Ditto that night. I woke up the next morning with a sore elbow and when I went to investigate found out it was more like a bloody stump than an appendage. Eric, with a look of utter disbelief that I could NOT remember this, then got to tell me how I fell down the flight of bare wood stairs in my drunken stupor the night before. I still have a scar from that night too - looks like an extra nipple hanging out on my left elbow. And I will cherish it always...

Monday, September 12, 2005 at 9:45:00 AM PDT

 
Blogger Lisa said...

That Beary story never gets old! Every time I re-read it, I find myself snorting with laughter. Keep up the good work, everyone!

Sunday, October 9, 2005 at 11:48:00 AM PDT

 
Blogger Lisa said...

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

Sunday, October 9, 2005 at 11:48:00 AM PDT

 

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