My Night of Shame

In an effort to avoid having every single story on here paint my room mate as the one who makes mistakes, I'm going to include the story of the worst night of drinking I've ever had.

If only I was this dignified at the end of the night.

Allow me to preface this story by telling you that while I do no not drink heavily on frequent occasion, I have an excellent track record in dealing with nights like that. For one, I'm a pretty big guy, and thus able to shrug off some effects just based on size alone. Secondly, I normally prepare myself fairly well, drinking water throughout the day, being sure to eat foods that aren't too likely to react poorly with alcohol while ensuring that I don't drink on an empty stomach.

Indian food can mess you even without drinking.

This particular night, I was not prepared. At all. My room mate had an old high school buddy visiting this weekend, and so far we had all been having a good time hanging out, going to the gym, playing video games, etc.

Normally we would have shown the friend around downtown Greenville, but it was freezing cold that night, so we were planning on just having a quiet night in. However, my room mate got a text at around 7:30 or so from a girl who was having a bit of drinking at her apartment and wanted to know if we would join her and her friends.

Artistic simulation. Actual girls not that hot.

Naturally, we said yes. I'm all for a chill night of drinking at somebody's apartment, and it was nice to have something to do. I hadn't had dinner yet, so I quickly make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, wolf i t down with a glass of milk and am out the door. Mistake number 1.

We bring some beers, and the girls had some mixed drinks. I had a few of each. How many is not important. Also, I don't know how many.

Who the fuck do you think I am?

Shortly though, one girl wants to shotgun a beer, but doesn't want to do it by herself. I volunteer because it's always fun to do something a bit outgoing at parties, and she was kind of cute. Mistake number 2.

For people who take their binge drinking seriously.

I was wearing a nice pullover that was a gift from my cooperating teacher during my senior year at NCSU. Thoughtfully, I remove it. I didn't want to get beer on it.

If only there were some product I could use for that...

Well, after that, everything goes downhill. My room mate quickly realized that I was on the verge of becoming a shit show. In my infinite wisdom though, I did not hear/heed his advice. At one point I think I was drinking wine straight from the bottle. Mistake number 3.

Just let it be said that I was fairly wasted at this point. So of course we decide to go down town anyway. Drunk logic: it's inescapable.

Also, there are minotaurs.

A lot of the other people are hungry, so we decide to partake in perhaps the best food for drunk people in downtown Greenville: Michelangelo's Pizza. Just to give you an idea of how many drunk people eat there, it is the only pizza place I've ever been to that has bouncers. They aren't there to protect the pizza, they're there to defenestrate the drunks. (Look it up if you don't know what it means)

These guys will toss you out, and then eat your pizza.

Michelangelo's is one of those pizza places with large slices and various fancy types of pizza in addition to the plain old pepperoni and cheese. My room mate didn't have any way to pay because he had lost his credit card a week or so prior, so I agree to pay for both.

Unfortunately, my room mate likes to eat odd pizzas like buffalo chicken and asparagus pizza. I was too drunk to tell the cashier that I wanted two different types of pizza, so I just got a slice of the pizza my room mate had selected. Mistake number 4.

Seriously? I guess this is technically a pizza.

After the first few bites hit my stomach, I start to feel kind of bad, so I go to the restroom and stare at the toilet for a few minutes. Nothing. Oh well, I'm good right?

Wrong. Now my room mate and everyone else are definitely sure that I'm wasted-face, and decide to go home for the night. Mistake number 5.

As we cross over the railroad tracks on the way back home, I feel a rumbly in my tumbly.

And not the good kind.

Frantically, I roll down the window and blow chunks all over the outside, and even the inside, of the Jeep. Some got on my pullover, all that carefulness earlier was for naught. But it wasn't done there. Oh no. Twas not done there.

As everybody else watched "The Hangover" in the living room, I was busy positioning myself so that the stuff spilling out from my mouth would make it into the toilet. Oh the shame. I'm not one to go down without a fight though.

Yes, I'm picking on the French.

So as I lie there, huddling over the toilet (luckily I had just cleaned it that morning), my room mate comes in to check on me. After establishing that I was fine, I told him that I was sorry for making a bad impression on his friend. I don't often get to meet my room mate's old friends, and it sucked that I was in such a predicament.

Then I said, quote "He's a pretty cool guy, even if he doesn't know that blowjobs make a sound." (Some of the conversations we have can be a bit awkward) My room mate replies with, "Maybe she just wasn't giving it a hundred percent effort?". Choking back my vomit for a few more seconds I say, "More like zero percent effort!"

Oh shit! Somebody call the fire department!

Then it was back to puking my guts up.