Friday, December 5, 2014

Wasted Wednesday

                A few months ago I wrote a post about how I’m not a raging alcoholic, despite thefact that I have a lot of fun stories about drunken shenanigans.  One of the points I made in that post was that I only binge drink on weekends and holidays like a responsible adult.    Well, recently we had a holiday that ended up giving me one hell of a story to tell.

                Some of you may be aware of Wasted Wednesday.  It’s the day before Thanksgiving and it’s a hugely popular night to go out to the bar because everyone is back in town and there’s nothing to do the next day except be lazy and eat (which is pretty basic stuff, even for someone with a hangover).  It also happened to be the end of 24 straight days of work for me, so I was bound and determined to go out with my friends and unwind.  So, after a few pre-game beers at our apartment, my roommates (Kyle & Knuckles) and I walked over to the bar.

                We got to the bar and ran into a couple more of our friends, Düdders and AJ, and prepared ourselves for a night of revelry.  As expected, the bar was absolutely packed and it was taking forever to get drinks.  My solution to this was to order 2 drinks right away, then just keep cycling back to the bar once my first drink was empty (by the time I was able to order another drink the 2nd one was inevitably empty).  In one respect, this worked out fantastically as I was never without a drink.  The problem with this is that whenever I have a drink in my hand or food in front of me I forget that moderation is a think and just continue to fill my face.

                My strategy for keeping my thirst continually quenched proved to be my downfall and at around 1:30 I decided that I was way too drunk to still be in public.  Without saying a word to anyone, I paid my tab and left the bar still carrying a drink in my hand.  I walked back to my apartment set my still-full drink on the kitchen table, heading towards my room.  Unfortunately, the walk from the kitchen to my bedroom was too much for me to handle.  I made it as far as the door to my room before I realized I’d have to make base camp and try for the summit in the morning. 

                I have absolutely no idea in what order everyone else arrived at the apartment because I was not conscious when they arrived.  But I do know that my friends found me lying face down on the floor in front of the door to my room.  AJ and Düdders, with the best intentions, took my shoes off and carried me to my bed.   This movement was apparently more than my body could handle as the entire world began rapidly spinning and I demanded a trash can.  As I expelled everything in my stomach into that trash-can, I kept shouting about how disappointed I was in myself.  Cries of “This is my own fault,” “I did this to myself,” and “I deserve this” rang out through the apartment in between heaves. 

                Kyle was sent to retrieve another trash bag, but found himself too drunk and disoriented to remember where we keep them.  After standing in the kitchen confused for a few moments, he decided that he needed to make a pizza instead.  This never happened either, as he fell down in the kitchen and wisely decided that he should probably just stay there on the floor. 

                Still in an absolute delirium, I now demanded a roll of paper towels.  Düdders and AJ obliged, handing me the whole roll, which I curled up with like a pillow, intent on going to sleep.   But the bed was clearly not where that was going to happen.  I started on the floor and that was where I intended to end up; I crawled out of my bed to the floor, still carrying my roll of paper towels, and drifted peacefully off to sleep.

Düdders, exhausted from the pure dipshittery of the night, decided just to pass out on the couch in the living room as it was equidistant between me passed out on the floor of my room and Kyle passed out on the kitchen floor. Before he left, AJ walked into Knuckles’ room to check on him, announcing “I found Ryan in a pile on the floor and figured if he was that bad, you had to be dead.”

                I think it’s worth noting that the last time I was that inebriated was when I was 21 years old and was going through my first break-up with alcohol as a therapeutic aid (I’ve since learned that the gym is a much better therapist).    Not sure what the hell I was doing on Wasted Wednesday, but at least I had the sense of mind to blame myself for being such a drunk-ass.

                Also, Knuckles is still alive too.


1 comment:

  1. I prefer Blackout Wednesday, makes your story better.