Thank Gawd for Film Cameras...

by - Monday, October 13, 2008

Ben over at No Ordinary Rollercoaster has put up a challenge to share with the world our worst drinking stories... now... growing up in Canada we are blessed with a lower-than-USA drinking age, meaning that I am pretty sure that it is a given that we Canadians have a shorter time in which to engage in what can be known as a good drinking story (you know... the ones that basically happen because you are using fake ID and you may just never get back into the bars again so you drink until you can drink no more, and then drink again)...


Here is my story (and yes... for some reason when I say that I have the voice of the guy who speaks at the beginning of Law and Order episode in my head, complete with the 'duh, duh' at the end)... and yes... there is a picture at the end.

It was the Winter of 1996... my older (of-age) roommate came home from Christmas with her sisters expired out-of-province ID for me to use... only a few problems - the least of which was that the license had expired. She was 5'1"... I am 5'11". She had short dyed blonde hair... mine is long - and I am a natural blonde. She was wearing giant hoop earrings... I wouldn't be caught dead wearing anything like that... but I digress.

I spent many a night practicing her signature, memorizing her zodiac sign and reciting her address (down to the postal code) in case I ever got questioned by a bouncer. I probably spent more time studying that ID than I did studying for midterms...

Then came The Night. The night that we were going to try this ID out. Until then, my drunken experiences came in university residence... pub crawls, yukaflux... it was all good. But now I was venturing into the unknown... the actual bar.

We pile in my car (I drove down, and smartly handed over my keys as soon as we had parked) and head into the bar. We stand in line for an extraordinarily long period of time, all the while I was freaking out that the bouncer would call the cops after one look at my ID and I would be dragged away in handcuffs...

We get to the front of the line, and I pull out my ID... she glances at it, glances at me... then takes my $3.00 and stamps me on the hand.

I. Am. In.

Let the drunken debauchery begin.

Now... if only I could really remember the evening. I remember up to ordering what I think must have been my last drink (a triple rum and Coke... remember... I may never get in to the bar again until my 19th birthday!)... and the rest is only re-capped to me from my friends. Here are some of the stories they tell me...

I threw up. On the dance floor. Well actually... on my friend Phil who was standing on the dance floor. Apparently I had good enough aim only to hit Phil and not the actual floor itself.

I couldn't/wouldn't get out of my car upon my return to campus. My friends learned after trying to haul my sorry ass out of the backseat of my car for 10 minutes that my garbled ramblings were actually me saying "my seat belt is still on"... but not until they almost dislocated my shoulder trying to extricate me.

After laying in the parking lot for awhile, unable to move myself and unwilling to let my friends help, two security guards dragged me to my room... one had both hands and one both feet. I can only imagine the classiness of this event.

After getting to my room my wonderful roommates gave the guys across the hall a tube of lipstick, with which they started writing all over me. They also took this opportunity to climb in bed with me and take pictures of this whole event. Thankfully my clothes remained on.

That is all they tell me happened... I mean really - how long can you continue to have fun drawing on a drunk and passed out girl in her dorm room?

The next morning I felt what I can only describe as the human equivalent to a Booster Juice blender without a lid on. And by that I puked with every move, at every smell and even the thought of food.
For over 24 hours.

In the end... I am most thankful that I went to university before the advent of the digital camera because to my knowledge I have the only hard copies of the pictures taken that night. I also have the negatives.

And... I had to buy Phil a new shirt... 'cause he left my barf-soaked one in his bathroom sink for two days festering and the puke smell never could or did get washed out.

And without further ado... proof of drunkenness, lipstick and the fact that my friends don't know how to spell. I am taking a page out of SO @ 24's book with the bar over my face... quite catchy don't you think? And I think I did pretty good with the picture considering I had to take a picture of it with my digital camera...
I would like to thank Ben for allowing me to relive my youth... and don't be a Jonze.

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4 Comments

  1. Sheila11:22 AM

    Ohhhh F**k! I was trying to read this to John and I was laughing so hard , the tears were running down my face and I almost peed myself. I thought is was funny the first time you told me some of it and this time it was even funnier. I brought back memories of my one and only experience with drink a 26 of Old Dark Navy Rum straight. Can't stand the smell of rum within a mile. Yuck... Love Mo

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  2. um, was this the same night that you slept through multiple fire alarms....??? I can't remember if I was still around for this night for not... I do remember the photos though and that's why I thought it was the same night...

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  3. Nope... this is a different night... this was after Christmas and I think you moved out at Christmas that year... ahhh... drinking stories... I should post some pics of you (with the pre-requisite black eye stripe of course!) singing to the Muppets... those were the good days.

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  4. [...let's check out the entries, shall we?...]

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