Drunk Stories Which Are Funny Only to Me!
2003-04-04
2:55 p.m.

Okay. So. Drunk Stories!

Now that I've recovered from my hangover, I'm ready to talk about tha drunk stories. Emiloo's entry about embarassing drunken run-ins with the law cracked me up. Possum Kingdom!

So. Drunk stories. Remember when these were told with pride before you were technically, legally allowed to drink? Like being able to scare up a few Zimas or a bottle of peach schnapps somehow made you cooler than your average underage bear? I remember that, too. I also remember telling these stories with pride, but also feeling this tiny tinkling inkling of lame and dork. Ah. Good times.

I think my most dangerous bender involved the first time my (then still, now former) best friend Carole came to visit following my 21st birthday. I was a year older than her, so now I was the liquor source. One of us was legal. There was much rejoicing! In the streets! I lived in Boston and she was still living in our hometown at the time, so we were FREE. FREE! No parents! No one who knew us! Except her uncle, whose band we were going to see. But he's the "hip" uncle who is much younger than her parents (aka "Oops") and so we figured he would be cool with it.

Fast forward through the drinking Bacardi Limon and cranberry juice all the way back from the train station. Fast forward through drinking 4 Long Island Ice Teas (split between us) at Avalon. And through a beer each. And go straight to us sitting on the tour bus. Whispering, if by whispering I mean yelling to each other about how we can't feel our legs.

Her uncle gently took our beers away and handed us each a Coke. Oops? Holy Embarassment.

Despite not being able to walk, really, we made Extremely Clever Excuses (by this I mean that we probably yelled something undecipherable) and gracefully (or the opposite of gracefully) we walked off the bus. I vaguely remember tumbling out. Yay, coordination!

Our caretakers (my boyfriend and his best friend) were with us, and they were mildly amused. At least until I tried to blindly run through Kenmore Square (best known for killing at least one student a year through brilliant traffic plans and proximity to bars and stupidity of student (exhibit A)). Then they were no longer amused.

They got us to my place, and Carole passed out. Totally. Like, in a "is she alive?" sort of way. My boyfriend was trying to shake her awake, and saying, "She's not responsive!" My face was crushed into the carpet, and I was yelling about Dr. Carter. What? In a Scottish accent. Or so I'm told.

I just realized that this story is only funny to me. I need 10 CCs of diflucan! Or something!

Anyway. And one time I peed on my overall strap. Ha ha.

Okay then. Me done write drunk stories now.

Hilarious.

Janet Wilson Likes The Pork At Bone's Smokehouse

Also, IHOP - Where's The Service?

Good, good times.