You know what's a fun game? Go back in your memory to ex-partners and think about how drunk you would have to be in order to go out with them again. Or maybe that's depressing. Or maybe they're the same thing to you.
I know that a few of them, I would be perfectly fine to spend time with them totally sober. And I would enjoy almost every second of our interaction, but I also know that the vast majority, I would have to be belligerently inebriated and on the verge of getting picked up for disorderly conduct in order to spend more than a few seconds of face-to-face time with them.
Which is kind of an interesting segue into a few other things. For instance, exactly what kind of a percentage of my stories start out or revolve around getting smashed? And what kind of stupid fucking ideas you get when you are that rip-roaring drunk? But it also brings up something else...
At what point do you just keep doing stupid shit just for the stories? The experiences are obviously important.. but only for so long. I mean, there's only so many times that I can get trashed and do the safety dance on some asshole cook's car with an ASP telescoping police baton or sled ride cases of beer down some guy's driveway or yell at idiots with a bullhorn or sleep with a 40-something mom and her 21-year-old daughter in the same day or steal road signs and parking meters or fuck in the Family Bathroom at a mall... there's only so many times I can do shit like that before I realize that I'm just doing this for the story. Granted, it's funny as shit, but I know about 1/4 of the way in that this is going to turn into a great story and I'm going to make the part that I'm about to play in it into as much ridiculousness as humanly possible. I'm going to do or say the wildest and stupidest bullshit humanly possible just so that I have another great story to tell.
Mostly cause telling stories that aren't true is just fucking lame. And telling boring stories is a waste of time that nobody wants to hear.
Honestly, I have no idea. I just tell them. I know that if I was sober and if I didn't know early on into a ridiculous experience that it was going to end up as a great story, I wouldn't have done nearly 5% of the stupid shit that I've done.
For instance...
A few years ago, right after they changed the DUI level from .1 down to .08 BAC, I was going to be responsible. I decided to buy one of those portable commercial breathalyzers. I figured, "well, if I'm out drinking, I can blow into it before I leave to go home, even if I feel safe to drive, before I even start my car. And if I'm above the limit, then I go find myself a place to hang out for a while until I'm legally permitted to drive again."
Smart, right? Very mature? Sure... but...
Well, I bought this thing right before a Cinco De Mayo and was going out to drink a fuckload of margaritas and do a bunch of tequila shots that night. So I threw this thing in the glove box of my car and figured "if it's too bad at go-home time, I can just take a cab home later and get my car tomorrow". And I ventured off for the night.
A few drinks in, I remember that I have this thing in my car and go out to get it. I'm curious how much tequila fucks me up. And I'm somehow thinking that this can be a science experiment. I know that tequila makes girls take their clothes off. I'm wondering if there's a correlation between how much tequila it takes for a girl to take their clothes off and where their blood/alcohol content is and compare it to the blood/alcohol content from say... whiskey... when they start taking their clothes off.
I'm already 7 drinks into the night. My thought process isn't perfect. Fuck you. I'm smarter than you. I do science.
But well, once this wonderful piece of portable technology is in my hand and I'm convincing girls to blow this thing, it quickly becomes a game. I blow into it to prove that its not some trick and blow a .11 and realize "oh damn... I now have an objective way to determine who is the drunkest. This is going to be AWESOME!!"
So I drink more and it's now becoming a competition between my friends Jeff, Mike, myself, and a handful of girls. I blow a .12 and some girl blows a .16. This is un-fucking-acceptable. I'm being bested in a drinking competition by a girl.
Wait... How the fuck did I just end up in a drinking competition? I didn't sign up for this. But there's no god damned way that this 115 lbs girl is going to beat me! Fuck that. I'm almost 2 of her. So I decide the smart thing to do is to double her up on drinks...
Somewhere around the 3rd round of doubling up on her, I black out. I have no recollection of anything until right as I'm trying to leave the bar. This girl is draped over me as we're leaving.
I am in absolutely no condition to drive. In fact, I can't even make the top and bottom half of my body move at the same rate. My legs keep walking while my torso is lagging behind. I'm looking like I'm doing the invisible limbo on the sidewalk. This is not good. Apparently once you hit .28 on the BAC scale, walking becomes very very difficult. That was my high point. And the girl is in even worse shape than me. This is very not good.
All of a sudden, her friends come running out of the bar and grab her. They drag her over to their car and put her in. They stick her in the back seat and all start getting in. And just before they pull out, the girl that was draped over me gets back out and starts waking back over to me. The passenger seat occupant comes running back out just as this girl gets to me and almost jumps on me and grabs her. Somehow at this point, I'm the one getting yelled at by her friend.
She dragged this shit-faced girl back to the car and, I shit you not, actually flipped that little switch on the inside of the door to turn on the child locks.
I remember standing there and just looking sad and being confused. I was like a kid that just had his new toy taken away from him by the bigger kids. I had a look on my face of somewhere between bewilderment and like I was about to cry. I was sad that this random drunk girl was taken away. Like the thought that a drunk fuck was all I really wanted at that moment and it was snatched away at the last moment by a bunch of meanies.
After standing there for what felt like 15 minutes, but was probably only about 10 seconds, I just wander back into the bar. My friends were still there and told me that I looked as if my puppy was just ran over.
Thankfully, my brother was still there. And I managed to get him to drive me home. Eventually. After a few stops to pull over so I could vomit out the door. Fucking assholes made me sit in the back. Douchebags.
But even after all of this, I still didn't win the game of Drunk. That fucking girl did. At .29. But I fucking spanked my friends. Best those pussies managed was a .23. Light-weights.
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