It’s My Birthday, and I’ll Puke If I Want To

Posted: May 9, 2011 by divebardiva in Daily Ramblings, Out-of-Body Fluid Experiences

Okay people, here is another rousing post from Vino 911. She has gone out on a limb and shared her embarassing tale of drunken dancing and vomit. Have a story of your 21st that you’d like to share? Submit your shit is the place to do it…and we have a lovely editor to make your story as humorous and grammatically correct as it need to be.

There is a day that most of us look forward to for most of our teenage years: Our 21st birthday. Some of us are wise enough to make sure we build up a little tolerance before we celebrate knowing it is sure to be a big event. Not me, not even a little. Which is why I still can’t believe I didn’t end up arrested or blacklisted before the night was through.

Oh well, I’d totally do it again.

The night started out at a bar that was named after wildlife. I’m not trying to be mysterious. I really don’t remember if it was named after a deer or a moose or some other furry forest friend. I chose the locale because on your 21st — with proof of a designated driver — you drank for free in your very own refillable 1 liter mug.

The angel on my shoulder whispered I should fill it the first few times with beer, especially since not all of the guests had arrived. But I ordered a Captain diet.

When most of the guests had shown up, my friends starting chanting, “SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS!” I took every shot offered. Because 99% of us were bartenders and waitstaff, I took a beating with the shots that were ordered.

One friend insisted I do a blow job shot off a random man at the bar which I remember clearly. At the crucial moment, I laughed and blew the whip cream into the guy’s lap. Not a way to make a new friend, FYI.

After finishing the first mug and all those shots, I had an urgent need. I grabbed the nearest friends and told them I had to dance RIGHT NOW!

This part gets a little blurry so I will tell you what I remember. I remember starting to dance to Tupac’s “I get around.” Apparently, this song spoke to me, and I began to twirl like a mad woman as people were backing up to give me room.

I do remember windmills.

I do remember doing the fishing pole dance where you cast a line and someone is “caught” and dance their way to you. But no one wanted to take my line.

I do remember so many hip thrusts and arm pumps that I was projecting myself across the dance floor.

When it came time to stop dancing, at the insistence of others (only after losing a shoe during a high kick routine), we all gathered back at the tables around the bar. I refilled my mug. We all sat and talked, took shots, hung out until I noticed that there was something wrong with my high top chair. I couldn’t sit on it anymore without falling off.

I got up to inspect what could possibly be wrong with it but I found nothing. I tried to sit again, slid right off. A brilliant idea occurred to me, if I sat on the floor there was no way I could fall off. I made myself at home under the table.

I’m not sure how long I was there before I noticed someone trying to come in to my little make-shift hut. I was pretty insulted he hadn’t knocked first, and I told him so. Turns out it was the bar manager letting me know that they would no longer be able to serve me tonight. However, if I wanted to fill my mug with water I should let him know. I do remember saying “Boooooooo!” every time he tried to tell me I was cut off.

I climbed back out to join my friends but many had stumbled out while I was napping underneath the table. The only people left were my boyfriend who was also the DD, my roommate K and a girl named Zoe I had met a few days ago. Zoe was giving me the creepy vibe.

My BF, K and I decided to head back to my house. We said goodnight to Zoe, she said goodnight and we walked out the door. She walked out right behind us. We walked to the truck, she was right behind us. I “whispered” to my bf. (I put it in quotes because we are all aware of exactly how quiet drunken whispers are.)

“She’s following us, don’t go straight to your truck, let’s throw her off.” Being sober and no fun he walked directly to his pickup. I turned around and practically bumped noses with Zoe.

“Can I get a ride home from you guys?” she asked.

My BF shook his head. “I have a truck. We can’t get four people in the cab.”  To which Zoe says, “We can get creative.”

The world was spinning again so I climbed in and sat down in the middle, K hopped in next to me, BF sat in the driver’s seat. Zoe stepped up on the foot rail and flung herself across our laps. “I’ll be fine here.”

Bf told her there was no way he was driving across town to drop her off but he would give her a ride as far as my house. So we drove with Zoe’s legs hanging out the window from the knees down, me passed out with my head wedged between BF and the seat, K passed out on top of Zoe’s feet — and BF wondering why the hell he had ever agreed to be a sober cab.

When we got to my house, I ran to the door but couldn’t get the key to work. We had an older-style home where you walked in the screendoor to the porch and then the front door.

BF grabs my key from my hands because I had started to moan and wave my hands.  He suggested I put my face near the screen on the door to get some fresh air while he worked the lock. Not a good idea, I puked THROUGH the screen door. If you have no idea what that looks like, well, consider yourself lucky.

BF got us all shuffled into the house, and I immediately went to the bathroom floor to lay down on the cool tile. K curled up right next to me with her cheek pressed to the floor. Zoe crawled into the tub. BF brought us each a blanket and left to tackle the screen door. Us girls began to talk.

Me: I had so much fun, I think. But I’m so drunk.

K: Me too. My head hurts.

Zoe: I didn’t even drink.

Me & K: Whaaaaaa? Then why are you laying in the bathtub?

Zoe: I thought we were all hanging out in here.

We told Zoe to take my bed for the night (forgetting that BfFwas probably going to be spending the night to make sure we were still alive in the morning). K was already passed out on the tile, and I wasn’t too far off before I heard the door open.

BF wanted to let me know he came back from cleaning to find Zoe in my bed. He also wanted me to know she “offered” herself to him, and he called her a cab. He offered to carry me into my bed so I could get a good night sleep. I answered him with a dry heave, and he let me be. Smart man!

My 21st by the numbers:

  • 4 liters of captain and diet coke
  • 10+ shots
  • 72 hours until I felt back to normal
  • 1 full day before the square creases from sleeping on the bathroom tile finally disappeared
  • 2 weeks before I filled in the blanks of the evening by talking to witnesses.

***I know that there are those of you out there who’s 21st story rivals mine and there are those of you who have stories that blow mine out of the water. We want to hear them. Write it up and submit your shit……I refuse to be the only one embarrassing myself on the internet.


Comments
  1. Mr. Parx says:

    Hey, um, no big deal or anything, but you wouldn’t still happen to have Zoe’s number?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s