Sunday, February 7, 2010

This is NOT a Good Drinking Story...

It's a proven fact that women do way more regrettable things when they're drunk than guys do. Women tend to get so hammered that they set the bar for regrettable nights....SERIOUSLY!!

I'm here to advise you women out there: please, don't get trashed out of your minds. For a variety of reasons. You could go home with the wrong guy, you could forget to use protection, with the wrong guy, after you go home with him. You might not notice when the really wrong guy slips something into your drink...etc, etc, etc....

There are also the more mundane, and practical reasons. Maybe you say something stupid, maybe you do something stupid, maybe you eat something stupid, and your bowels belch fiery fury for hours on end the next day.

But here's the top of the pile. Tonight, I saw something I swear I'll take to my grave....TO MY GRAVE!!!!

There's a neighborhood bar that my friends and I frequent, we're regulars, yes. It's after last call, waitresses and bartenders are running everyone out(except us, we're the exception HEH!). It's closing time, you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here, etc, etc. I get up to make my last pit stop of the night before the walk home, because I'm too old to piss behind a car anymore and Gawd knows my bladder will almost certainly force me to make a wrong decision if I don't empty it before I leave.

I go into the restroom and head for my usual stall (I never use urinals, piss sometimes splashes back on you, it's disgusting) I walk by the first stall, all quiet, I approach the 2nd stall and I feel like I just stuck my head into a mushroom cloud as a horrific stench smacks me in the face, I turn my head to the right to look in and there she is, sitting on the pot. Head between her knees, directly over her underwear... and her underwear and pantyhose are full of puke. Hair, too, but that's not what's about to be the problem. I look around to make sure I hadn't drank too much and stumbled into the Women's room....Nope, it's the Men's room...I'm sure. I say in a loud voice...ARE YOU OK, YOU NEED ME TO GO GET SOMEONE FOR YOU?

"Huh? Oh... hey... hi. OK, OK." Typical drunken gibberish. Then the girl stands up.

Now, I've been pretty drunk. I've woken up in some truly horrifying places, had to go back there the next day to retrieve my wallet. Kissed some women that looked like rhinos, and, well... I've been around. But usually when I come to, I have the presence of mind to look around and see where I was and what was going on, because usually... well, that's just the first thing I do.

She doesn't. Not even close. She pulls her underwear, and pantyhose, snug all the way to the top, still full of puke. settles her skirt, and staggers out of the bathroom. OMG I'm mortified.....truly mortified. So I immediately ran out and grabbed Mark and Kurt and told them what just happened, and promptly pointed to the girl in question. I HAD to tell someone!

Girls, please. I don't want to keep anyone on a pedestal, I can understand, everyone likes a good old fashioned night on the town. And sure, there's nothing like a really good drinking story. Remind me some night to tell you about me, the fire bell, and paying for bad food with my belt buckle in Puebla, Mexico.

But this was really nothing like a good drinking story. For the love of god, your underpants, your dignity, your boyfriend?... Please. A little moderation, ok?

I'm traumatized!