Why you should not drink with me.

There are certain levels of drunk.  Usually, there are three; tipsy, drunk, and fucked up.  Some may argue that the last one,  fucked up, is the worst. I happen to disagree.  See, when you get so drunk that you lose sight of everything and eventually pass out, you have an excuse to all of the ridiculous things that may have happened that night… You were just 3 sheets to the wind.  You reached the point of no return, and when you hit that milestone, the only way you are able to stop is when you have passed out with or without your clothes on.

The second level, just plain drunk, is the worst. That’s where you are drunk enough to do incredibly ridiculous things, but you still slightly know what you are doing and you remember most all of it the next day.  There is no excuse.  Just because you thought it was a good idea at the time isn’t an excuse.  It seems every time I’m drunk, there is always a point in the night when I think to myself  “I know I shouldn’t be doing this shit.  But I am.  I am going to be pretty embarrassed tomorrow. And I’m okay with that.”  AND THAT’S WHERE WE FUCK UP.  That last sentence.  “And I’m okay with that.”  And this is what happened on last Friday night for my 21st birthday. 

I went to Bourbon street with my dad and my husband.  Probably the worst two people you could go out with.  My dad doesn’t drink and he’s just an all around awkward person.  James, he’s an awful drunk, sad and pitiful and often angry.  And then there is me.  I’m a happy drunk, down for anything, but also very loyal to the sober ones who will be taking care of me… in this case, my dad.

Funny enough, we ended up in the Funky 544, which I so proudly chose to showcase in my header when I started this blog.  So that I do not go into detail(just because it was that horrible.), I will just make a list of events that happened. 

  • James and I order handgrenades.  They used to put a dent in me, but now that I am a seasoned liquor consumer, they really just taste like an extremely fruity juice.
  • I drink a Jack and Coke in less than 6 minutes.  James drinks 4 beers in less than 3 minutes.
  • I take two shots of tequila.  James takes two also.  My dad orders himself a coca-cola.
  • We’re chilling listening to a jazzy-frazzy band.  James drops beer bottle. It shatters.  James runs away.
  • I take a shot out of a very busty womans cleavage.  In front of my dad.
  • Same woman forces a shot tube into my dads britches and takes the shot.  My dad still had to pay for it.  I watch in horror.
  • I get over previous bullet.
  • Police call my dad with James’ cell.  He’s sleeping in the road. I die laughing.  Dad gets nervous.
  • Some guy who looks like he just got out of chemistry for geniuses orders me a gin and juice.
  • After ordering, I mention that I’m married.
  • I still drink the gin and juice.
  • My dad pulls me out the bar because we had to go find James EVEN THOUGH I WAS GETTING FREE DRINKS FROM MATH NERDS.
  • I see a man sleeping on the sidewalk with no shoes and suggest to my dad that he give him his shoes.
  • Dad rejects suggestion.
  • I apologize to the sleeping man.
  • We walk past the church in Jackson Square. 
  • I kiss the church and praise Jesus.
  • I perform a sobriety test for my dad after I beg him to pretend to be a cop.
  • We can’t find James.
  • I wake up in my bed at 9:30 the next morning to my son asking me for spaghetti.

Never. Again.

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4 responses to “Why you should not drink with me.

  1. So… when is the next time you’ll go out drinking?

  2. chris the hoosiergirl

    HA! That’s awesome. Bourbon Street does that to people I guess. I think I can get drunk on the fucking AIR on Bourbon Street. So, did you ever find James?

  3. I think I enjoy the stories of other people’s drunken exploits rather than tell the tales of my own. Yours sounds very interesting..lol..

  4. Hahahaha…Yep. That sounds about right for 21! 🙂 My drinking has gotten way less exciting in my old age (25).

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