Creepy New Years!
So when I woke up on New Years Eve, things were a little off. I tried playing some video games, but my hand-eye coordination was absolutely shot, I was about three seconds too slow on everything, and I kept tackling my own players while playing Madden. Probably not the right state of mind to do some serious drinking on, but, whatever. After watching "Trading Places" twice in one sitting (perhaps the most underrated comedy of the 1980's) I felt refreshed enough to handle some libations.
Notice I said some libations. I was not, however, prepared to handle what I did drink, which would be half a bottle of Jameson, a bottle of red, various mix drinks, and a bottle of bubbly.
If I had done all of that doping and drinking in the solitude of my own home, there probably would not have been a problem (other than the serious substance abuse problem which would clearly be on display) but instead, I did them in the presence of hundreds of others at a rather ridiculously large private party in downtown St. Louis. Things did not go well.
Case in point:
- I continuously, and by continuously I mean every three minutes or so, grabbed The Lady Friend's boobies (which were in spectacular display thanks to a nice little low cut dress) and shouted "THESE BELONG TO ME! THESE ARE MINE!"
- I told the host of the party that "his soggy appetizers negated anything which went well in 2005 and have effectively ruined my entire year." I'm not sure if he could tell I was joking or not. Actually, I'm not sure if I was joking or not.
- As midnight neared, the party organizers began handing out bottles of champagne to party goers. In theory, everyone who was given a bottle was supposed to pour a glass of bubbly for their friends. In my mind, by that point of the evening, I had no friends. And apparently, neither did The Lady Friend, and we both began chugging our personal bottles of bubbly. And when midnight struck, I took it upon myself to begin spraying the crowd with Champagne. Quite a few other people joined in on the spraying, however it seemed as if the vast majority of party goers were not quite as happy with it.
- As stated early, I was not exactly in complete control of my body. And no example to prove that statement is better than this: I sharted.
I gambled and lost. A follow-through, if you will. Luckily it happened while I was in the men's room. But still, when you even have to debate with yourself about whether or not your boxer-briefs should just be thrown away while you're at a party...it's time to go.
And away we went. By that time, I was so far gone that I didn't even really question whether or not it was a good idea for The Lady Friend to pinch the cheeks of a middle aged police officer on the street and tell him that he looked cute. In fairness, he did help us snag a taxi, but still, pinching cop's cheeks? That just don't seem right.
But, nothing about that evening does seem exactly right. In a perfect world, I will have learned my lesson and will never drink while on cold medicine again.
In the real world, however, it will probably happen more times than I wish for. And I very much would like to tell you not to what I have done, but in hindsight, that was one of the more fun New Years Eves in recent memory.
In fact, I'd have no problem doing it all over again (well, all except the poopy butt.)
I did not care for the first band, however that last band was funk-tastic.
I'm sorry to hear about the poopy butt, it happens to the best of us. Of course, I've never done it. Shit, if I did that, I'd probably go into seclusion......but you're still cool.
And what was the deal with the bars that night? Did they run out of mixers or liquor or something?