Writing about my last birthday reminded me about a previous birthday. Another that I had gone totally overboard with a few years earlier.
I invited close to a hundred people to come on a pub crawl birthday party, and probably forty people said they would come. Didn't turn out to have quite that many people, but the crawl was still a huge blast.
The bus picked us up from our hotel around 8:00. By this point, I had already done several shots in the hotel room, was wearing a pair of white underwear outside my jeans, and had pulled out the markers so people could sign them.
We got to our first night club, and surprise, we were pretty much the only people there. I think the only other people there were also a birthday party, and had decided to get there early so they could find tables for their whole group.
I told Cousin to write a birthday scavenger hunt across my abs. It included:
- Get two girls to makeout with each other
- Get a bra
- Makeout with 5 girls
- Get 6 free birthday shots
The list went right from my sternum to my boxers.
As soon as it was completed, I walked over to the other birthday party and pulled my shirt up. "IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!!!" This method of starting conversations proved to be very effective for the rest of the night.
The birthday girl checked off one of the 5 'makout with a girl' boxes, and made out with me.
Good start.
We ate club pizza and jumped back on the bus.
A few people had snuck booze onto the bus. There was a bottle of peach schnapps, cherry whisky, Patron, and a 2L bottle of gin and juice. At one point, one of my buddies stood over me and said, "You're not drunk enough yet!" and started pouring the gin and juice down my throat. I probably chugged half of it before I realized what was happening, and waved jazz hands at him to get him to stop.
The next club was quite a bit busier, and I started getting items on my list checked off fairly quickly. But with all the gin starting to hit my system, I developed a growing case of A.D.D.
My buddy and I started talking to a few girls, and the brunette one was about to give me her bra - like, her shirt was off, and she was trying to get the bra clasps undone - when I noticed her short blonde friend and started talking to her. The brunette got all upset and put her shirt back on, and sulked. No bra, so, I got her and her friend to makeout with each other instead. Check mark.
My brother started making out with one of the beer tub girls, and asked her if she would give me a tittie shot, failing to notice that she did not have any titties.
She poured the shot into my face, missing my mouth almost entirely, grabbed my head, slammed it into her chest, and forcefully shook back and forth.
I'm fairly certain she fractured my nose on her breastbone. When she let me go, I wiped the alcohol off my face, looked at my brother and said, "Golly, that was fun," and walked away.
Everyone thinks my brother is an angel. It's because of moments like these that I know that's just a facade.
That asshole had just made me eskimo kiss a fucking two-by-four.
I remember nothing at the last club, and only have one or two sparks of recall from the rest of the night. So, the rest is based on the stories my friends told me the next day.
By the time we bounced to the next (and last) night club, I was well beyond okay. I still approached people by lifting my shirt and yelling at them, but there was very little follow through. Most of the time I got distracted by Cousin trying to take away my alcohol and replace it with water bottles. Don't ask me how, but every time she turned around, I would have more beer. She'd be like, "Where did that come from?" and I'd look at my beer and say something like, "Is miiiiiiine backuff."
At one point she took me outside so there was no way I could get ahold of/steal any more alcohol. We were standing there in the smoke pit when I saw a really hot girl, and walked up to her with my shirt up to my chin.
She was wearing a tutu and a corset. I pointed to the list on my stomach and told her that I still needed to get a bra. She blushed and said that her top was all one piece, that if she took it off, she'd be topless, and that was illegal.
"It's okay. I won't tell the cops."
She blushed again, and looked around. I stared at her dead in the eyes with an expression of "So what are you waiting for?"
She pointed to a man about 6 feet away who was talking to some other guys. "But, my boyfriend is right there!"
Without even breaking eye contact, I said, "It'll be our little secret. Come on, stop being a pussy."
She giggled and slapped my shoulder. Her boyfriend told her he was going inside, and she said she'd join in a minute. But after that, my composure broke down, and I was just staring at her. She ended up giving me a kiss and leaving.
I think this was the turning point. Things went from 'awesome-time-drunk' to 'fuck-shit-jesus-shitshow-drunk'.
I started getting... a little grabby.
I tried fingering one of the nearly naked bar tenders that was serving drinks from up on the bar. She bent over to pour a shot, and I could see her pussy. So I went for it.
I grabbed the tit of a server that was just walking by and started squeezing it. I told her it was my birthday, and she congratulated me. We had a short conversation. The whole time I didn't look away from her tit, or stop squeezing it.
I started getting noticed by the bouncers, and Cousin told me that if I did anything like that one more time we had to go, or we'd get kicked out.
I said, "Anything like what?"
Literally had no recollection of it even ten seconds after.
She caught my hand just before I grabbed the ass of another bar-top server.
And we all went back to the hotel.
For a couple hours, I sat in an armchair holding my head in my hands, and stared at the floor. All good feelings were gone. They had been replaced by uncontrollable spinning and the taste of tequila soaked pizza.
Food was ordered, and movies were watched. I remember only carpet pattern.
It became obvious that I was done, so Cousin escorted me to one of the rooms, and tucked me into bed.
I'm not sure if it was because I had laid down, or if I had just finally reached that point, but it came up so quickly I didn't have any time to react. I spewed out a solid stream of vomit onto the hotel carpet.
I looked at Cousin and said, "I'm really sorry you have to clean that up."
She swore at me, and said, "There's no way I'm touching that. Can't you smell it? You can pay for the hotel to clean it."
She was right. The smell of mixed alcohol, pizza bits, and bial smelled like turpentine and month old orange juice with a hint of moldy carpet.
I went to the washroom and cleaned off my face, looked at Cousin and said, "Thank you for taking care of me," and went to kiss her on the cheek. She slapped my face away and said, "No way, you still smell like vomit."
"You're right. I still have chicken stuck in my teeth," I said as I tongued the bits out of my teeth and swallowed them again.
The next day, I slipped a twenty under the door with a note apologizing for the mess. The smell was so bad, none of us could bring ourselves to open the door to see the damage.
On my credit card statement there was an extra charge from the hotel for $150.
