I've mentioned it before.
And, I've decided that it's time for another horror story.
I've only been drunk to the point of sickness four times. I've already mentioned three.
The fourth was the most recent, and as far as horror stories go, isn't that bad. I always tell people I'm a fast learner. And I think that's the only reason this one turned out relatively okay.
A few months ago, my bartender buddy and I made plans to hit the (small) town he lives in hard. I was in town for work, so it wasn't even a weekend.
It was a Wednesday. There was only one club even open to go to.
I invited a few people I'd met recently to join us for some schooners to start off the night.
I just tried to look up 'schooner' to show how big that fucking glass is.
Maybe it's a local thing.
The Houston Pizza here sells $5 schooners every night. Draught beer in a giant beer mug.
The things are so big, they're hard to lift.
My right bicep is about twice the size of my left from lifting them.
No, that's not from masturbating, those muscles are lower down. I checked.
Each schooner holds close to two liters of beer - about three beer bottles worth.
I downed three.
My buddy said that he had a few other friends he wanted to meet up with at another pub, and I decided I wanted to eat something that didn't suck (food at Houston Pizza is pretty awful), so we all bounced to the pub.
I got another schooner.
And now, we had a full table of people drinking with us. My buddy's inner bartender came out and he ordered shots.
And more shots.
There was a new tray of shots every time the old shot glasses were removed.
We were only there for an hour.
I split the bill for shots with my buddy 50%. I paid $195.00
I didn't even know what the shots were. There was the taste of Jack Daniels in some. Vodka in others.
Each tray was a different color. It was a rainbow of drunk. A veritable cornucopia of bad decisions.
I don't remember how we got to the club, but we double-fisted jagerbombs as soon as we walked in.
Bank account evidence suggests I pulled out another $200 for drinks when we got there. I don't remember pulling it out, or spending it. I only had a twenty in my pocket the next morning.
The place was packed, and I remember thinking to myself, "Who parties on a Wednesday?" Then, I threw my hand in the air and yelled, "I DO!"
People stared at me.
I gave a loud whoop and high-fived everyone in a twenty foot radius.
I knew one of the hot bartenders, and she kept giving me jugs of rum and coke. I think I only paid for half of them.
It's always good to make friends with the hot girls behind the counter. When you can be ten feet behind the line, make eye contact and nod, and have your drink ready by the time you shove your way up there, other people get jealous. And curious.
Curious women are interested women.
Interested women are easy to talk to.
And once I start talking, it always turns to sexual conversation and making out in a hurry.
But, when I'm that drunk, I get A.D.D, and have a hard time paying attention long enough to escalate beyond that. And every time I go through my contacts list on my phone, I always have a bunch of numbers to delete because I have NO FUCKING IDEA who the numbers are for.
'Triansdsi' isn't a name. Fairly certian.
And, why did I add a guy named 'Travis'?
After that, the next thing I remember is being in the hotel lobby about two blocks away from the club.
I was having a conversation with the concierge, and she called me a cab.
I was by myself.
At one point, I realized I felt like I was spitting a lot - which, I've learned, is one of my warning signs I'm about to puke. I asked where the washrooms were, and she told me I'd have to use the ones downstairs.
There were four flights of stairs.
FOUR FUCKING FLIGHTS OF STAIRS.
I got about half way and started to imagine those scenes in horror movies where people split up and the one guy heads for the basement.
He's usually the first to go.
By the time I got to the washroom, I'd forgotten why I'd made the trip.
So, I pulled my pants down and sat. Seemed reasonable.
But, I realized after a minute that was not the reason I was there.
I had backed up on the seat as much as possible so I could spit in the bowl while I was sitting there, when the first wave came.
My aim was nearly perfect.
I threw up everything.
Five hours of beer, rum, shots, Jagermeister, and something I'd eaten.
All of it sent propelling through the gap between me and the front of the toilet bowl, and between my spread legs. Straight down.
It was comfortable. And almost enjoyable.
I felt like laughing in between spurts of vomit.
The first time I drunk puked, it cost me $150 on a hotel bill.
This time, I not only didn't have to worry about a bill, I didn't get a drop on myself.
I wiped my face off in the sink and laughed at my accidental genius. Fucking brilliant! "This is how I do it from now on," I said to myself.
I got back to the front desk just as my cab was pulling up, and went home.
Fast learner? Maybe. Too stupid to know the difference between "I need to shit" and "I need to puke"? Yes, indeed.
Willing to still count it as a win? Absolutely.
Sunday, 26 August 2012
Thursday, 16 August 2012
Field report
*This is a 'field report' I wrote after a night out in Calgary*
So a couple weeks ago, I went out with a couple of the guys from here in Calgary. Met up at Max's place (sorry, don't know your nickname on here), with Max and Conan.
It was the first time I'd met either of them, but they both seemed like decent guys.
We drove to Ten, and got in line. I started opening everyone around us: guys, and girls. There were a set of 3 that ended up right behind us in line that I started gaming, and was doing very well with. I noticed that neither Max nor Conan were really getting involved, though, so even though I picked a target, I kind of had to continue gaming all three and making up for their comments of: "why are your friends so shy?"
I tried to isolate all 3 of them at one point (with the intention of bouncing with them - a triple-pull before we even get into the club? epic win), but got major cock-block action from Max and Conan... I have to say, I thought it was REALLY weird that a wingman would EVER cock-block an isolation so hard. Still had my target begging for attention (like, physically tapping me/grabbing me to turn and talk to her) before we even got inside. In hind-sight, I should have pursued her more. She was super cute!
While at Ten, Conan was opening some hotties (good job, bro!) - he told me that he's working on approaching: so I thought things were going well for him.
Max kind of just texted people the whole time, and I was trying to feel out his style. He's a decent looking guy, and could probably just eye fuck a girl across the bar and gesture for her to come over - which I thought he was doing. Just using a really relaxed gaming style and being dominant using the 'strong silent type', which seemed to fit.
I opened a bunch of girls by the bar, and outside, on the dance floor, on my way back from the washroom... just everywhere. So I was in a good mood, feeling very social, and had an almost ridiculous level of social proof.
Max told me he was tired of Ten (which I had no idea why, and with his accent, it was hard to tell what he was saying most of the night), and wanted to bounce to the Roadhouse, since there were some other guys there that he knew. I thought it'd be a good opportunity to meet a couple more of the guys from here, and after looking for Conan for a few minutes (sorry, man, we looked for you, honest), we bounced.
As usual, the Roadhouse was mostly dudes, one hot beer tub server, one hot shot server, and two hot patrons. The rest was a shit show.
But, I figured I'd follow Max to these guys he'd mentioned, and we'd laugh at the ugly chics until our sides were sore.
Max switched up his game at this point - from the laid back strong silent type to: I'm on a fuckin mission! Told me we should open with 'Let's get out of here' or 'Let's go fuck'. Which I didn't actually want to do with anyone there, but I said sure, and we started opening. After walking around the bar about 50 times, I felt like all the social proof and good mood I had earlier were compeltely gone. I knew the servers had to talk to me, so I started opening the hot ones.
Talked to the shooter girl (and made some good progress with kino - and got her digits) for about 25-35 minutes. Any time you can get the shooter girl to stick around without buying anything is a pretty good win in itself. Max came up at one point and wanted a fist bump... I was like: wtf, I guess he wants you to fist bump him - so she did. He kept his fist out and pointed at me! *bump* *thanks-for-making-this-awkward*
10 seconds later, shooter girl 'has a boyfriend'. Go figure... thanks Max...
I opened one of the servers behing the bar using my soft hands bit, got her to lean forward and held her jaw with both hands with my face about 10 cm away from hers. She gave me 'fuck me' eyes and smacked my chest. Told me she had to work, stop distracting her. Win.
Feeling a little better, I started opening some chics that looked like they were having a good time. Hung out with them until the end of the night. Neither were particularly attractive, but they had some interesting stories, and one is pretty high up at Desperados (some kind of management position in the office), and gave me her number so I could get VIP if I *ever* wanted to go to Desperados (no thanks, but thanks anyway...)
Max had disappeared by this point - told me later that he bounced with some chic (I have NO IDEA who he'd want to, but okay), but ended up too drunk and passed out as soon as he got home with her.
I was kind of disappointed with the ending of the night, but had a lot of fun at Ten, so I called it a win (got two servers' numbers, so that's kind of cool, too), and went to my buddy's to crash for the night.
I'd like to wing Conan again at some point (PM me your number, bro), but I think Max's style kind of clashes with mine. I couldn't figure out what he was doing half the time, but I felt obligated to wing him for the first while since that's why I was there... It works for him, so I'm not hatin'.
Later, people. I'll let you know when I'm in town again.
So a couple weeks ago, I went out with a couple of the guys from here in Calgary. Met up at Max's place (sorry, don't know your nickname on here), with Max and Conan.
It was the first time I'd met either of them, but they both seemed like decent guys.
We drove to Ten, and got in line. I started opening everyone around us: guys, and girls. There were a set of 3 that ended up right behind us in line that I started gaming, and was doing very well with. I noticed that neither Max nor Conan were really getting involved, though, so even though I picked a target, I kind of had to continue gaming all three and making up for their comments of: "why are your friends so shy?"
I tried to isolate all 3 of them at one point (with the intention of bouncing with them - a triple-pull before we even get into the club? epic win), but got major cock-block action from Max and Conan... I have to say, I thought it was REALLY weird that a wingman would EVER cock-block an isolation so hard. Still had my target begging for attention (like, physically tapping me/grabbing me to turn and talk to her) before we even got inside. In hind-sight, I should have pursued her more. She was super cute!
While at Ten, Conan was opening some hotties (good job, bro!) - he told me that he's working on approaching: so I thought things were going well for him.
Max kind of just texted people the whole time, and I was trying to feel out his style. He's a decent looking guy, and could probably just eye fuck a girl across the bar and gesture for her to come over - which I thought he was doing. Just using a really relaxed gaming style and being dominant using the 'strong silent type', which seemed to fit.
I opened a bunch of girls by the bar, and outside, on the dance floor, on my way back from the washroom... just everywhere. So I was in a good mood, feeling very social, and had an almost ridiculous level of social proof.
Max told me he was tired of Ten (which I had no idea why, and with his accent, it was hard to tell what he was saying most of the night), and wanted to bounce to the Roadhouse, since there were some other guys there that he knew. I thought it'd be a good opportunity to meet a couple more of the guys from here, and after looking for Conan for a few minutes (sorry, man, we looked for you, honest), we bounced.
As usual, the Roadhouse was mostly dudes, one hot beer tub server, one hot shot server, and two hot patrons. The rest was a shit show.
But, I figured I'd follow Max to these guys he'd mentioned, and we'd laugh at the ugly chics until our sides were sore.
Max switched up his game at this point - from the laid back strong silent type to: I'm on a fuckin mission! Told me we should open with 'Let's get out of here' or 'Let's go fuck'. Which I didn't actually want to do with anyone there, but I said sure, and we started opening. After walking around the bar about 50 times, I felt like all the social proof and good mood I had earlier were compeltely gone. I knew the servers had to talk to me, so I started opening the hot ones.
Talked to the shooter girl (and made some good progress with kino - and got her digits) for about 25-35 minutes. Any time you can get the shooter girl to stick around without buying anything is a pretty good win in itself. Max came up at one point and wanted a fist bump... I was like: wtf, I guess he wants you to fist bump him - so she did. He kept his fist out and pointed at me! *bump* *thanks-for-making-this-awkward*
10 seconds later, shooter girl 'has a boyfriend'. Go figure... thanks Max...
I opened one of the servers behing the bar using my soft hands bit, got her to lean forward and held her jaw with both hands with my face about 10 cm away from hers. She gave me 'fuck me' eyes and smacked my chest. Told me she had to work, stop distracting her. Win.
Feeling a little better, I started opening some chics that looked like they were having a good time. Hung out with them until the end of the night. Neither were particularly attractive, but they had some interesting stories, and one is pretty high up at Desperados (some kind of management position in the office), and gave me her number so I could get VIP if I *ever* wanted to go to Desperados (no thanks, but thanks anyway...)
Max had disappeared by this point - told me later that he bounced with some chic (I have NO IDEA who he'd want to, but okay), but ended up too drunk and passed out as soon as he got home with her.
I was kind of disappointed with the ending of the night, but had a lot of fun at Ten, so I called it a win (got two servers' numbers, so that's kind of cool, too), and went to my buddy's to crash for the night.
I'd like to wing Conan again at some point (PM me your number, bro), but I think Max's style kind of clashes with mine. I couldn't figure out what he was doing half the time, but I felt obligated to wing him for the first while since that's why I was there... It works for him, so I'm not hatin'.
Later, people. I'll let you know when I'm in town again.
Wednesday, 8 August 2012
The fuzz
After my first year of university, I found myself without money.
And, even though my relationship with my parents was pretty tense, I decided to move home so I could pay down some debts and get ahead a bit.
Living at home wasn't great. I'd stopped following the rules when I was twelve. I had been pretty good at hiding that fact from my parents for a very long time. But, I was started to get to the point where I didn't give a fuck anymore, and stopped fearing the consequences.
I was getting caught more often, and for worse and worse things.
Finally, a call from the cops sent my parents over the edge.
No money = no car. So, I was constantly borrowing one of theirs.
No money = no hotel room for sexy time. So, I was constantly having sex in one of their cars.
I'm fairly certain that at one point, I'd banged someone in the back seat of every one of their vehicles:
The minivan.
The 'kids' car (an old sports car).
Dad's car.
Mom's car.
And, my brother's car (yah, he got his own... fucker).
I was in the minivan with this girl, out in a field. Apparently, the old factory within line of sight was 'worried that we were terrorists', and called the cops.
Stupid people.
To be fair, it was a fertilizer chemical plant. Like, the kind of chemicals that blew up a building in Oklahoma. And, I'd been parked there every night for three weeks.
My extra sensory hearing picked up the sirens from a distance, and I told her that we should get dressed and start moving.
We half-ass threw our clothes on, and started driving away, just as the cops pulled around the corner with their lights on. They pulled a u-turn so fast I was surprised they didn't flip the van.
I pulled over, and said, "I'll do the talking, relax."
But, as soon as I rolled down the window, this girl blurts, "We were just talking, I had a really bad day!"
The cop looked at my unzipped pants, and saw the panties clinging to the head rest of one of the back seats.
He gave me an unimpressed look.
"You guys shouldn't be out here. You're scaring the businesses."
When you are not the owner of a vehicle, and you get caught having sex in it... the cops call the owner of the vehicle.
So, when I got home my mom was sitting in the kitchen staring at the door. With her arms folded. With that look on her face.
The one she gets when she's caught me for something, and wants to rub it in my face. Why do parents even have that look?
So, the ultimatum. 'Obey the rules, or find your own place to live'.
My dad put a contract in front of me. It was titled 'The Rules I Promise to Live By'.
It included:
- Wake up at 7:00 am every morning
- Make my bed every day
- Be home by 11:00 every night
- Go to church on Sunday
- No alcohol
- No drugs
- No intercourse (yes, it said 'intercourse')
- No girls in my room with the door closed
- Maintain a driving log: times, dates, and locations
I moved out five days later.
And, I still don't make my bed every day.
And, even though my relationship with my parents was pretty tense, I decided to move home so I could pay down some debts and get ahead a bit.
Living at home wasn't great. I'd stopped following the rules when I was twelve. I had been pretty good at hiding that fact from my parents for a very long time. But, I was started to get to the point where I didn't give a fuck anymore, and stopped fearing the consequences.
I was getting caught more often, and for worse and worse things.
Finally, a call from the cops sent my parents over the edge.
No money = no car. So, I was constantly borrowing one of theirs.
No money = no hotel room for sexy time. So, I was constantly having sex in one of their cars.
I'm fairly certain that at one point, I'd banged someone in the back seat of every one of their vehicles:
The minivan.
The 'kids' car (an old sports car).
Dad's car.
Mom's car.
And, my brother's car (yah, he got his own... fucker).
I was in the minivan with this girl, out in a field. Apparently, the old factory within line of sight was 'worried that we were terrorists', and called the cops.
Stupid people.
To be fair, it was a fertilizer chemical plant. Like, the kind of chemicals that blew up a building in Oklahoma. And, I'd been parked there every night for three weeks.
My extra sensory hearing picked up the sirens from a distance, and I told her that we should get dressed and start moving.
We half-ass threw our clothes on, and started driving away, just as the cops pulled around the corner with their lights on. They pulled a u-turn so fast I was surprised they didn't flip the van.
I pulled over, and said, "I'll do the talking, relax."
But, as soon as I rolled down the window, this girl blurts, "We were just talking, I had a really bad day!"
The cop looked at my unzipped pants, and saw the panties clinging to the head rest of one of the back seats.
He gave me an unimpressed look.
"You guys shouldn't be out here. You're scaring the businesses."
When you are not the owner of a vehicle, and you get caught having sex in it... the cops call the owner of the vehicle.
So, when I got home my mom was sitting in the kitchen staring at the door. With her arms folded. With that look on her face.
The one she gets when she's caught me for something, and wants to rub it in my face. Why do parents even have that look?
So, the ultimatum. 'Obey the rules, or find your own place to live'.
My dad put a contract in front of me. It was titled 'The Rules I Promise to Live By'.
It included:
- Wake up at 7:00 am every morning
- Make my bed every day
- Be home by 11:00 every night
- Go to church on Sunday
- No alcohol
- No drugs
- No intercourse (yes, it said 'intercourse')
- No girls in my room with the door closed
- Maintain a driving log: times, dates, and locations
I moved out five days later.
And, I still don't make my bed every day.
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