I sucked on the bottle all night until I eventually blacked out. But before I did I remember only one thing happening. I met Mary’s dog.
He was an awesome Pug dog, which I’ll call Fred cause I can’t remember his name either. Fred and I had a great conversation on the couch. I asked him dog things and he looked at me. Oh the times we had.
Later I had spilled a drop of my Long Island on what was probably very expensive carpet and Fred licked it up for me. He was officially drunk too.
And then I blacked out. I don’t remember anything that happened but it was a successful first black out. From what I gather, I continued to drink with the human Fred the rest of the night, opening up completely about my life and my feelings. It turned out that was a normal thing for Fred, because he was studying to become a priest and that was his last shindig before joining the church for good. I wasn’t aware of this until later.
I also apparently tried to burn my face off while attempting to light a cigarette and finding the flame of the lighter to be pretty.
I also apparently tried to get everyone to go to the club house and go swimming. Everyone stopped me, which was good because I was drunk enough to drown.
I also apparently hung out with the rest of the party goers, which I don’t remember at all, but apparently there were dozens of them. We had a good time. Apparently.
Lastly, I remember this. I was a giant X on the living room floor (just over the spot where I had previously spilled a drop of my liquor). John and Fred each had me by an arm and they drug me through the house to the bathroom. I vaguely remember being drug.
I do remember being in the bathroom knelt over the toilet when John hands me a plastic butter knife and tells me to stick it down my throat. I ask why and then did it. “Oh.” Was my response just before I let loose a 45 minute puke session.
I remembered nothing else until I woke up the next morning on the bathroom floor with a small throw pillow under my head and the plastic butter knife on the counter above me. The coolness of the floor felt great.
I went out into the living room to a sea of passed out drunk people I did not recognize. Fred was laying on the couch with Fred sleeping. I went into the fridge and pulled out a beer. I sat down in a chair in the living room, head pounding and I took a drink of beer, feeling the alcohol in it soothe my head pains a little. Fred awoke and looked at me. “Jesus, you’re still drinking?”
Over the years I’ve heard that phrase a lot. And once again that’s why I’m 33 with a shot liver.
Oh, one last thing. I was showed a picture, and if I can ever get a copy of it I’ll post it for all to see. The photo is a shot of me in the bathroom bent over the toilet hurling, while everyone from the party stands around the opened bathroom door smiling and holding a bottle of liquor. My underwear and the crack of my ass can be seen.
Ah, my glory days.