most bizarre morning after story

I was living in Chile at the time. A friend and I decided that we wanted to go to Argentina. We were living in Santiago and only had enough money to take the bus as far as La Serena, from where we decided we’d hitchhike. We met up with a couple other girls in La Serena where we piled into the back of an old mining truck, a huge bottle of pisco between the four of us. We sit down, look up and realize there’s another family sitting in the back of the truck, on a couch. So I lean back and prepare to relax and share our alcohol. We’re good and drunk by the time it takes us to get to the pass, and I’m a little sloppy, particularly since I’m drunk sitting in the back of an open mining truck. My elbow hit the lid of the pot that was sitting next to me, so I turned to replace it, and I found out I was sitting next to a vat of cow’s blood. I was grossed out so I sidled to my other side and bumped into something even grosser - there was a full-sized cow’s heart sitting next to me under the towel I had dislodged. Anyway, we got to the pass but the guy driving the truck wasn’t going into Argentina, so we’d have to find our own way over the pass. None of us had a sleeping bag or anything that was warm enough for a night spent in the Andes mountains, so we thought we’d try to hitch a ride with someone else. We couldn’t find anyone who was going into Argentina that night. We all thought we were going to have to either hitch back to La Serena or freeze to death when a bunch of Chilean border guards show up. We told them they could have our pisco if we could stay at the guard station over night. So they agreed to the bribe (it didn’t hurt that we were a bunch of single girls - we were very, very lucky these guys were inherently good guys) and drove us to the guard station where we all proceeded to get rip-roaring drunk.

When I woke up in the morning, all four of us were sprawled on the floor, which had been covered entirely in mattresses. No one had been assaulted or anything, we were all snug and warm under blankets the guards had given us, and there were two guards sprawled at the doorway with guns. At first I was really creeped out, but then remembered that they had let us play with the guns and handcuffs before we went to sleep. I also remember a bottle full of orange crush and pisco, but that’s about it. Anyway, that morning, we decided we were too hung over to try to find a ride to Argentina, and the border guards offered to give us a ride in their cop cars back to La Serena. So we hopped in, they let us play with the sirens and we got back all safe and sound. Now that I think about it, that was probably one of the stupidest things I ever did, but shit, it makes for a good story.

Blood EVERYWHERE.

  1. Woke up one morning. Mouth tasted like bottom of a birdcage. Lay there for a while before it occurred to me the light coming in the window was the wrong color. Rolled over. I was not alone. Furthermore, I was not in my own bed.

Opened eyes. Where the hell WAS I? And who was this lying next to me?

Lay there a while trying to remember what I’d been up to the previous night. No clues came immediately to mind.

The young lady, meanwhile, got up and tottered off to the bathroom. Quite nude. Nice behind. I had no idea who she was.

She came back a few minutes later, and noticed I was awake. Got embarrassed. Put on a T-shirt. Wanted to talk. Yes, last night was fun, but we’re sober now, and, well, she’d said things I didn’t mean, and she hoped I didn’t take her too seriously…

I assured her that I knew that it was the alcohol talking, and that I understood perfectly. Meanwhile, the gears ran like mad. Who the hell was this woman, and where was I? And where were my clothes? I glanced around. They didn’t seem to be in immediate evidence. I finally worked up enough courage to ask.

She snickered. Seems I’d left them in her car. I’d carried her up to her apartment from the garage while mostly naked.

Shortly thereafter, my clothes were retrieved, and we settled down for a bite of breakfast. Her roommates were up and around. There was coffee. The roommates all seemed to know who I was. They knew my right name, anyway, and seemed to think I was a very charming, funny fellow. As far as I could determine, I’d never laid eyes on any of them before in my life. What the hell HAD I been up to the previous evening?

I had a lovely breakfast and several cups of coffee with these very nice people. Meanwhile, I carefully probed for clues as to what I’d been doing the previous evening, and carefully phrased my sentences in such a way that it wasn’t obvious that I didn’t know what these people’s names were. Fortunately, in the course of the conversation, I was able to find out their names, as well as where I was.

I remained friends with these young ladies for quite some time afterwards. I never admitted to any of them that I didn’t remember MEETING any of them, nor did I ever completely find out what-all I did that night, although apparently I’d climbed onstage at a club and commandeered the mike at one point; my lady fair had noticed me because of my lovely singing voice.

It’s nice to know I have an alternate personality, buried deep in my subconscious, who does a pretty good Tom Jones impression.

  1. Woke up in an uncomfortable chair, fully dressed. Mouth tasted like the Russian army had recently marched through it, with their boots off, wearing only week-old sweat socks.

Opened one eye. Ow. Bright. Where was I? Some kind of reception area. My first thought was “Shat. I have awakened in some sort of insurance firm.”

A moment later, a doctor in scrub gear walked by. It all came together: I was in the reception area of the local hospital. There were three other people sacked out in the nearby furniture. One of them was my roommate. I woke him up and asked what the hell had happened.

He informed me that one of the neighbors had cut herself badly, couldn’t stop the bleeding, and had fainted. Her roommate had panicked and run screaming for help to the party next door. We had been at the party, and had gone to help. I had been quite stonkered, but had abruptly begun channeling the Red Cross Emergency Handbook, and had applied direct pressure, slapped a dishtowel on the wound, duct taped the dishtowel in place, and we had drunkenly carried the poor girl out to my car, carefully keeping the injury elevated, as described in the manual. We’d driven her to the emergency room, where she had been treated and was resting comfortably; they wanted to keep an eye on her due to blood loss, and we had apparently decided we were too drunk to drive home, so we’d simply sacked out in the reception area…

I remembered none of this; my last memory had been at the party, trying to chat up this particular girl.

It’s nice to know that some buried part of my personality can not only sing Tom Jones tunes, but knows basic first aid and emergency procedures…

Sunlight. I’m naked. In my own bed, but still. Owe. Head. Owe. Arm? Huh. Bloody.

I get up, ignoring the rhythmic throbing of my skull. The door from my bedroom to my livingroom is splattered with red. I start to panic, mildly. I mean, my arm IS gashed a bit…

But wait, upon closer investigation, it isn’t blood on the door. It’s vomit, DYED red by the cranberry juice from the 9000 Cosmos I had the night before. Then I discover my butterfly chair, the cover torn down the middle, and (TADA!) one of the gromits is bloody. Much like Unsolved Mysteries, I attempted to recreate the crime, to take my hungover mind off the fact that I was scrubbing red vomit out of the latex paint on the door…

So I got trashed. Got home alright, thanks to my friend Kelly. Stumbled upstairs, and into bed. Then the spinning must have started. I seem to recall stumbling around my apartment, realising I wasn’t going to make it to the bathroom. But I DID make it to the bathroom for at least a little, because that’s where my clothes were balled up. I figure I decided that the cold floor would be soothing, and I stripped and took a nap there. Then I tried to go back to bed, and realised I had to puke again. I attempted to sit in the butterfly chair, but it was parially folded, so I ripped the cover, and it folded in on me, gashing my arm. This excitement was too much for my stomach, which voided the contents of the Cosmos across the room and onto the door of the bedroom. I then proceeded to bed, where I passed out.

Purple frost gatorade does amazing things for hangovers…

Woke up still drunk.
Friend across hall cooked lovely breakfast with bacon and eggs tasted great the first time-going in. Lasted about 20 mins and came back up. Repeats are not tasty.
About the third trip to the bathroom to urk I realized that 1) I was still intoxicated, 2) I had no clue what happened after that tumbler full of punch, and 3) after the tummy is empty of food urking produces the oddest colored slime I have ever seen.

I did this twice.

Thank GOD I have stopped doing this to myself.

Being intoxicated eight hours AFTER consuming the alochol is not that funny.

I don’t drink, so the best I’m gonna do is the time I was in Spain, and thought “I know! If I take the overnight bus from Valladolid to Barcelona, I won’t have to spring for a hotel!”

Never never do this. I was definitely in an altered state of consciousness by the time I got off the bus. I know I didn’t sleep, but the only thing I really remember after about 3 AM is Logroño, Zaragoza, and the prime meridian. I remember a mild state of alarm when we appeared to be pulling into some bus station I didn’t recognize, and after that, nothing until I somehow managed to get off the bus and locate a coffee source. After that I was sufficiently coherent to find a hostal to collapse in for a few hours.