What is the most drunk you`ve ever been and what did you do?

I remeber one time when i had a few to many and woke up in a small village over 40 miles from where i live wearing a shredded tuxedo, which is strange seeing i hadn`t gone out wearing one

I’m a very little person, and a girl too, so getting drunk isn’t terribly difficult for me. This summer I drank 11 beers in one night, I don’t remember most of that night now though I do recall a drunken conversation with my drunk uncle and teaching two of my cousins the electric slide.

Kitty

twice a year. I missed out on both times last year. The worst shape I was in, I argued about MAS*H for about half an hour and got just mellowed out. Nothing to extraordinary; I’m one of those nice quiet drunks, like Mr. Rogers.

The drunkest I have ever been was when I was in Greece. There was some celebration and I drank waaaay too much Ouzo (the drink of the devil). I have no idea what happened. I just know I woke up in my bed butt naked, hungover, and for months afterwards I would get these “I had no idea you were that limber” comments and NOTHING ELSE!

It was a conspirecy, I tell ya. Not even my fiancee would tell me. One reason I didn’t marry him.

Friends of a friend of mine had a huge Halloween party few years back. They put up flyers all over town advertising all the beer you could drink and put little pot plant images on the ads. Flyers advertised that the party started at 7pm, but they told all their friends not to show up until 9.

Brilliant as it turns out, every pot smoking, beer drinking minor within 10 miles showed up, paid their 5$ entrance fee, and were summarily booted out by the police around 8. The party throwers had stalled serving the minors any beer so were not given anything more than a warning. Having kept the money, all their friends then showed up, paid their 5$ each, and there truly was all the beer you could drink.

I took that as an invitation to see just how much I could drink, and shortly after losing count of how many times I visited the keg, it was morning and I was locked in a closet.

My friends alerted me that it was necessary as I’d started out harmlessly teasing a girl about her choice in music (which I remember) and quickly resorted to threatening her life. Apparently her boyfriend didn’t take too kindly to that, nor the part where I knocked over his bong, and I resorted to threatening his life.

During the process of my friends dragging me upstairs, I’d managed to threaten, alienate, or just piss off just about every person there.

I remembered absolutely none of this, and was hesitant to believe my friends stories, as I can normally handle my alcohol and had never done anything of the sort before, but the stories were later confirmed when the previously mentioned boyfriend returned to pick a fight over said incidents.

Once in the service, having an illegal party in the barracks the booze was flowing like air. I went to order a pizza on the payphone about 40 feet from my room. I ordered the pizza and came back. Nobody was there, the room was trashed, and my roomates looked at me and said something like, “where the hell have you been”? I told em I ordered a pizza. They told me I was gone for 5 hours. Back and forth we went. The next day, someone who was there said they got a call from a friend in town that said I left my pants over at her house. I don’t remember if I had pants on or not when I came back from the phone. I thought it was a joke and told them to have her throw em out. (don’t know who this friend was) After 5 years, I would think that somebody out of the 20 or so people there (including wives and girlfriends) would have let it slip that it was a joke. If it was a joke, it’s the best one ever pulled on me. If not, it’s the worst off I’ve ever been having left the base, had sex with someone, and somehow got back. I doubt it was a joke as the people that were there just simply weren’t capable of something so elaborate and long lasting. Considering what I know I drank before the “pizza” (many beers and a bottle of scotch) it’s possible. I stopped drinking for a whole month after that night.

Two weeks ago …

Me and all my female friends decided to have a girl’s night out. No husbands,boyfriends or SO’s. All seven of us hit the town.

We go to our regular hang out and run into this guy Lou who decides we are not to buy ourselves any drinks-or go 15 seconds btween finishing one and starting another.

I’m chugging raspberry stoli lemonade and Rumpleminze shots when all the sudden I get this briiliant idea.

Karaoke would be fun.

Don’t remember much after that but my friend took pictures of me singing I Want You To Want Me as I danced like a stripper. This bar had headset mikes. There’s a particularly lovely shot of me on my knees holding my breasts.

I’m grateful I didn’t end up stripping for real.

On the rare occasions I drink heavily, I am quite hilarious… to the people around me.

First time was in college. The guys across the hall gave me a couple of six-packs and watched. After consuming most of them, I was quite entertaining. They called up our RA, asked me what I thought of her, and then held the phone up to my face. For this, I was later brought up on charges.

Then I decided I wanted to try to juggle. A few months later I would leave college and turn pro, so I was pretty good at it. I grabbed five of my balls (stop snickering…), and quickly found that I couldn’t even HOLD them, let alone juggle them. So I tried three, and that didn’t go much better.

The really funny part is that at this moment my roommate returned from across campus with some buddies in tow. He had told them about his roommate the juggler and had brought them over so I could show off my skills. So much for that.

Calculus. Really. I was nearly passed out, puking out of the car window, and had to be carried to bed, but my friend was asking me simple differentials to keep me from going unconscious. I answered them right, too (that’s what the people around me said later). That’s when I learned that the human brain evidently works at two levels.

Last day of classes at college. Went around to every academic building and had a drink if you’d had a class there. Then did two shots of vodka in the building for my double major. THEN went over to my friend Dan’s and continued drinking for 2 hours. This was on a mostly empty stomach.

I vaguely remember singing with people while we were on campus, and then getting into a tickle fight with my friend Scott at Dan’s, and got a BIGASS bruise on my back. Hurt like a bitch for a week and a half afterwards.

Amazingly, I didn’t have a hangover the next day. Go figure.

This could get confusing. It’s not too clear to this day for me as a matter of fact. I was on Yap Island in the Western Pacific. I met up with two other guys at O’Keefe’s Oasis Club (a relatively nice dive on Yap)at about 1 p.m. One was from Canada, one was from Kentucky while I was from Colorado. We each agreed to drink shots of our national drink with beer chasers until only one of us was standing (or sitting as the case might be).

The Canadian drank Canadian Club, the Kentuckian drank burbon and I for some reason lost in the shrouds of stupidity alternated between Irish Whiskey and Southern Comfort (I told you it gets confusing).

I vaguely remember around 7 p.m. toasting every human being on the face of the earth living or dead, and I sort of remember beginning singing with some friends. I definitely do not remembering forcing every person in the bar to stand as we sang national anthems which it has been reported to me I did. And I do not remember teaching people how to play cricket in the center of the club (I don’t know how to play cricket).

The next thing I do remember was waking up and seeing the face of Big Mike McCoy peering down at me. Big Mike was not one of the participants in drinking of the previous evening. In fact, he was supposed to have left for another island about 300 miles away from Yap very early the morning following the drinking fest (a morning I should add I was supposed to report for a new job on Yap).

I asked him why he had not left, and he said that he had, as had I and two young women of, let us say, not steller character. I asked Big Mike how he could do this to me, a respected journalist who was supposed to begin as editor of the Yap Star newspaper that very morning. He pointed out that since I had insisted on paying for me, him and the two girls to take the freighter we were then on, “Who was I to argue?”

Two weeks later I was back on Yap and dealing with a publisher that never understood that story.

This is pathetic, but the most drunk I have ever been were at family functions. At my cousin’s wedding I had some champagne and I got hit on by annoying drunk men who proceeded to spill rum and coke all over the dress that I had to wear to homecoming the following weekend. I was barely buzzed, and he just pissed me off.

At that cousin’s son’s bris (circumcision), I got a bit worse. It was the day that my boyfriend left for Israel so I was all depressed and stuff. I had about four rum and cokes all poured for me by different people. I didn’t say a word to anyone the whole time I was there and then I went home and fell asleep. No hangover.

Interesting stories, huh?

Can I get a picture of that? D:

Oops, I’m drunk.

I meant :smiley: !

I hate to say this, but there’s been more than once that I don’t know what I did.

The first time I was 7 years old. I kept sipping out of my mom’s wine glass while she was playing cards with her sisters. My brother and sister said I was hilarious.

The second time I was 10 and had some champagne for New Year’s Eve. I barely remember my mom taking me home and putting me to bed.

Then there was time in high school at my friend’s house across the street when my mom was out of town. My dad worked the graveyard shift so I stayed out all night. There were at least another girl friend there and a friend of the hostess named Tim. He went to school with us, but I had never met him. (They were all older than me.) They made up a story that I know was not true about going out for pizza and all the crazy stuff I did while we were there and me slam-dancing with a pole in the basement. I’m pretty sure we didn’t go out for pizza. The bruises all over my body kind of point to the possibility that the pole and I did dance.

Then there was my first semester in college. My roomy who was 21 took me to a party in town that she heard about. I woke up the next morning on the couch. Roomie was NOWHERE to be found. I couldn’t figure out what happened. I called the dorm and had her come get me. So I start asking her, “Do you know these guys whose apartment you left me in all night?” She didn’t know them, but they said they’d take care of me. We had walked to the party about 1 1/2 miles from our dorm so she couldn’t get me home. That’s when I figured out that Springfield, Missouri was a way different kind of place than the big city where I grew up. I’m pretty sure that I wasn’t molested or anything. Nothing seemed out of sorts.

Then there was the time when hubby and I were in New Orleans. The last night there we got drunk in the hotel bar. I’m almost positive we had sex that night but hubby says that he’s sure we didn’t. Still no explanation for that one. That’s the last time I drank that much.

This story is the reason I always tell my little sister that when she’s in college, she should NOT get drunk at parties. It’s just not worth it.

I went out to a party and someone who unbeknownst to me was a raging alcoholic started trading shots with me. He kept saying, “Come on, do more! Do more!” Well, what we were doing turned out to be Southern Comfort. I hadn’t really been drunk before so I didn’t know my limits, and I did 10, yes 10, shots of SoCo within 45 minutes.

Soon after that the room began to spin. I remember looking at the door and saying, “Why is it sideways?” and then my friend Danny saying, “Uh, because your head is tilted over?”

This is the scary part: I don’t really remember how I got home. I vaguely remember some guy driving me back to my dorm in his car. I don’t know if he was drunk or sober. I didn’t know him them, and I never met him again afterward. Luckily for me, he turned out to be an honorable guy and didn’t take advantage of me (which would have been really easy to do).

I crawled up the five flights of stairs to my dorm room (literally), and passed out on the floor with my coat still on. I woke up at 3 am to throw up, then passed back out until 10, when I woke again to a raging hangover.

I’ve never been seriously drunk again. And I still can’t even smell Southern Comfort without becoming severely nauseated. Urp.

As a seasoned professional alcoholic, I’ve got a number of stories to choose from. But I’ll tell you the absolute worst.

About three years ago, I reunited with my high school sweetheart, with whom I had been for two years. We broke up for the second time in October, 1998, after being back together for about seven months. The split hit me hard. I resumed drinking heavily, which I hadn’t been doing lately. Soon I was up to a fifth of Jim Beam and a 12 pack of Polling Rock a day, totally maxing out all my credit cards in the process. On night in a drunken stupor I slammed my (steel) apartment door on my bare foot, breaking three toes.
I was elated in spite of the pain. Now I didn’t have to go to work. The next morning I called in sick for the week and hit the bottle.

I woke up barefoot in a hotel room in Massachusetts three days later. I live in Maryland. I drove several hundred miles in a total blackout, without question the most shameful thing I’ve ever done. The fact that I didn’t injure or kill myself or anyone else is an absolute miracle.

My broken toes were a frightening shade of purple, as a result of my operating the clutch pedal in my car without shoes. Two of them never did heal properly and are crooked to this day. I quit drinking for several weeks, and have never had anywhere near as much as that since.

We went to Vegas last Jan. for the IA2000 convention. During the convention, I wander to one of the hotel bars where a girl gives me three invitations to a party that was being held that night and says “You HAVE to come to this”. Hey, I’m always up for a party. Notice that it’s going to be held on the rooftop suite of the Hilton. Hmmmmm, sounds frightening. Is this black tie/gown, or dress “Vegas”… What should I wear? I’m enjoying a few days with no kids and go for “Vegas” and wear a semi see-through top with no bra, black leather mini, leather garter belt, fishnet stockings and black thigh high 5" spike boots. Turns out it was a good choice, well, sort of.

We get to the party and holy dog nuggets! I won’t even begin to describe the layout of that suite, but there are butlers with trays of champagne, etc… and an open bar. Oh shit, an OPEN bar. (No br’er fox, don’t throw me in the briar patch)! Why, I don’t know, but i started drinking something I don’t normally drink… Rum. Lots of rum. And some more rum. Washing it all down with bubbly whenever the butlers passed by. After about an hour, I actually ask what the party is for. Turns out it is a party for webmistresses, which I was at the time, (duh, explains why I was given invitations) as well as a bunch of porn stars.

After a lot of mingling and having a great time in general, the next thing I know, I’ve wandered into one of the back bedrooms where Dave Cummings (actor) is doing some movie scenes and photo shoot. I’m enjoying what I’m seeing and after another rum something, decide, well hell, while in Rome… Let’s just say that somewhere out there may be a porn movie co-starring a rather drunk Tequila who volunteered to be bent over a jacuzzi, getting her knees slammed into it (had bruises on em the next day) and god knows what else. Don’t ask me for the name of it, I don’t remember as this is where things started getting pretty fuzzy.

Afterwards, I remember hanging out at the bar with Ron Jeremy (No no no… nothing but talking) and getting a couple pics of us with a camera I had smuggled in. Meanwhile, our cop friend that we brought with us, had hooked up with two girls there. One of the girls mentions something about an orgy. I’m still playing who’s da yo ho ho with a bottle of rum and… hey… did I hear the word orgy?? Hey… I have a hotel room, and a camera, and I’m still very horny!

From here on out, I know nothing. Tequila is gone, and my evil alter ego, Wendy, has taken over. I’m told what happened the next day. From the moment I hit the elevator, I was incapable of self propulsion. Turbo and the cop had to basically carry/drag me through the lobby of the Hilton. I’m done up like the Hooker of the Year, so they are trying to explain to security that I am actually married to one of them and they are not arresting me for prostitution. I’m not helping the situation as I’m flashing my tits at the security guards, the lobby in general and people entering the hotel, while asking every cute person who comes through the door if they want to come to my orgy. They somehow managed to get me out of the Hilton without further incidents and I then made them take my boots off cuz I was convinced that I was staggering cuz of the 5" heels.

<cab ride>

As I’m staggering into my hotel, I start yelling about not being able to walk in my boots and need to take them off. (as they are slung over the shoulder of one of the girls). I also get really upset as they suggest that maybe I should just go to bed so I start yelling about how “I don’t need sleep, I need to get laid, suck some dk and eat some p*y! If you all are gonna have an orgy right now, I’m gonna be there”! About 800 people almost had a heart attack as my hotel was hosting a standard “blue-hair convention”. Turbo starts apologizing to more hotel staff, and explaining his drunk wife to more security guards as I’m hustled to the elevator. Orgy commenced, and by the look of the pics, we all had a great time (I remember bits and pieces of it), until I went to the restroom. Next thing anyone knew, I was lying butt nekkid under the sink counter, talking to one of the girls about the life stories of my damn cats at home (the tile felt sooooooo good)! I’m not sure but I think I’m banned from the Hilton, or at least was, for a while. I’ve not gotten that drunk since, and will never get drunk on Rum again, ever!

I don’t know what I did. I don’t even remember going out. I do know that for several months after that I was greeted heartily by everyone I met in the villages of Ahaus, and in Schoeppingen, Germany. Those greetings mostly included gales of laughter. My army buddies mention a lot of singing, and teaching the Burgermeister’s wife, and then the entire village to do the Conga.

I don’t know the Conga.

Let’s see… the first really drunk moment came after a party some friends of mine were throwing. My boyfriend at the time and I had gone, I got plastered, and then we decided to go to a club that some of this same group was going to be at. I also decided that I was incredibly horny. So, as we’re driving up I-275 at 11:00 at night, I talked him into having sex while he was driving.

I don’t know how we both weren’t killed.

The second really drunk moment was about a year ago. I was depressed anyway, so I just kept drinking more and more with my neighbors. I vaguely remember apologizing profusely to a male friend of mine for being interested in him, when I knew there was no way he could be interested in a fat cow like me. I think I was crying at the time and I think there were talks of hurting myself. (To which he replied “Then let’s do it together”) Eventually, they ended up putting me to bed, with me still apologizing to my friend for being such a total screw-up.

This is the only time I DON’T remember what I did when I was drunk, and I think I’m glad that’s the case.