Gorgon Heap - the worst part is that i wasn’t born in London, i’m a home counties kid at heart (think countryside, flat caps, sheep, hugh grant accent). Unfortunately i’m one of those people who picks up accents very easily and i’ve been living here for 5/6 years now.
At new years my brother rang me just after midnight to wish me a happy new years, by that time i was well and truly sozzled and the accent had him in stitches.
<size=“1”>Comment for other Brits: Luckily its a “proper” accent - not some dodgy Jamie Oliver thing… </size>
My behaviour when I’m drunk varies a bit, but lately when I’ve been drinking I’ve been the happy chit chatty type drunk until I’ve had alcohol in my system for a couple of hours; then I turn into the sleepy drunk who just wants to find a warm spot to curl up in and fall asleep.
Other substances make me hornier than the dickens with energy to spare. It’s bizarre.
Again, garuis, I still have the same problem. Hell, I don’t even need to drink and acents start flowing, but when I do drink, I find it hard to stop.
My wife and I were Iin New York City some time ago, somewhere around last year’s St. Patty’s Day, an we were bored so we walked into a really nice Irish Pub. Well, it being New York, it was staffed by actual Irish people (might sound odd to you, but hey).
Inside of one beer and only a few sentances with the bartender (a lovely lady at that) I was speaking with an Irish accent right to her face.
My wife punched me in the shoulder and hissed at me to stop, but I hadn’t even noticed I did it.
Friends understand this, but I’m afraid some day it’ll happen and someone will get offended.
I am mostly a happy drunk. Actually, most people can’t tell when I’m drunk. But when I’m depressed, drinking can make it worse (and can make it better.) Mostly, I’m a happy drunk.
I’m another accent-switcher, but only when I get drunk in the company of British people. I develop this horribly pretentious mid-Atlantic accent; I don’t want to, it’s just that I can’t help echoing back the sounds that I hear.
On the other hand, one night in Quebec City, it did get me a compliment from one of the most interesting men I have ever met, Raymond the plaster-and-drywall-man from Kent. He was about sixty years old when he just up and decided to plaster and drywall his way around the world one day. And he had the good grace to tell me I talked just like an actress in an old film. I’ve always treasured that
Otherwise, I’m a fairly ordinary drunk – chattier and a lot less shy than in regular life, but still recognizably myself.
I get enough of that from a certain lecturer (or should I say lecher-er) when we’re out. He even once tried to come onto me in front of my boyfriend, and who, one drunken evening informed me that he could have me any time he wanted to, and he didn’t give a damn about my boyfriend!
Ah yes, the bulletproof drunk. I’m more of a blathering drunk, myself. I’ll talk about anything, to anyone. It doesn’t matter how personal or TMI it may be. I’m also an insomniac drunk. If I’ve imbibed a significant amount, I cannot fall asleep to save my life.
I’m an everything drunk.
I get happy, silly, violent, talk utter crap, sad, quiet, horny, sleepy… you name it.
There is normally some falling over involved somewhere, and I too do the clipped-upper-class-British-accent thing.
On beer: Each beer I have, mentally I go back 2 years in age–and it’s cumulative. Case in point: getting loaded at a buddies party, finding his old Tyco racetrack in the garage and setting it up in the living room like it was Christmas morning. I guess I must have had 10 beers because I felt 10 years old again.
Add Captain Morgan or shots: The following day I turn into Grissom from CSI trying to piece together what the fahhhk happened the night before with few clues (unexplained soreness or bruises, strange taste in my mouth, phone numbers on napkins, left shoe size 12/right shoe high heel size 4, etc…).
I guess I should stick to beer and only drink myself down no further than 16 year old (so I’m old enough to have a license to drive home).
The girl i was living with had a similar problem with a rather randy media lecturer - he’d hit on her whenever he got drunk enough to be suitably brave.
several times i got ambushed by her in the pub and told that i was her boyfriend for the night just so he wouldn’t keep trying to hit on her.
