Passed out and fell UP the stairs of my apartment one time
In college (How the hell I ever got a degree I’ll never know) I went up to Columbus for the annual fall dental school frat party at OSU. Got so drunk I went home with one of the frat brothers, much to my boyfriend’s chagrin. Mike was flirting with another girl, so I guess I got even. Joke was on me, though, because when I finally came out of my stupor I was underneath a naked, horny, drunk 24 year old stranger who was under the distinct impression that I was both a slut and a lush.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Oh wow, these stories are crazy. Let’s see if I can top 'em!
When I was 17, I went to a friend’s house for a party. Her parents were there, just took everyone’s keys and went upstairs. It was hot, so we were all outside lounging by the pool. I drank hard liquor for the first time - not straight, I had about 6 rum & cokes, followed by five beers and a mudslide. Everything is a haze after this, but I clearly remember my friend Cathy having her first drink - a wine cooler - and I decided to babysit her, I got her cereal for her upset stomach. At this point, the police showed up and we went absolutely crazy trying to hide the evidence. When they came around back, all 15 of us who were left were in a circle and Tim was strumming his guitar, we were all signing “Kumbaya, my lord, kumbaya.” I don’t remember what happened, but the cops left, and we all decided to have a chug contest. But then after five minutes, I was like, “let’s dump the beer in the pool and DRINK IT! YEAH!” and everyone cheered. So we all stripped to our underwear, poured about two kegs in the pool, and starting drinking like dogs from the pool (it was inground). After maybe two minutes, we started shoving each other in. I woke up the next morning REAKING of beer (since I had been swimming in it!) and wearing only panties. My best friend kenny woke up naked except for a black disco thong (NOT his!) with tag lines - “I LOVE COCK!” “ROB’S ASS!” all over his body. A week later the photos surface - kenny naked with heads in his lap, kenny and I dancing naked, everyone in the beer pool. The worst part was helping the family drain the pool with a killer headache!
One more: best friend Lisa’s b-day last february. I was 18, but I arranged for a friend with a fake ID to get a whole mess of alcohol. We went to a frat semi-formal first, and the deal was, if a guy liked you, he would bring you a drink, a mindzipper. Also, there was a thing about how fast you could drink it. These two bute boys kept fighting for my attention, so I had one rum & coke and 3-4 mindzippers - I drank two of the mindzippers in like 4 seconds. Then we went back the Lisa’s room and changed into jeans, had 6 wine coolers in the process. When everyone was there, I had four shots of tequila and 8-10 jello shooters. I wasn’t that trashed, I just wanted to lie down and relax. But for some reason my friend Ben (also drunk) kept dragging me up and taking me to the bathroom - he thought I was going to puke, even though I told him I didn’t have to. At one point he walked me up and down four flights of steps to the public bathroom and tried to make me puke (he was so trashed too, I think he thought I would puke and choke on my own vomit). Then this girl Judy was like, bed time sarah! and stripped my clothes off and put on the pajamas in front of everyone! I got into bed and I vaguely recall her saying, “what can I get you sweetie?” and I said, “tequila?” I was half asleep, no contacts so I could not see, when the cops came. Holly grabbed my shit and had me out the back door so quickly, it was raining and my mascara was in my eyes and I could barely walk. We got back to my dorm (other side of campus!) and I ran into my RA and kept walking, luckily he did not write me up. Finally I got into bed. The next day I was fine.
I am going to a party tonight, so I may have some more stories tomorrow! 
I’ll submit the time I was so drunk that I had to be physically restrained by friends before I would stop repeatedly banging my head against a table. Apparently, I was very amused by the fact that it “didn’t hurt”. Of course when they let go of me, I ran over to another table to continue. As best as I can figure out, I was blacked out for about two hours that night before finally passing out.
That experience left me with a headache for about an entire week.
I’m getting a headache just reading all this.
This isn’t my drunkest story, but my most interesting. I was working in downtown L.A. in a skyscraper. Every Friday night, we would have happy hour, and at that time everyone was invited, even we secretaries. After quite a few beakers each of scotch, a couple of attorneys and I decided that taking a walk on the ledge of our building seemed like an intelligent thing to do. This was the 31st floor, and the building had a ledge that went all the way around the building, about 3-4 feet wide. We walked all the way around the building, but when we came back to the conference room where we had started, we found a cleaning woman had closed and locked the window. We had to walk around again and find an attorney working late, knock on his window (scaring the holy shit out of him), and pantomime to him to come and open the window for us. One of the walking attorneys was a high-ranking partner, or we would have all been fired. It was a blast.
Drunkest story is simple: 3 martinis = 3 hours of barfing and 12 hours of dry heaves. Couldn’t drink gin again for 15 years.
1976, Finland.
At my cousins, we had taken sauna and made the mistake of celibrating Mom’s birthday afterwards with some tasty vodka-rice wine drinks. We got pretty blotto before we knew it. We stumbled upstairs to bed when Mom orally contributed to the sewage system. As she was puking her guts out, I was bending over her, trying to say “Thash awrigh, Mahhh.”
Later that night I puked on the rug next to the bed. Mom, ever wonderful as she always is, washed out the rug and put it on the deck outside the bedroom. She left the door open to air out that stink and during the night a deerfly flew in and bit me on my forehead.
I woke up looking like I had an extra nose.
Don’t drink anymore, but when I did, it was just beer.
The drunkest was the night I wandered into my daughter’s bedroom (she wasn’t living at home), and her closet, and then couldn’t find the door to get out of the closet.
Puked on the floor, started to cry, and sat there till almost daylight, when I could finally see where the door had gone to. Yep, it was right there where it was supposed to be.
This one’s good…
A little over a year ago, I went out with a few friends to a local dive-bar. It’s a good place, and they mix REAL drinks. No watered down anything. They give you your money’s worth at this joint.
So we were sitting and drinking. My favorite drink at the time was a Seabreeze. I figure I had at least 10 of these potent things before the shots came up. I was intorduced to the Brain hemmorhage, and the most vile drink, the 2-6-2.
We were all absolutely wasted when we decided to drive the 2 blocks back to our street, wait, we detoured at the local safeway for some beer…then went to another friends house.
I took sip one of a beer, and absolutely felt rank. I had to go outside for some air, and after a few minutes had to run to the fence to launch my latest meal and 30 oz’s of liquor. After that round of vomit, I decided to walk home…NOT. I was walking sideways…I ended up tipping over in the middle of the street and vomiting. It sucked. Two of my friends had to carry me down the street to my house.
When I got to the house, I smacked my borther with a summer sausage(stolen from the safeway). My night erupted into instant drama as he restrained himself from beating my ass.
After that, I vomitted for a few hours and found sleep.
-Sam
Probably the time I was hallucinating.
Them damn turkeys were everywhere.
Several incidents come to mind.
21st birthday, 1990. I brought a birthday cake into a bar, said “It’s my 21st, everybody have a slice!” and was awash in alcohol for the rest of the night. This method is highly recommended! I didn’t black out but the phrases “Popper” and “151” still echo back from that time.
St. Petersburg, 1996. I don’t think there wasn’t a week I didn’t get drunk then, but I did actually black out. Apparently turned into an asshole too, as I found a friend of mine was expecting an apology. Had to ask around to find out what I did; turned out I hurled several vile insults against his girlfriend. Very chastening experience.
Another time I drank a whole bottle of ‘portvein’ on my own (NB: they call it port but it’s not!) and then went to the party dorm and had vodka and some whiskey someone had got hold of. That one put me out but good. Had put some hot dogs on the stove to eat but fell asleep; woke up to a pot empty of water and four very charred hot dogs. Lucky I didn’t start a damn fire with that one.
Washington, 1998. Went out with co-workers and happened upon a bar which served 50¢ rail drinks. Three of us ponied up $5 each and that was it. I remember going to a restaurant and being kicked out for passing out on the table; one co-worker tried to get me a cab but I vomited as one was pulling up. So much for that ride. I knew I was about 3 blocks from home so I just lurched into bed. Actually showed up to work the next morning, much to many people’s surprise.
Same year: the last really drunken night I had. I closed out my favorite bar (Madam’s Organ, for all you DC Dopers) and got taken to an after hours place nearby. Bought some overpriced beer, played some cards, and smoked some sincerely righteous shit. Unfortunately, this time I had to call in sick. Different job though, and still working this one
Surprisingly, I was nowhere near that drunk on NYE 1999. I honestly thought I would be.
Some asshole had his feet right in the way on the coffee table and it took me awhile to figure out they were mine. I missed half the Headbanger’s Ball.
I drank a beer once at a party in Carmel & they were serving cookies with pot in them. I love cookies! Don’t much like the pot but I couldn’t take it out. I ate a lot of them too! I went to my car & felt as if I was melting into the seat. Later I drove me & a couple of girls home & they said I drove the best I ever have.
My last night working for Applebee’s in Augusta, GA the staff gathered at Joe’s Underground Cafe for a going-away party - I was moving back to NC. I was drinking Icehouse and it seemed like every single employee bought a round of shots of Goldschlager. I was getting SMASHED! Fortunately, I lived three blocks away. After like the 7th round of Goldschlager, I went to the head to throw-up. And I did. I staggered out and kind of swayed back 'n forth trying to collect myself. I thought I had everything under control and headed back out to the party - UH OH! I ran into the Ladies room - because it was there! - and threw-up again. Several women came in and I just ignored them as they just shook their heads.
At the bar, there was a guy playing a guitar and doing a lot of covers of the music of the time. Now back in the Ladies room, I was almost to the point of the heaves. My best friend, Mike, came into the Ladies room and helped me out. Again, I am kind of swaying to 'n fro waiting to see if I need to duck back into the Ladies room, Men’s room, any where I could throw-up. Well, I finally decided I was OK and headed back out to the bar. Mike & I came threw the swinging doors and the guy playing guitar looked over at me and stopped playing! He face went white! Together, we staggered up the stairs - underground cafe! My wife walked home to get our new Explorer. She came back, driving on the sidewalk and I was loaded into the back. At the apartment, again she drove on the sidewalk to unload me in front of our door. I fell out of the back of the truck into a hedge. My wife and Kurt help me up scratched and bloody and into the apt. They try to get me into the bed but I fight them off, telling them “I want a shower!” So, I crawl into the tub, and turn on the water on. I am lying in the tub with water running and the three of us trying to get my wet clothes off. I pass out. I wake up, naked, propped upright in my bed by every pillow in the house.
That was my drunkest night. My worst hangover is another story. New Year’s Party. Ex-girlfriend in attendance. Alcohol. You do the math. 3 days to recover.
For a college student, I really don’t have many bad drinking stories. However, my 20th birthday was one for the books.
Back then, I lived in a nice house with four other girls. We’d often throw these enormous killer parties for birthdays and holidays, and my birthday was no exception. The girls of the house and our very bestest friends would always come over a few hours early so that we could get nice and tipsy before anyone else arrived. Makes for better hosting.
So about an hour and a half before people start showing up, my friend Matt makes a pitcher of Kamikaze shots. We each have one, then another. About 3/4 of the pitcher is left after this. After that, people start playing pool, and I realize that these are the best goddamn Kamikaze shots I’ve ever had, and I’m going to have another. So I do. The people see me drinking another one and cheer me on. About five minutes later, someone says “Have another shot, it’s your birthday!” Don’t mind if I do. And then I realize they’re really good, so I go back and get another. And then someone else says “Have another shot, it’s your birthday!”
Repeat this process until suddenly, an hour and a half later, I’m only tipsy, but the pitcher is gone, and everyone else had started drinking other drinks throughout the evening.
However, I’m tipsy enough to be stupid, so at this time, I pour myself a drink of half orange soda and half Licor 43 in a 16-oz plastic cup (tastes just like a creamsicle–at this point in my life I can’t stand them, but back then they were wonderful). About halfway through this drink is when the first people start to show up. I vaguely remember me standing on the porch and screaming at passing cars to come to the great party, before I start feeling righteously ill.
So I crawl up to the bathroom, and throw up. The bathroom is right next to where I kept my computer at the time, so I got online. I remember talking to quite a few people, while every now and then crawling the 5 feet to the bathroom to puke some more. Eventually my friend Matt comes upstairs, sees me, and without even asking, goes back down and gets me a gallon of ice water and a couple of Advil.
I was online for about three more hours. I can remember a few things going on around me. I was hit on by a guy named Saber, who gave me his business card. I wouldn’t have remembered that at all if it weren’t for finding said card in my pocket the next morning. I’m pretty sure I asked him if he was an American Gladiator at some point. Later on, my friend Matt returned, drunk off his ass and depressed, and proceeded to chug about 1/4 bottle of Absolut right in front of me. Nothing funnier than two drunk-ass people arguing over which one was more stupid that evening. Finally, what eventually chased me out of the office and back downstairs, as the party was dying down, was the fact that two women co-opted the floor next to me as a place to make out. At that point I was sober enough to make my way to my bedroom, which was in the basement.
Haven’t been that drunk since, and hopefully never will be.
Oh My Goodness!!! What a funny thread. Normally I lurk but I can’t resist this one. 
My drunkest day was 4 yrs ago. My husbsnd & I just hosted the biggest Christmas party we ever had. 350+ guests. Being the hostess I am… I waited to drink until all but our closest friends remained and then decided to catch up. Boy was that a mistake. One minute I was dancing the next falling over a table. Over I went and I smacked my head into another table, but it was okay. I didn’t feel a thing. 
Gee, and to think I looked so great in that cocktail dress.
Now on to tell about my son’s drunkest night… LOL. I got a call from his best friend, appearently they skipped school and spent the day getting really drunk. When I arrived, to pick up my son, he was trying to get on his bike. He was planning to bike it home. He fell over and managed to get himself tangled in the bike. (Don’t ask) It was a funny sight.
The scariest part of this story is that I told my husband to watch him. I left them in our bathroom, my son was sitting on the toliet(the seat) sobbing, drooling, etc, while I fixed him a concoxition that was sure to make him puke. Next thing I hear is a loud BANG! I come running in and my son managed to fall off the toliet into the tub. Mind you I have a tub that’s from toliet seat to the bottom of tub is about a good 5ft. He hit his head on the faucet, on his way down(that was the scary part),(my husband was washing up because our son just puked on him) but the funny part was watching him lie in his own puke telling me I’m sorry I’ll never do it again and me not really understanding a thing he said.
He swore he’d never do that again, and after the stuff I made him drink(gauranteed to give you a major hangover) he probably won’t. ROTHLOL Moms can be so cruel sometimes.
After a buddy of mine graduated, he went to teach remedial English at a high school in El Paso. He hated it and decided he needed a break, so he drove back to Alpine one weekend and we decided to throw him a party at our trailer. He was a notorious obnoxious drunk and–long after all the others had left or gone to sleep–he kept me up with him until 5 am, drinking Lone Star beer and Wild Turkey liquor all night long. I have not been that drunk since (1994), nor have I since touched Wild Turkey.
I’ll spare you the details; I’m sure there is enough of a collective memory of drunkeness here to understand the torturous pain and sickness I experienced.
Just a couple of weeks ago.
It was a gorgeous day here in Glasgow. All of the lovely female students from the top flat were out in the garden sunbathing, so I just had to go out too. My neighbour, Brian, was out too and we started drinking. The beer soon disappeared, and we moved on to Jack Daniels and Ardbeg (the FINEST Scotch whisky in the world - far better than Glenfiddich etc. Trust me and try it sometime).
I vaguely remember talking to the girls - and they still say hello to me so I can’t have been too outrageous.
I remember rushing into my flat to be ill. Luckily I live on the ground floor.
Later on that night I came to, only to find a wild fox chewing on my feet (no joke). Thankfully I still had my shoes on.
I got drunk last night too.
The drunkest I’ve ever been was just the second week of freshman year of college. Since I hadn’t drunk in HS I had A)next to no tolerance and B)no real knowledge of my limits, or the fact that sometimes alcohol doesn’t kick in instantaneously.
There was a party nearby, and I ended up drinking two full glasses of rum and peppermint schnapps, some drink involving a lot of vodka, a shot of bourbon, and two beers, all within under an hour and a half. At this point, for some reason, I decided that I wanted to go outside, so I walked outside(bear in mind that I lived on the third floor) and out into the center of campus. It wasn’t until I was seated out in the center of campus, a good couple hundred meters away from the dorm when I started to feel at all sick. This was a problem as I was, well, sort of far away from my bed. Luckily some friends were nearby and they helped me back into my bed, whereupon I threw up in a nearby trashcan and fell sound asleep.
Then I had to wake up for work at 8:30 in the morning. That was my first, and last hangover-since then I’ve managed to stay awake until I’m sober enough to force down water and food before I pass out.
…so obviously I have to pitch in (pun intended) as well.
OK, there’s two stories. One is a very short anecdote that a friend of mine experienced. The second is a story that belongs to me, an me alone. It was the first and only time that alcohol ever got me to the point of physical illness (other than the occasional headaches).
My Friend’s Story
My friend, Louis, came home from soccer practice, and put his shoes on the slanted roof outside his attick window, as he always did during summer, to let them air out.
The phone rang: it was Coldfire, inviting him to join him on the patios of Maastricht, the town where we both lived and studied at the time. Louis couldn’t say no to such an offer, and got on his bike.
A lot of drinking ensued. A LOT, I tell you. Fast forward though, to the moment Louis got home.
After a very dangerous bikeride and an even more demanding journey up 4 flights of stairs, Louis had reached his bedroom. As he was undressing, he suddenly got VERY ill. You know how fast the urge to puke can happen: it catches you by surprise. The only escape route he had was the opened attick window.
Imagine his surprise when he took in his soccer shoes the next morning, finding them filled to the edges with beer puke
Needless to say, he never used those shoes again and bought a new pair.
Coldfire’s Story
OK, now that we are warmed up, let us continue with the Main Course. I was about 18 years old. After spending some time with my then girlfriend during the early evening, my friend Joost was to pick me up at her place: the two of us were going to a party of a mutual friend. I had gotten into somewhat of an argument with the girlfriend, and was in a very shitty mood. Upon arrival, Joost, being the good mate that he is, adviced me to forget about the girl and have myself a good drink or two.
Which I did. Oh, did I ever. I started out with the usual beers, but soon came to the conclusion that it didn’t get me drunk quick enough. I remember the first 3 or 4 long drink glasses of straight white Martini, but people have told me that I downed two friggin’ bottles of that chemical shit that evening… that’s over 1.5 litres of a 20% drink. Not good for a reasonably untrained drinker.
I remember very little. The party is completely gone from my memory from the 4th Martini onward.
I only remember incidents from the journey home. I say journey, because: a) it was about a 10 kilometer bike ride, and b) it seemd about a 200 kilometer bikeride
I remember us stopping at a construction site to take a leak. Of course, this had to be done on top of that 15 meter pile of bricks. Not a neat stack, no, a pile. Of course, we tumbled off numerous times before we finally reached the top. We were really excited we made the top of the Brick Everest, and were singing at the top of our lungs while we were pissing downhill.
The next thing I know is Joost asking me if he should escort me home, what with me being really drunk and all. Since this means a 7 km. detour for him, I tell him I’m OK, and continue on my own.
Fade to black once more.
The first thing I notice is a cold, wet thing rubbing across my face. It turns about to be a dogs nose. The owner, walking his dog at 6 am, looks really surprised to find a crashed bike and its owner in the middle of some bushes, right next to the cycling path. Yeah right, like HE never missed a turn whilst drunk on Martini
He still doesn’t say a thing, he just stares with this surprised look on his face. Upon which I say, slurring my voice, “OK, thassit. I’m going home now”.
I’m home within five minutes, that’s how close the crash site was to home. My father, obviously awakened by the noise of me trying to open the backyard gate, watches me smilingly for 10 minutes, while I try to place my bike in the bicycle stand in the shed. DAMN, are those stands narrow when you’re drunk!! (I don’t know if that’s what you call them, it’s the triangular things you have to slide your front wheel in.)
Upon my entry in the kitchen, daddy informs me that I have to get up in about 2.5 hours, because we are going to Maastricht University for an information day (yup, I ended up going there!). After 30 minutes of sleep and two hours of throwing up, I take a shower and get in the car.
From my parents to Maastricht is about 135 kilometres. My father had to stop on the emergency shoulder about 10 times to let me puke. It wasn’t untill 4 PM that my body accepted solid food.
Untill this day, the mere smell of Martini makes me queesy. It was the only time I really got sick from drinking. So that’s about all the fun stories I can tell about being drunk… well, there was this ONE time when I actually had the beginnins of a Delirium Tremens. I literally saw pink elephants walking across the walls and ceiling of my bedroom. Strangely enough, I never got ill and woke up without a hangover. This must have been after at least 35 lager beers. Not something I’m proud of in hindsight. I don’t drink that much these days, but I can still hold my liquor pretty well at the occasional party
These days, I draw the line at getting tipsy. Getting really drunk loses its charm after a few times, IMHO.
Too much drink?
Hmmmm, I’ve got a bunch of stories, but I’ll just go through a few of the best.
I was out knocking back shots for most of the night, wobbled my way home and stopped in to see this girl at an all night store who lived across the street from me. She decided to drop in after work, which would have ended in two hours. I awaited her at home, knocking back more booze and when she arrived, we drank more. By dawn we were in the sack, both blotto and I woke up, several hours later, still in position between her legs, both of us having passed out before doing much of anything else!! By then I was too hung over to do much if I had wanted to! (We made up for it the next morning.)
I’d been at a bachelor party and got a bit gassed. After everyone left, a friend and I plus the groom went out looking for hookers. We found one and for some reason wound up doing the dirty in a grave yard – one at a time – in my car. (Those not involved politely walked some distance away, knocked back more brews and leaned against headstones until the all clear was signaled.) Afterwards, when I fell over a headstone, my compatriots decided I had too much to drink, got my keys and we drove back. I woke up hours later, sitting alone in the passenger seat of my car, in the parking lot of the apartment building were the groom lived. I roused myself up, climbed the unsteady stairs to his place, went in and found him sprawled out cold across his bed. My other friend was gone. So I downed a beer for fortitude, wobbled back down to my car and cursing the sunlight, went home and threw up in my trash can before going to bed. (Much later, sober, I used Lysol to clean the dried cum stains off of my back seat with rubber gloves.)
Another time I was out boozing it up, looking for action and finding none, drifted through the seedy side of town, got lost and woke up under a great Oak tree all of the way across the city, car running, A/C on, lights off, at dawn. I drifted on home, slowly.
Back then, no one made a big thing out of drunk driving and I was remarkably lucky.