The Day of Reckoning

I turned 21 on December 17, 2006. Having done so, I contend that on that day I drank enough to kill an average-sized horse. Here is the transcript of my day:

1:03pm - Wake up still drunk from the night before. Today is the 16th of December. In 11 hours I will be of legal age to do what I have been doing since I was 15. Oh, and I can drink, too.

1:04 - First beer of the day. It will be a long and memory-less day. God save me.

1:06 - Second beer of the day. Friends assure me that I can drink slower and that there is, in fact, more beer. I tell them that they are crazy and that beer tends to drink itself if left alone. I drink faster.

1:32 - First insults hurled at all friends who are not turning 21. As it turns out, there are only 2 present. Insult 2 people mercilessly.

1:33 - Am reminded that I am also not 21 yet. Assholes.

2:01 - Beer.

3:06 - Hard alcohol. Lots of it.

4:23 - I am fucking wasted. Slurred speech? Yep. Glassy eyes? You know it. Fat chick in my bed? Not yet, but probably later.

5:00 - I am becoming witty and charming to everyone around me. People love to hear me yell at them and sing mumbled, drunken Phil Collins songs. That's right. I listened to Phil Collins on my birthday. Jesus ain't got shit on me.

5:07 - Point out to nobody in particular that I am the best looking man in the room. Point out to the homely looking girl my friends brought by that I might not even be the ugliest girl in the room.

5:08 - Ugly girl slaps me.

6:42 - Notice Sharpy marks on my arm. Turns out friends have been keeping track of how many shot I take. Why did I not notice this until now?

7:18 - Friend Tom brings the Newcastle. My fate is sealed. (Side note: Only two kinds of alcohol signal the point of no return for me - Steel Reserve (extra side note: only to be consumed when you are fresh out of gasoline or sweat squeezed out of Rosie O'Donnell socks) and Newcastle. God knows why such a delectable beer would consistently and without fail ruin me.)

8:00 - I am jumping on couches and beating my chest like Tarzan. Tarzan is probably more clothed than I am, though.

9:24 - Memory gone. I'm certain I did something fun at this time, but alcohol has the tendency to steal things from you. Like dignity, money, and brain cells.

10:00 - Walk (read: basically fall) into Murphy's, a Marquette campus bar.

10:01 - Am surprised to learn that Marquette's bars consider me to be of legal age. I do as well. Take first legal shot.

10:02 - Second legal shot

10:03 - 3rd and 4th legal shots. I am going to die. Of this, I am certain.

10:08 - Cement Mixer. I take it like a man. Inside, however, I feel like a six year old girl who just got hit with a golf club.

10:37 - Man up and shoot pool. I am on fire. How is this possible? I am bobbing and weaving and cannot differentiate between stripes and solids. Whatever, I still win 20 bucks. Christ I'm good.

11:48 - Leave Murphy's. Head for Water St. I might as well be headed to Baghdad. My friends have a look about them that makes me think they are trying to kill me.

11:49 - Am alerted to the fact that my friends are trying to kill me. By my friends.

12:00am - Officially 21. Officially toasted. Officially black out. All memories from here on out are made up or provided second hand.

12:23 - My friends send as many girls as possible to dance with me. I am told the next day that I "danced like a champion."

1:04 - More shots, of course. I can't even work the automatic doors at the grocery store anymore. Which makes opening my zipper to piss just that much harder.

1:05 - Manage to not piss all over myself. I am victorious. I congratulate myself with more shots.

1:06 - 2:05 - Life as I know does not exist. I may very well have traveled to a different planet, but I would not know.

8:03am - Wake up in friends' apartment. Fully clothed with huge cuts and scratched on left bicep and right elbow. I took a massive spill, obviously.

8:09 - Walk the 8 blocks to my apartment. No coat. No hat. No dignity. I am still drunk. Very very drunk.

9:07 - Screwdrivers, Bloody Mary's, Miller Lite. Today should be a good day.

9:34 - Pass out, drink in hand.

1:23pm - Wake up, balls hanging out of the front of my boxers . Walk into living room, with balls unknowingly still hanging out, and find several friends passed out on my couches.

1:24 - Tuck nuts back into boxers. Fall asleep again. No fat chicks. No serious injuries. I am alive. And I am 21.

My friends stopped marking down how many shots I took after 27. So, unofficially, I took approximately 40 shots in addition to the untold number of beers and mixed drinks I consumed. How am I alive? My momma don't raise no losers.

Anyone want to go out drinking with me?