16 February 2010

THE BINGE DRINKER


We all know one. Our tragic little friend who can't say no to another Jaeger Bomb. Well more often than not, that's totes me. Lately though I have started thinking about my liver and the anti-social behavior that accompanies my drunkeness - maybe there is something to this sobriety thing. I am having these misgivings because of something that happened to me that I shall refer to as the Box Incident of 09.

I ended up back at this guy’s place after some extreme drinking with a couple of my Besties on a recent trip home to Australia. My Besties are excellent drinkers - one was even found asleep on a car bonnet. Totes my hero. So, anyway this guy – let’s call him Glenn, coz that’s his name, and I rolled around in his bed for what felt like 2 minutes before we both gave up the ghost. So, after Glenn fell asleep, he started snoring for Australia. Seriously, if he didn’t look like he was sleeping peacefully, I would have thought he was in pain.

I think I went looking for another room trying to escape his snoring, honestly it was like living in a flight path, but here is where it gets a little shadey: I have a memory lapse of about 2 minutes. I don't normally black out but with the amount of alcohol I had drunk that night, I could have blacked out the whole grid. 

So, I came to in a downstairs car park wearing nothing but a pair of underpants and a smile. I remember thinking, “Oooo what's all this about?” The severity of the situation hadn't quite dawned on me either - I just needed to find the apartment I had stumbled out of. Simple. Only problem was, I had no fucking idea how to do that. The building was starting to stir and I needed a quick exit strategy with some shred of dignity intact, however as I stood there in my underpants on the oil stained car park, I feared my dignity had its own ideas.

My Besties who also knew Glenn, lived just around the corner and when I say just around the corner I mean 3 blocks. I could get there by foot however as I have alluded to I was sans clothes.

Talk about a walk of shame.

In the corner by a car park, I eyed a stack of flat packed boxes. I picked one up and looked at it carefully. It was now or never.

As I burst into the sun filled street through the front door of the apartment complex with the flat packed cardboard box covering my torso, I was sure I would run into people: a jogger, a dog walker, a family. It was 9am on a summery Saturday morning in Sydney – there usually was a parade of people ready to kick the shit out of the day.

Not a soul. I could not believe it. Then I rounded the corner to be faced with one of the most terrifying sights I have ever seen.

A packed cafe. No sorry, a teaming cafe. There was a 4 top of hot gay guys, good looking couples in dark sunglasses, a queue of caffeine starved urbanites, prams, pugs, PEOPLE!!! Loads of them!

I ran past and just lifted the box up to cover my face – I had to choose one or the other and since I didn’t think you could recognise me from my package, I went with the face. The collective sound of latte's being spat out, plates dropping, screams, guffaws all rang in my ears. A woman coming out of the cafe chirped, "Good morning!" To this day, the most embarrassing moment of my entire life. But I had no time for pleasantries as I ran up the stairs in a flash of fluorescent flesh. I had finally made it to my friend’s complex.

The apartment was not awake yet. My Besties were comatose, my best shot was our friend Krista staying with the boys. But Krista slept with ear plugs, an eye mask and a mouth guard (seriously are you sleeping or being executed). I rang the buzzer once, twice, three times a lady with no answer. Finally a groggy "Hello" greeted me.

"KRISTA CAN YOU OPEN THE DOOR QUICK, QUICK, QUICK".

I'm sure I sounded like Hurricane Katrina had just made landfall and I was stuck outside the Superdome, but I could hear a group of children’s voices coming closer. I tumbled through the door and Krista gasped "Are you joking?"
"Yes, Krista this is a joke.”

We got one of the boy’s phones and called Glenn. No answer. “Right well he's asleep.”
“Snoring probably” *rolls eyes*.
“So we'll send him a text.”

Later that day, my friend’s phone started ringing from someone called 'Hot Glenn'. It was Glenn, my suitor from that night wondering what had happened to me because all he found was a pile of clothes and my personal affects. Weeks later, my friend told me his other friend 'Glenn' called him more than a little confused after getting back from OS wondering whether I got my clothes back. I was more than a little chuffed that even through the haze of alcohol I still managed to pick up someone who warranted 'Hot' to be put in front of their name (I would have put it the other way round - Gelnn Hot - but that's just me). My Bestie said to the Glenn I had mistakenly badgered, "Yeah he hit the bottle and got a little bit out of control".

I knew this coming from someone who napped on car bonnets meant I had a problem, so I quit drinking for the foreseeable future right then and there.

5 comments:

  1. OMG! This actually happened to me too. Actually my story was a bit more tragic cus I also vomited on a stranger but still. Its like you're living my life!

    ReplyDelete
  2. You are totes ridiculi-ey good.

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