I generally avoid such stories, but everyone's got one, some are humorous, so I may as well share mine. Of course, I'm talking about the Drunkest I've Ever Been.
The story starts about 3 years ago, in the spring of the year 2004. Now I was a novice drinker, having not imbibed until I was 23, so I was still trying on my drinking shoes at this point. This was coming on the heels of an excellent night out had by me, Bill, and Adam (which I can recall taking place during March Madness, so this had to have been almost exactly 3 years ago), during which a girl had told me that she liked me. I wasn't so sure of what I thought of her, she was nice and all, but I didn't know if I wanted to be in a relationship with her, so I side-stepped the issue that night, and kind of forgot about it. I only mention this because it set up the theme for the Drunkest Ever night, I had been kind of a jerk and felt bad, and decided to drink away the guilt.
My friend Travis and I started off going to the liquor department and getting a bottle of Jim Beam and Southern Host (not Southern Comfort, but the 100-proof knockoff of it) and some mixers, then went to get a Falbo Bros. pizza. We headed over to our friends' place (I think Travis was dating one of the girls at the time, but we were all friends) and started the night off innocently enough, just a few people mixing drinks and eating pizza. More and more people started showing up, and so I decided to keep up with the drinking. (I'm not usually super comfortable around a bunch of people I don't know, and so I either get really quiet and sit off on my own, or, in this case, I'll drink until I don't know the difference.) It turns out the people in the apartment across the hall were having a party, so both places started combining into one party. After losing any sort of inhibitions, I went over to the other apartment to mingle, and ended up going to a totally different apartment building next door to the original party. I don't know how exactly I ended up going there, but two other people I knew were there, so It was ok, I guess.
At this other building, since people didn't really know me, they just called me Conan. This isn't that unusual for me, due to my red hair I get that often. (Once, someone said that I reminded her of Conan O'Brien, to which I replied, "yeah, I get that a lot with my hair," to which she said, "oh yeah, I guess your hair color is similar, too." I took it as a compliment, assuming she meant I was funny like Mr. O'Brien.) What was unusual for me was that, after some prodding, I climbed up onto a table and started doing Conan O'Brien's "string dance," and deemed one other party-goer Max Weinberg, and another Jimmy Vivino. After my dance, I decided I needed to call Bill and describe the scene to him. While I was on the phone, the power went out, and to paraphrase Bill, I reacted like I had just watched the 9/11 attacks. I left to go back to the original party location, I guess to leave the traumatic scene. Many people left with me, probably invited by yours truly, much to the chagrin of the hosts on both ends. Also at this point, I started to take pulls straight from the Jim Beam and Southern Host bottles (I ended up having nearly half of each bottle on my own.) Not coincidentally, this is where things get a little hazy for me.
I was told that I went into someones room and started playing their guitar, using a quarter for a pick. When Travis entered the room, I took off and threw my shoes at him, knocking over a box of powder laundry detergent in the process. I then apparently went to the living room and joined in a game of Twister with a few people I had never met. They didn't like this, and eventually I was playing Twister by myself. When I realized that everyone else stopped playing, I plopped down on the couch, and started yelling for Max Weinberg to do inappropriate things, involving the words "toss" and "salad." Also I was saying something about wanting to "roast someones pig," but I don't recall that at all, so it must not have happened.
Travis found me a little later in the bathroom, after I had somehow thrown up on the wall opposite the toilet, about four feet off the ground. What can I say, I have talent. I think a majority of my mess was made on the wall and myself, minimal damage was done to the actual toilet. Since my clothes were pretty much disgusting, one of the girls let me borrow some clothes that she had that she thought would fit me. So I went to bed wearing the bottom of some scrubs that were probably about 4 sizes too small, and a t-shirt that was only a little tight. And I guess I would not pass out, I just kept talking to anyone who would listen.
The next morning Travis gave me a ride home, with my clothes stuffed into a grocery bag, me still wearing the donated clothes, leaving little to the imagination. Travis kept saying (and still says to this day) that I was the drunkest he had ever seen anyone, which means a lot coming from him. He is an experience drinker. Over the next couple of days, things about that night kept coming out, things that I didn't remember or wasn't around for. It took me a long time to have a drink again after that, I still won't have Jim Beam or Southern Host. And I don't ever want to have a night where I drink to the extent of getting sick like that again, and don't really want to have a night that I don't remember chunks at a time. So I guess this was a learning experience for me. I've calmed down quite a bit since then, haven't gotten nearly as out of control, so I'd like to think I've matured since then and whatnot. But that night, I was a wild man. Or so I've heard.