diagram of bones in skull

Herein lies an accurate acount of what occured on my 21st birthday.

The night began with picking up my dear cousin at the airport. From the get go I told him that my aim was to not get slobbering drunk, as I did not like it or itapos;s after effects. This is based on an experience I�had while at a little party my sister threw while my parents were out of town. I�did not like it, and I�did not wish to repeat it.

We made our way the the Liquor Den to get some boozery. For my first purchase as a legal imbiber of alcohol, I�bought a fifth of Captain Morgans, and Hal threw in a nice bottle of Absolut Mandarin. We then made our way to Four Peaks, a local bar/brewery that is famed for itapos;s wide selection of beers. Now, I�donapos;t like beer, and I knew this at the time, but I�felt it was important to try and find a beer that I like. However, I was not prepared for the consequences of not liking whatever I got, which was that I would have to finish an entire glass of gag inducing beer. I�took a glass of Oatmeal whatever. It was nasty. Nuff said.

After I had completed my endurance test and Hal had been through two Grape Vodka drinks, Ziva made a very special guest appearance at Four Peaks. She insisted on buying me a drink. Now, I declined at first, but because itapos;s some unwritten law that people under the influence have to be as predictable as possible, I�accepted to drink half of a rum and coke, my drink of choice for the evening. After I�had drained the whole glass (again predictable), I insisted that we depart for Halapos;s abode. Shaneen joined in along the way, and along with Zivaapos;s mother, Rachel, we began to drink. And drink. And drink.

Now, I�ask you, what good is a night of drinking if you donapos;t get into a heated argument? And what good is that heated argument if it isnapos;t about�something incredibly divisive, like politics?�Those questions are the reasons why, with the exclusion of Shaneen, everyone joined in on a rousing debate on where the fault should lie regarding the economic crisis. Long story short, Iapos;m a liberal young person, the other three are conservative 30 or older somethings. This went on at length, and all the while, I drank. Finally, at midnight, and after hopping around Halapos;s backyard, I decided that the time had come to walk home, which is a 10 minute venture.

I wasnapos;t as drunk as I was at my sisterapos;s party, and I had eaten and taken every precaution I thought a man could take to have a decent drinking experience. However, this proved folly. I promptly arrived home, and vomitted. The beer, the multiple rum and cokes, and the so-so spinach dip with pita bread flew into the toilet. This was an all night occurence. As hard as I tried, I could not stop vomiting.

After the first round had ceased, I�retreated to my room to try and sleep it off. This was not to be. I had to keep puking, but I didnapos;t want to spend the whole night draped over the toilet. That is when I was struck by what has to be the most predictable drunkard idea imaginable. I decided that the best option was to puke out the window. Keep in mind that I live in a single story house, so itapos;s not like there was a great drop or anything, but still. The sight of me hanging my head out the window in a vomitous stupor was probably hilarious.

As the night (and eventually morning) drew on, I found other, similarly predictable places to vomit. The kitchen sink, the floor, a glass I was trying to drink water out of, so on and so forth. It was only after I took a long, long shower that I felt even close to being okay. I still feel a bit pukish.

And so thatapos;s that. I will not be drinking again for quite some time.
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