I was reading another person’s blog, an entry about drunken debauchery and forgiveness. It was quite amusing and, more importantly, thought provoking. It got me thinking about my days of heavy drinking. I am a big pussy now, even though I pretend I’m not. I’ve got a bum liver and… well, I genuinely don’t usually feel like drinking anymore. But man, oh man, there have been some good times.
Jack Daniel’s Old No.7, with a PBR chaser. That was the good stuff– that was my religion. When I was living in Portland, I was a very talented binge-drinker. I could finish off most of a fifth (that’s 750 ml of good whiskey, for you metric folks out there) and probably anywhere from 6-10 Pabst tallboys in any given night. I really really REALLY loved doing this. I did it 4-6 nights per week for the better part of three years. Something about that city just made me lose my damn mind.
I destroyed my acoustic guitar one night, after coming home from a bar with a bunch of friends and strangers. We engaged in a 3am jam, and I guess at one point I was using the back of my guitar to play percussion. Haha, I woke up and the thing was WRECKED. Luckily it was a cheap guitar, and it was a really good totally-worth-it night.
At some point I developed a habit of taking off my shoes, mid-bender, and never finding them again. During my time in Portland, I went through four pairs of sneakers that way. Each time, I’d wake up with some glass or wood stuck deep inside my foot/feet. I never minded too much.
I think the worst thing I ever did during a blackout was the bathroom tornado incident. I was having a bad, very bad day. It was rare that I drank away my sorrows, but this was one of those times. I vaguely remember getting into the bath tub with clothes on. So far, so good. When I woke up, the pipe that connected the shower-head to the rest of the claw-foot tub… it was cracked in half. The shower was just dangling there, unattached to anything. There were clothes in the sink and toilet and bath tub, most of it fully saturated in vomit and piss. The porcelain toilet seat was cracked in half as well, and lying in the sink. Yes yes.
I don’t remember being awake through the whole thing and trying to convince my friends to drive me to the beach. And I don’t remember getting naked at the downstairs-weed-dealer’s apartment. But apparently, all of these things happened. I ended up paying a couple hundred bucks to have the shower/toilet fixed. But I didn’t even have a hangover the next day. Of course, I woke up still drunk, but no hangover to be found after that.
All in all, Portland is a good town for the drunks. Lots of nice dive bars and small music venues (because getting drunk while dancing to good music is kinda what alcohol is all about, no?), the liquor is reasonably cheap, they sell wine everywhere. And lord, there are hundreds of microbreweries that make some of the best beers in the country, if not the whole world. Not to mention that it’s fucking rainy there for 8 months a year so it’s best to stay dry and indoors! So what else to do but get drunk as shit many times per week??
I look back fondly at this time in my life. I was a bit younger. Had no reason to abstain from debauchery. I made great friends when I was drunk, and I got closer with the friends I already had. I was generally a happy-go-happy drunk, and did my best not to hurt anyone’s feelings. Sure, some embarrassing things happened to me, but I don’t mind really.
I’m rapidly approaching age thirty, and I’ve “cleaned up my act” quite a bit recently. But I look back fondly and have no regrets whatsoever.
Do you? Have regrets, I mean? What are your best drunken blackout memories? Also, have you ever been to (or lived in) a place where the environment alone has provoked you to drink a lot more, or just “act the fool” in general? I’d love to hear some feedback on this stuff!
(All photos taken from www.drunkpeople.org without permission. But this is fair use. Because I’m telling you their site is rad and you should go check it out!!)