The Steelers have fought their way to another home AFC Championship game, and I am reminded of another time that it happened. On January 1, 1998 I quit my job and became voluntarily unemployed. I laid around the house for a week, drinking heavily and playing video games. On Friday I told my mom (yes, I was living back in Virginia Beach with my folks) that I was going out to run some errands and would probably not be home in time for dinner. I went over to Lope's house, which was a frequent meeting place for me and my girlfriend. There were three couples there, with Lope and his wife playing host, and MonkEspank (a/k/a Bill) and his wife visiting as well. At about 2 AM, my girlfriend left, and Monk's wife took the car and the kids home to put them to bed. Lope's wife retired for the evening, and the three of us were left alone to bullshit the night away.

Monk, Lope and I stayed up the rest of the night pounding beers. The beer ran out, and the three of us had successfully killed several 24-packs. I passed out about 6 AM, and less than an hour later, Lope was waking me up with a gentle kick to the head.

I lay on the couch and opened my eyes to the sunlight pouring through the front window. Lope was saying something to me, but I didn't understand him and just stared into space with a stupid look on my face.

Finally he got through to me. "We're going up to Pittsburgh to see the AFC Championship game," he said. "Are you going?"

I didn't have a job or anything better to do, so I managed to say something like "Sure, what the hell."

Lope already had a book bag packed with some clothes, and Monk was out trying to pack the car with snacks and drinks. I felt dead to the world, so I stumbled outside to the puking tree on Lope's front lawn. I let loose a few good heaves and figured better here than in the car. I washed my face and got a drink of water before we were off to Monk's house. I crawled into the back seat and slept the whole way over.

Bill woke up his wife and told her where we were going. He quickly packed a bag and grabbed some beer and gatorade for the ride up to Pittsburgh. He was from Pittsburgh, so he called his dad and told him that we were on our way.

When it came down to packing my own bag, I was told that we wouldn't be stopping at my house. I was deemed a flight risk and outvoted. I certainly wouldn't have backed out on the trip, but my house was about a half hour out of the way. Not having a say in the matter, we hit the interstate and pressed Northward. I wasn't in much of a state to protest, so I rolled over in the back seat and passed out. When I woke up, we were just outside Washington D.C.

I looked outside and asked where we were. Monk told me, and then handed me a Gatorade bottle and asked me if I wanted a drink. I can't stand Gatorade, and it was a good thing too because what was inside didn't look like Gatorade. My instincts turned out to be correct, and rather than lose time stopping at rest stops Monk had used the empty bottle instead.

We did stop once for lunch and gas, and pressed on into Pittsburgh that evening. We arrived at Monk's father's house. He lived way up in the mountains of the Pittsburgh suburbs. It was cold and snowy outside, and when we stepped onto the porch I noticed that people just set beer on their porch rather than waste room in the fridge.

Bill's mom was very nice and welcomed us into their home. I was beginning to regret not having a change of clothes. Bill's dad was nice but gruff. As he shook my hand, his first words to me were, "Nice to meet you, now get the fuck out of my chair."

I cleared out of his way and went out front to grab some beers off the porch. It helped cure my hangover while we talked strategy about the next day.

Bill's dad was amazed that we had just driven up there on a whim. We didn't even have tickets for the game. Lope's father, Pete, had just died and left him a few thousand dollars. It wasn't much of an inheritance, but Lope promised to pay for the tickets if we picked up the rest of the trip. We drank a quick toast and said, "Here's to Pete."

We spent the rest of the night drinking and shooting the breeze. The game was the next day.

We arrived in Pittsburgh and started looking for parking and ticket scalpers. There was no shortage of guys standing around outside the stadium with signs that read, "We need tickets". Lope and Monk saw that and figured we didn't stand a chance of getting into the game. That's when it occurred to me that they had never been to a football game before.

"They don't need tickets, they have tickets," I told the guys. "The other side of that sign is probably a seating chart."

I was right and we started negotiating with the scalpers. Finding three tickets together was proving to be difficult. We finally found a guy with three decent tickets, so Lope forked over $750 from Pete's inheritance. We were both grateful, and Lope promised to try to drink at least that much in beer at the stadium. We promised to pick up his tab and went inside.

Inside, Lope and Monk were both giddy. They had never been to a game before, whereas I had been to several games in college. Lope and Monk are both socialites and quickly made friends with everyone in our section. The Pittsburgh fans are fantastic and we were the talk of the section. Our story of driving up there on a drunken whim seemed to play pretty well. I purchased another round of beers and we made another toast, "Here's to Pete."

The Denver Broncos jumped out to a big lead and unfortunately Pittsburgh never recovered. It's hard to describe the disappointment We had just assumed that if we went through all that trouble to go to the game, Pittsburgh would win. We sat there for about a half hour after the game was over and watched the AFC trophy awarded to John Elway. We were bitter about the loss, but the trip was still worth it.

Back at Bill's, I was able to do some laundry and finally get into some clean clothes. We left on Monday but didn't head home right away.

We dropped in on Racer X, who lived in Ohio, and stayed the night. His wife wasn't exactly pleased that we were there, which I don't really understand considering all the money we added to her swear jar. On Tuesday we drove over to Canton and visited the Pro Football Hall of Fame. We toured the Hall and paid homage to all the greats who had ever played the sport. I had hoped to press on into Ohio and visit my relatives, but I was outvoted again, so Tuesday night was spent back at Racer's.

Wednesday both Bill and Lope were homesick and missed their wives and children, so we headed home. We dropped Bill off and headed to Lope's house where I had left my car.

We said our goodbye's and on the drive home, I reflected on the good times we had just experienced. I arrived home to a worried and pissed off mom. In retrospect, going out to "run errands" on Friday and not showing back up until Wednesday was a pretty awful thing to do to the woman. She got over it though and was just happy that I was okay and had had a good time.

Denver went on to win the Super Bowl, and I eventually ran out of money and got another job. I moved away from Virginia Beach, as did MonkEspank. I don't hear from Lope or Monk much at all any more, and that girlfriend is now a distant memory. Still, I have many fond memories of all of them. I also keep a bag packed in the car with a spare change of clothes.

So this weekend when I watch the AFC Championship game and root for the Steelers, I think I'll make a familiar toast. "Here's to Pete."

Drunkenness Rating: 16 beers

Memorial weekend started out to be just an average weekend. I hadn't made any plans, so who knew what it laid in store for me.

It had been raining off and on for quite a while, and I could not remember the last time I saw the sun. On Friday night, I went over to visit Jenn with two 'n's, and have a few beers with some friends. We sat around drinking for a few hours, and took in the last half of some crappy movie on television. During the evening, however, Jenn received a call from our friend Laurin. Jenn and Laurin were both friends from high school, but I had graduated a year earlier than both of them.

Laurin wanted to know if anyone was interested in driving to Baltimore with her to see the NCAA Men's Lacrosse Final Four. Johns Hopkins University had made it to the Final Four, and it was Laurin's alma matter, so she was very interested in seeing them play once again. I did not really want to go, but I could not think of an excuse quickly enough. After a few minutes of haggling with Jenn and looking for a way out, it became obvious that I was committed. I guess I wouldn't have minded too much, except that it meant getting up early the next morning. I also had this fear that lacrosse was akin to soccer, the dreaded low scoring sport of socialism and baby boomers. Jenn said the game was being played at Raven's stadium, and that there would be beer, so I figured it couldn't be too bad.

The next morning, we arrived at Laurin's place in Arlington around 9:30. She spent a few more minutes getting ready, and then we hit the road. Baltimore is about an hour away, but somehow Laurin managed to warp time and get us there in 35 minutes. I'm not exactly sure how she did it, but it has something to do with Einstein's theory of relativity, and approaching the speed of light with her little Mazda. I was quite impressed.

When we arrived at the stadium, much to our chagrin, we discovered that the NCAA has some sort of archaic blue law against selling beer. Apparently beer, while good enough to be the staple diet of ancient Egyptians, was taboo for collegiate athletics. Even though there were kegs and taps tempting us at every concession stand, they were off limits, and we were committed to watching the game dry.

Having never been to a Lacrosse match, I was surprised to find the game to be very exciting. Hopkins looked awful at first, but ended up going into the locker room at half-time trailing by only a point. In the second half, however, Hopkins dominated their opponent, a quality Syracuse team who had beaten them earlier in the year. The game put us all in a good mood, but we were still lacking that amber goodness in our daily routine.

After the Hopkins-Syracuse match, Virginia was going to play Maryland in the other semi-final. We had a 40 minute intermission, so we decided to make a beer run to a nearby bar. We got our hand stamped so that we could return, but somehow I didn't think that we would.

We walked over toward Camden Yards, and ventured into a sports bar called Pickles. It was 2 PM when Laurin purchased the first round of the day. After a few minutes, a table opened up, so we seated ourselves and watched the start of the next Lacrosse game on television. We gave up on going back to the stadium, and pretty soon our interest in the second game melted away into idle conversation. Three pitchers of beer and a lot of laughs later, we were starting to get hungry for dinner.

We left Pickles and walked around Baltimore's inner harbor. After a few minutes, we strolled into Little Italy, and found a good Italian place to eat dinner. We had a few more rounds of drinks, and enjoyed our meal, when things started to get pretty strange. Somehow we got onto the topic of bets and dares. I tried to get Jennifer to spread soft butter packets all over her chest. She was drunk enough that she would have done it for $300, but not drunk enough that she would have done it for the $5 that I was offering. After a few moments of haggling, we were unable to come to an agreement on price. Still, it's nice to know that she has a price, and doesn't let her scruples, or the thought of public humiliation spoil a good time.

Laurin, meanwhile, dared me to eat one of the flowers out of the vase at our table. I looked for an excuse not too, but couldn't come up with one. It was a real flower, and not silk, so chances are it wouldn't harm me. I told her it might be Oleander or something poisonous, but she doubted that they would stick anything very deadly at a table where a child might get at it. She plucked the flower from its stem, set it down in front of me, and double-dog-dared me to eat it. The flower had fallen apart, so I picked up one of the pink petals and stuck it into my mouth. It tasted bitter, but it was palatable. It was a bit like limp radicchio. I got through my third petal, when surprisingly, Jenn offered to help me out. She grabbed a petal, sniffed it curiously, and put it in her mouth. Laurin did the same, and the three of us sat there eating flower petals. It was probably a good sign that we'd had enough to drink, but the night was still young.

We left the restaurant, and stepped into a cab. I'm not exactly sure where it took us, but the fare was only $6 so it couldn't have been very far. We walked by a small hole in the wall that I'll call Joe's bar. Even though the bar was empty, the drink prices on the board out front were very appealing, so we made ourselves at home. Joe, the proprietor, told us that his bartender had called in, and he was stuck working behind the bar. Laurin decided to help him out, so she invited herself behind the bar. Jennifer and I played a few rounds of pool, and put some tunes on the juke box. A few customers started to file in, and Laurin did a pretty good job of serving them. I'm still not sure why she volunteered to work behind the bar. I'm even less sure why Joe let her stay. He certainly didn't need the help, but it freed him up to join us in a game of pool.

We stayed at Joe's until well after dark. As the rounds of drinks came and went, Laurin warned us that it wasn't looking good for her to be able to drive us home. I agreed, so I called the Marriott reservations desk to check some prices. After a quick consensus we decided to stay the night in Baltimore, so I booked a room in a nearby hotel. With the threat of driving out of the way, I told Laurin to go ahead and tie one on. At best count, we had about 6 more rounds of drinks. Joe was generous, and because Laurin had worked the bar for him our tab was only $15. We left at shortly after midnight.

A $5 cab ride later, and we were standing in front of the Claddough Pub in Canton. The bar was packed. After picking up a round of drinks, we climbed the stairs to the second level. We danced a few songs, and had a few more rounds. After a while, I found myself holding onto a railing just to remain vertical. Jenn noticed Laurin was starting to sway and zone out, so we figured it was time to get going. It was after 1 AM, and we had been drinking for more than 11 hours. We figured that was enough for most people.

When we got to the hotel, I passed out right away. It was a pretty restless night for everyone, and we were all awake by 8 AM the next morning. Although Laurin did get sick the next morning, she didn't seem to suffer any long term effects. The three of us all felt like shit, and having to do the "Walk of Shame" the next morning, certainly didn't help. I had purchased tooth brushes in the gift shop for everyone, but we were wearing the same clothes from the night before, so we couldn't have looked too pretty.

Since no one was arrested, and only one person threw up, I'd call it a successful evening of partying. If I had it to do over again, I wouldn't change a thing.

Drunkenness Rating: 20 beers

When I was in college, I lived with a grad student named Jill. One Independence Day weekend while my friend Ken was visiting from UVA, she invited us down to Abingdon to spend the holiday weekend with her and her boyfriend Jerome. With a weekend of fireworks, hiking, and drinking planned, we started out early Saturday morning. We were headed down to the Crazy Herbs, across the Tennessee state line to get some fireworks before going hiking. Jerome only had a beat up white Jeep pickup, so Ken and I had to ride in the bed of the pickup with the cooler of beer. We set up a few lawn chairs back there and set the cooler between us. They were the low-rider type lawn chairs, so they didn't rock too bad when we went around corners.

After we get about a half an hour down the road, I hear Jerome shouting from the cab of the pickup. He didn't have a sliding rear window that opened, so he stuck his head out the driver side window and shouted, "Lets have some cold mammies up 'ere." After a few moments of Redneck to English translation, it finally dawned on me that they wanted beer.

Now, I'm not one to advocate drinking and driving. Drinking while driving just seems stupid. Passing beers up to the front of the pickup while going down the interstate seems suicidal. I even remember saying to myself, as I hung out the side of the pickup bed holding a few bottles of beer, "This is suicidal." But what else could I do?

Anyway, we got off the interstate a short time thereafter, and took the back roads down toward Damascus, to just across the Tennessee border. Crazy Herb took credit cards, so stocking up on fireworks was not a problem. We loaded up the truck and headed up into the mountains to do some hiking. I've always liked hiking. I had been a boy scout in my yute, and loved to get back to nature. However, hiking with beer and fireworks brings a whole new meaning to the activity.

As the day dragged on, we made our way back to Jerome's house for some fireworks and fun. Now, drinking and fireworks may seem harmless enough, but you'd be surprised at the unforseen hazards. Several times a firecracker went off in my hand, however that was nothing compared to the pain of having one of those spinning jumping jacks go off prematurely. The only thing that seemed to dull the pain was a cold beer. The icy cold bottle cooled the burn, and of course the alcohol acted as an anesthetic.

Overall, the weekend was a blast and thankfully no one was seriously hurt. (For some reason, I have a habit of sustaining minor injuries.) We took some stupid risks that I wouldn't dream of taking today, but that is part of growing up. It is only when people fail to grow out of such immaturity and stupidity that they have a problem.

Drunkenness rating: 8 beers for me vs. 1 gallon grain punch for Jen.

In college, every year, my neighbors Damon and Sean had a Halloween party. Typical refreshments included a keg of Beast, some grain punch¹, and jello shots².

I manufactured my own costume out of empty Budweiser cartons which seemed to be collecting in the corner by the trash can. (They must have been my roommates, honest!) The costume looked silly at best, and was kind of bulky, but it was cheap, and that is what counted in college. After about an hour, I had taken most of it off, and thrown it away. Still, it provided me an answer to that too common question, "Where is your costume?". I could just point to the heap in the corner and say "There it is."

Now, I was typically a beer drinker, so drinking grain punch didn't sound the least bit appealing. Even when I did drink liquor, I didn't usually like to taste the actual alcohol that much. I preferred a tasteless liquor that mixes pretty well, like vodka, or the sugary goodness of a spiced rum. Basically, I stayed away from the grain punch concoction and stuck to beer and jello shots.

My friend Jennifer however was hitting the punch pretty hard, and it wasn't long before she was pretty out of it. Her roommate Marnette was there, and she was doing a pretty good job of baby-sitting her. I checked back with Jen, and she was sitting in a chair out on the balcony. I think she was praying, because her head was between her knees and I could hear her mumbling. Still, she seemed to be ok, so I started mingling some more.

About 20 minutes later, Sean came up to me and told me that Jen had to go. She had been vomiting over the balcony railing, which really seemed to bother the people standing out there smoking, not to mention anyone walking down below. As I was talking to Sean, I saw Damon carry her out the front door. He had her bent over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and was clearly not very happy. She looked like a rag doll, with her long hair hanging down over hear face.

I followed them out the front door, but I was quite a few steps behind them. I passed Damon in the stairwell, as he was headed back up to his apartment. He didn't say anything, but I could tell he was agitated. He had set her down out front, just off the sidewalk. She was curled up in an undignified fetal position, with her butt sticking up in the air, cuddling a small bush. I think it was an azalea, but it could have been a rhododendron.

I cannot remember exactly what she was supposed to be dressed as, but 'hooker' seems to fit my recollection. Whatever the outfit, her skirt was very short, which now presented a problem, as she lay there for all the world to see. Marnette and my roommate Denny came down from the party, and we stood there trying to figure out what to do with her. Marnette was emphatic that we couldn't just leave her there, while Denny seemed to think the bush looked rather comfortable.

After a few minutes, we decided it was best to take her home. She had had enough partying for one night. I scooped her up into my arms, and she let out a moan. I told her if she threw up on me, she was going back onto the bush.

Carrying 120 pounds of dead weight is not very easy. Carrying 120 pounds of dead weight dressed in vinyl is pretty damn difficult. It didn't help that I wasn't exactly sober, and she wasn't exactly holding on. As I started across the apartment complex toward her place, I could feel her slipping out of my arms. I didn't want to throw her over my shoulder, because I knew she'd never make the journey. I was only a moment away from dropping her.

Hoping that she was still somewhat conscious, I asked her to hold on tight. She must have heard me, because she managed to squeeze me tighter. With most of her weight transferred from my arms to my back, we were home free. I could have carried her all night, if only she'd hang on. After getting her home safe, and putting her into bed, I hung out in the living room while Marnette took care of tucking her in. After she was asleep, we headed back over to the Halloween party to dance the night away.

¹'Grain' being 190 proof alcohol, and 'punch' being fruit.
²Jello shots are liquor and jello. My mother never made me jello when I was a kid. Honestly, the first time I had it was in college, and I had no idea it was actually a treat for kids. I went to the supermarket once and was appalled to find it in with the pudding and kiddie treats. Also, the instructions don't say anything about how much vodka to add to the jello. I called the help line once and they refused to help me. Finally, one of my roommates clued me in that jello was a kiddie treat that drunkards and college students had perverted for their own alcoholic gratification.

Drunkenness Rating: 1/5th of Vodka

Now, anyone that knows me today knows that I'm a beer drinker. There are a few reasons why I no longer drink hard liquor, and this is one of them.

I was headed out pretty late one Saturday night, to a party that a friend, Scott, was throwing. It was already past 11 PM, and by the time I showed up, all the beer was gone. I asked Scott what had happened, and he said they didn't anticipate going through it so quickly. He said the party was still going on, but it was 'bring your own' since his keg had run out. Not to be dissuaded, I ran back to my apartment and grabbed a fifth of vodka and a 20 oz. Dr. Pepper.

Now when I say a fifth of vodka, I don't mean Smirnoff or Absolut, or even Stoli. We are talking Aristocrat. At $6 a bottle, this shit barely qualified as vodka. Anyone who has ever had Aristocrat will typically shudder a bit at the mere mention of the name. I was on a college budget however, and I had to make due with what I could afford.

So, I hit this party pretty hard. Despite being out of beer, it didn't start to break up until around 2:30 the next morning. Most people there were already in a good mood, and quite a few people had their own little stashes of alcohol, so there was plenty of fun left to be had. By the time I left the party, I had completely finished my fifth of vodka, and was half-way through the Dr. Pepper that I was using as a chaser. I stumbled home, but stopped off by Jen and Marnette's apartment across the street. Their light was still on, so I knocked on their back door. That is the last thing I remember from that night.

The next morning, I woke up in my own bed. I was fully clothed, but half my bed and my floor were covered in vomit. Also, my jaw felt like it was broken, and the whole room smelled like rancid parmesan cheese. I tried to piece together what had happened while I cleaned up myself, the floor, and all my bedding. I ultimately ended up throwing away some of the bedding and the clothes that I had slept in. After a few hours of drinking water, the room finally stopped spinning and I reached for the telephone.

Jennifer answered, and I very meekly asked, "Um, did I fall down or anything while I was over there last night." She dropped the phone and all I could hear was the ensuing laughter. She told Marnette what I had asked, and they both giggled and laughed for about 10 minutes. They never did come back to the phone, so I hung up and walked across the street to speak with them face to face. The described the previous night's festivities, and my memory started to gradually return.

The previous night, Marnette had let me in, and poured me onto the couch. They were having a late movie night, and were busy making home-made pizza between reels. (Well, tapes actually, but reels sounds so much better.) After a few minutes rest, I got up and stumbled into the kitchen to make small talk with Jennifer. She was just taking their pizza out of the oven. She grabbed some napkins and plates and went out into the living room to start their next movie. Somehow, I had managed to slip and fall in their kitchen, hitting my chin on the counter. I got up, and still dazed from the blow, stumbled through the kitchen doorway. I didn't quite make it, and tried to catch myself by grabbing onto the side of the door frame. Since I only grabbed one side of the doorway and was off balance to begin with, I ended up swinging around and smacking my face against the wall. In pain, I slid down the wall and ended up in a heap on their dining room floor.

Witnessing all this from the living room, Jen and Marnette helped me onto the couch and proceeded to feed me pizza in a vain attempt to sober me up. I passed out for about an hour while they continued watching their movie. Eventually they got sick of me and threw me out. My apartment was just across the parking lot, so they gave me a good shove in that direction and closed the door. I'm not sure how, but I made it home and into my own bed.

I learned a few lessons from that evening, and I rarely drink liquor anymore. I've also slowed down quite a bit, and rarely if ever, drink to excess. Still, I wouldn't trade the memories for anything.

Drunkenness Rating: 20 beers

For those of you that don't know, I went to Virginia Tech, and my buddy Ken attended our rival, the University of Virginia. Every other year, he'd come down with a few of his frat buddies for their annual football thrashing.

Well, this particular year Ken showed up on my doorstep holding two cases of Olympia and exclaimed, "I found something cheaper than Beast!" Then he said "Come see what else I brought with me," and dragged me out to the car where his frat buddies were waiting for us. They popped open the trunk and inside was Nate, a fraternity pledge who they had kidnapped, bound, gagged and shoved into the trunk. He had been riding back there for over two hours. I thought it was so sweet that they'd want to include me as an accessory after the fact to their felony kidnapping.

So, we all went into my apartment to prepare for the Friday night festivities. We were going to a party at a Damon and Sean's place which was just down the hill from where I lived. We loaded up a backpack with a few cases of beer, and headed out. On the way there, Ken ran down to the bottom of the hill, and like a smart ass yelled out, "Hey Steve, don't fall down the hill." That naturally caused me to trip and fall down the hill. My ankle was badly sprained but someone handed me a cold one and told me to walk it off.

At the party, I proceeded to drink heavily to try to dull the pain. At first my limp became less and less noticeable the more I drank, but when it came time to leave, I could barely walk. Since my friends had left the party a few minutes earlier, I walked home alone. As I came limping up, dragging my foot behind me like Quasimodo, my roommate Denny was outside waiting for me. He told me not to get mad, and helped me into the house. Just as I asked him, "Why would I get mad?" I noticed the UVA crew desperately trying to vacuum up the broken glass and dirt that was all over our carpet. Apparently they had held quite a drunken pillow fight after they returned to the apartment.

I'll admit that I was furious. They had smashed two glass tables and murdered an innocent house plant as part of their demolition. Ken wanted to head back to UVA that night, and we had to physically restrain him to keep him from leaving. It all blew over by the next morning, however. After a quick trip to the emergency room for my ankle, we watched VT kick the shit out of UVA.

I returned the favor to Ken a year or so later when I was a 'bouncer' at one of his parties. He asked me to eject Eric and Neal just for the fun of it. Eric went out peacefully and was allowed back in, but Neal put up a bit of a fight. The way I see it, he was lucky to have that table break his fall. He was also quite easy to remove once he was doubled over in pain. But that is another story.

Drunkenness Rating: 8 beers

I think there is a time in everyone's life where taking alcohol to a movie seems like a good idea. So, Ken, Eric, Chris (aka Meathead), and I set out to sneak about a case of beer into a movie theater. We had already been drinking, and were feeling pretty good when we entered the theater with our hidden booty.

Unfortunately for us, taking beer to the movies creates some real life practical problems. First of all, there is the noise created. Opening a beer bottle may not sound so loud in your living room, but it seems to stand out in a dark quiet movie theater. Had we picked a comedy or action flick, it probably would have gone unnoticed, but in the adult drama we were watching, there wasn't much happening on the screen. Also, I don't think there is a more unique sound than when an empty beer bottle falls over and rolls down a sloped concrete floor. And the giggling didn't help much either.

Another big problem was our bladders. Stumbling through the lobby every five minutes to use the bathroom tends to raise the suspicion of the theater ushers. It was as if we wanted to be caught. Actually, I think some of us did, because Eric and Chris wouldn't shut the hell up. Ken and I ended up moving seats in a futile attempt to distance ourselves from the rowdy pair. This of course only made them angry and they started throwing popcorn and juji fruits in our direction.

When Meathead stood up and offered the entire movie theater a beer, we knew it was time to leave. Barely 40 minutes into the picture, Ken and I signaled to Chris and Eric that we were leaving. We made our way out through the fire exit next to the theater screen. Chris and Eric decided to leave via the main entrance and bumped into the policeman that was entering our theater to apprehend us. Keeping their cool, they made their way past the cop and out the front door where Ken and I were waiting for them with the car.

Oddly enough, the town we lived in had a second run movie theater that serves alcohol, but that wasn't good enough for us.

Drunkenness Rating: 18 beers

Looking for another college party, my friend Ken and I used the 'follow the music' method. We were walking around the apartment complex and heard some really loud music coming from a party in a nearby building. Curious, we walked up to the door and listened to the party noise emanating from within.

We tried knocking, but no one answered, and they couldn't have heard our knock anyway. Not to be dissuaded, we simply opened the door and walked in. To our surprise, there was a banner hanging from the ceiling that said "Happy Birthday Jennifer". As it turned out, the apartment was shared by three girls, and they were throwing a birthday party.

We culled their names off their refrigerator "message center" and were actually able to fool people into thinking we were invited for about an hour or two. Things got pretty tense when one of the girls found out that we didn't belong, but they took it well and we were allowed to stay. Besides, by then we had already made quite a few friends at the party.

Drunkenness Rating: 24 beers

I remember my first college party like it was yesterday. Butch, Mike, and I hopped aboard the local transit bus and followed the crowd. Following the crowd was something you did when you didn't know where a good party was. When the bus stops and 40 people get off at the same stop, you know you're in the right place. Also, everyone took the bus. The bus was free if you showed your student ID, stopped at all the major apartment complexes, and was the perfect designated driver.

While we were on the bus, I overheard this hot chick speaking Greek. I didn't know a lot of Greek, but one of my old high school chums was originally from Greece, so I knew the basic swear words. She about had an orgasm when I said something. "Oh.. You speak Greek!" she cried. "Please speak some Greek to me!" What could I do? Since I didn't know anything un-offensive, I cussed her out in Greek. I laid out every Greek insult and slur I knew. Oddly enough she was completely impressed. Unfortunately though, it was not meant to be. We were on a mission to find a party, and 40 people had just gotten off the bus, so we had to leave her. She declined our invitation, and Mike and Butch ended up dragging me off the bus, away from this Greek beauty.

Continuing our quest, we made our way into some strangers apartment, where they were having a multi-kegger party. They had a keg set up in the kitchen, behind a bar, but there had to be more than 120 people in a mob waiting to be served. The mob was peaceful, and there was music blaring, so we joined them. There were so many people that it took a good 30 minutes just to work our way up to the front of the mob. Eventually, we made it to the front, and had our cups filled with the delicious foamy golden nectar that is Milwaukee's Best.

If you've never had Milwaukee's Best, you missed out on a real treat. Beast, as it was affectionately known, wasn't brewed like a normal beer. Instead, some of Wisconsin's finest drunks gather around and piss into a huge vat. Miller Brewing Co. refines it a bit, takes out some of the impurities, and calls it Milwaukee's Best.

Anyway, my friends started to peel away from the bar to go find some corner somewhere, but I stayed put. Butch said something to me, but I told him that I was staying close to the beer. I mean, geez, it took me 30 minutes just to get up there. So they went their own way, while I struck up a conversation with the guy running the keg. I'll just call him apartment-dude, because there is no way I can remember his name.

Apartment-dude was obviously very tired, and seemed perturbed about something. After brief introductions, he freely admitted that he'd rather be with his friends and roommates, but instead he got stuck pouring the beer. Maybe it was his frustration, or perhaps it was the beer, but I convinced him to let me run things. I promised that he and his friends would always get quick service whenever they passed their cups forward, and I'd run the keg for him.

Now, if you've never had the chance to be the most popular guy in a room full of drunken college students, I highly recommend it. Within minutes, everyone in the place knew my name, and everyone wanted beer. Now, the apartment-dude and his friends took priority, and my friends got special treatment. Of course all the pretty ladies got served first, but generally everyone got what they wanted. I'm not sure why this guy was so upset, because I was more than happy to stand up there and serve beer to everyone. I must have met a hundred or more nice thirsty people that night. And of course, everyone is happy to get free beer.

After pouring out around two and a half kegs of cheap beer, the crowd started thinning out. The keg I was working on went dry, so I yelled to apartment dude that we needed another one.

"Hey apartment-dude, the keg is dry," I yelled. I was a bit too tipsy to even notice the police officer he was speaking to.

"Steve, the police are here!" he screamed back. "Perhaps you'd better go."

Now, I'm not one to argue with a suggestion like that. While having a good time was on my agenda, spending the night in the drunk tank wasn't. So, I made a hasty exit, waving to the officer as I sneaked by. After meeting up with my friends outside, we hopped on the bus and headed for home. Overall, the evening was quite a blast.

I don't want to leave the impression that I'm an alcoholic or anything. I don't attend meetings, nor have I ever been through any twelve step programs. However, I believe that having fun and living your life to the fullest are essential to happiness.

My parents taught me that it is ok to drink, be merry, and have fun, as long you stay safe, and always take care of your responsibilities. I always make it to work on time, and always meet all my commitments, therefore I have no problems with sharing the tipsy side of my life with you. That said, I bring you my Drunk Story of the Day.

As a disclaimer, I must say that I never have been very good at anecdotes. Taking stories from my life and making them sound the least bit interesting is very difficult to do in print. While people that know me personally may find these stories to be interesting, I'm not sure how well they'll play out with total strangers.

Now for the legal disclaimer: These events being described are real, and are depicted as they actually happened. The names of those involved have NOT been changed, to protect anyone. If you are featured in one of my stories in an unflattering way, tough titty. You should have thought of that before you made such an ass of yourself. The legal staff at Ravenwood's Universe remind you to always drink responsibly. Remember, the activities described within were performed by trained professionals and should not be imitated.