Intervention: The Drinking Game

Premise: Watch A&E's Intervention. Anytime the subject uses the addiction of choice, take a drink. Bonus drinks for passing out, falling down, or crying. If the subject gets arrested or ends up in the hospital, finish your drink.

Result: Watching the subject passing out, falling down, and/or crying is not really conducive for getting drunk. It's actually pretty depressing. It's kind of like when you watch the 400-pound women on Oprah and you take a look at the donut you were enjoying and you put it down and go in the bathroom and immediately throw up. Kind of exactly like that.

Verdict: FAILED

* Yes, I realize this was a wholly insensitive idea—to turn other peoples' problems into my own enjoyment—but isn't that the inherent nature of the show? Besides, it was a pretty slow Friday night.

Fun with Emoticons

Cubicle Neighbor sent me this charming little e-mail Friday afternoon:

Cubicle Neighbor: So was I right?
Jamie: Yeah, pretty much!

I guess she's heard enough Monday Morning Stories to know.

I must be doing something wrong. Or totally right.

I found this little gem in my inbox this morning:

---

From: Michael
Sent: Thursday, April 26, 2007 7:40 AM
To: Jamie
Subject: RE: Dress on Friday

I don’t know why I thought of you when I saw this, but it might come in handy.

---

Hilarious.

I read the product description. "Whathaveyou" is actually not one word like they suggest, but based on what they're selling, I guess they can't all be grammatical geniuses.

And then I read this:

I don't believe I'll be strapping that around my abdomen any time soon. But a lot of other people are: the item is backordered.

They must think only those living in California actually get the cancer.

Proooooooom! Revisited

As posted on MySpace:

I finally had time to go through the party photos from last week and I deleted 30 pics deemed too hot for MySpace.

And I'm still left with over 70 inappropriate photos.

These things are a mess. I guess that's what happens when someone spikes the punch (we done good Andrew :)

When my friends and I ventured to Aveda to get our hair done for prom, we had a difficult time conveying what we wanted:

"It's prom, but it's not."

"You can just have at it, we're not actually serious."

"The bigger the hair, the closer to Jesus."

After explaining that no, we don't look like we're in high school because we're actually celebrating my 26th birthday, they were able to get into the spirit with us. We actually invited them to come, but they all had to work that night.

Then we headed over to Lenox in our eighties' hairstyles, fully conscious of how ridiculous we looked. We had the same problem conveying our wants to the makeup counter ladies, but they also got caught up in our excitement.

It wasn't until we were sitting in the car in front of the Olive Garden--until we actually had to mingle among the non-eighties-prom public--that we began to second guess the idea, but we wore our blue eye shadow with pride. One couple arrived late and told the hostess to just seat them with the table that was all dressed ridiculously, to which the hostess replied, "The younger group or the older group?"

The table erupted in laughter at the story. "I'm afraid to ask if we were the younger group or the older group."

"We're the older group. Evidently there is an actual prom party here as well," which simultaneously solidified the cheese-factor for our prom and made me feel bad for the kids who actually chose to go to the Olive Garden because they thought it would be a good idea. To drive the point home, our waiter scooted a square table against a round one for our party. It should be mentioned that there were six more empty square tables surrounding us. And our armchairs had wheels.

Exiting the restaurant, one family wished us a good time at the prom. We couldn't stop laughing as we thanked them.

At the party D's and my date presented us each with a bouquet of flowers and his original prom invitations from high school since he never got to go. I can't believe he kept the invitations all these years and thought enough of us to give them away. While the punch was being spiked (Andrew's and my concoction, neither of us having any experience with the making of the hunch punch: you could smell its flammability before even reaching the bowl), everyone took turns posing awkwardly. Awkwardly was replaced with a fish face after the punch was had.

In the classic style of prom, there was voting for Prom King and Queen, Best Dressed Couple, and Most Outrageous Guy and Grrrl. D and our mutual date won Most Outrageous, and surprisingly, I won Prom Queen. Yes it was my birthday party, but that wasn't a widely advertised fact. It was thrown at someone else's house and I assumed she would get Prom Queen because of all the effort she put forth. That's why I voted for her.

By midnight the hunch punch was gone and we were onto champagne. This would be the point where we began rocking out to our eighties' playlist. Journey was played. So was Whitesnake. Bon Jovi was ever-present. There was singing and dancing and air guitar.

Then Bonnie surprised me with a birthday cookie cake. I've never had friends get me a birthday cake before, so I was really moved at the gesture. Save three people, everyone at the party I had never hung out with until two months ago, and I just elated that they were kind enough to light some candles and sing just for me. It was just so moving.

Crown placed firmly on my head, and tulle puckering off my hips, I slipped the Guitar Hero guitar around my neck and began rounds of the game. Heady from spirits, I did not perform very well. As in I didn't win once.

No matter though, it was the best prom birthday party of my life.


Not enough drunken shenanigans? See all of the photos over on the MySpace Account.

A VD I won't remember

There is a reason why this is probably my favorite place in Atlanta:


I got this in my inbox this morning from Park Tavern:


I had to go over it a couple of times to make sure I read it correctly. I wasn't planning on going out tonight, but now I might just have to.

Of all the people I wish would fall off the face of the earth and die

I swing the door open to an apartment I've never been to before and scream, "Love of my life!" Craig proved third time's a charm for living with men. Of course it helped that we split the rent and had separate bedrooms. And never had sex. Craig is my former roommate and platonic life partner.

Craig was back in Athens and throwing a party right before Christmas. I love these holiday parties in Athens because it's a great reunion for anybody I met during the 6 years I lived there. We all make the Mecca back to school and drink for posterity's sake.

Craig heard my doorway bellowing and turned towards me while I jump in his arms. I miss Craig. I truly, honestly don't know how I made it through the past year without seeing him once. Craig picks me up and swings me around and I survey the party for the first time.

And I lock eyes with someone.

And I have no idea who he is, but I know he has nipple rings.

I wouldn't know he that has nipple rings unless I know him. Unless I know him in a shirts-off kind of way. Craig sets me down on the wood flooring and Nipple Rings and I stare at each other. He smiles, obviously remembering me.

"Hello there. Long time," nods Nipple Rings as he tips his beer towards me.

I swallowed and choked on my own spit. Of course he would remember me. I too would remember the girl I met at a party five years ago where I split a fifth of vodka with her and took her back to my place downtown. There I would get her in my bed... where she would promptly projectile vomit on me and my bedding.

Yup, I would remember her too.

Remember, remember

The 5th of December?

Fine, twist my arm. I'll have a fifth on the fifth.

Pantsless Wednesdays

Yes folks, it's Wednesday, which means... well, I'm currently wearing pants. I find it's much easier to stay employed when you wear pants. But as soon as I get home, and the dog gets her walk, the pants are coming off.

It's Pantsless Wednesday!

Pantsless Wednesday is an old college tradition that I still honor. For my circle of friends, Tuesday night was the big night downtown. We had it timed out perfectly. At 8:00 PM, we'd show up at Molly O'Shea's for Ladies Night. Any well drink we wanted, served in a pink Dixie cup for a quarter. We'd save our change all week and go crazy at Molly O'Shea's. All of a sudden, we were generous friends buying rounds of drinks. At 10 PM, we'd get off the barstool and make our way toward Wild Wings. By the time we made it there, the drunkenness took full effect, but that didn't stop us from imbibing 22 oz bottles of Miller High Life for $2.50. We'd have 3 or 4 of those while we took turns singing karaoke. I think I once had a six-week streak where I'd spill my beer every week. By 12:30 to 1 AM, the karaoke died out, but we were too drunk and having too much fun. So we'd go to On The Rocks where ladies get free champagne (a true Athens drinker had her week planned out where she never had to pay much for drinks) We'd stay at On The Rocks and drink free champagne and eat their cherries until the bar closed at 2:30 AM.

And we'd wake up Wednesday afternoon with the worst hangover known to man. The amalgamation of well vodka, bourbon, rum, Miller High Life, and cheap champagne would keep us locked in our bathrooms through most of Wednesday. We were smart enough to not schedule any morning classes, and those of us that did failed them for not attending. No manner of drinking I have done since those Tuesdays have ever given me the same degree of hangover.

We were troopers, although some were more so than others. I was one of the founders of our Tuesday night tradition and I held on for 3 years. The best memories of my life.

The point is every Wednesday night we'd be tired and hungover. The girls of the group would all meet up at Bonnie's apartment where we would wear nothing but T-shirts and watch crap TV together: the worst shows, like DateLine whodunits. We would also go around and tell what we remembered from the night before to piece together what actually transpired. We dubbed the evening "Pantsless Wednesdays."

And although I'm no longer hungover on Wednesdays, I still honor the day by not wearing any pants and watching crap TV. On the schedule for tonight: American Idol.

Tequila Mockingbird

Geoff reached into his wallet and handed me a five dollar bill. "This is for gas money and to thank you for agreeing to pick me up when my shift is over at 2 am," he explained. I took the bill, folded it half, and stuck it in the cup holder in my truck. I've never been one to turn down gas money.

"Thanks."

"So what are you going to do tonight while I'm at work?"

"I don't know yet, I'll find something."

Geoff unbuckled the seat belt and got out of my truck. "Thanks again," he said. "And don't forget, I get done at 2." He slammed the truck door shut and walked into the telemarketing building where we both worked part time.

I knew exactly what I was going to do; I just didn't want to tell Geoff. And now I had five dollars to do it with. I drove back to Geoff's house, parked my truck, and walked directly to Compadre's. Compadre's was an overpriced Tex-Mex restaurant in an old department store downtown. I liked going there at night because their bar was open and they had free pool for anyone with an open bar tab. I had been going there a lot recently with different friends and I knew the bartender well enough that I could sit and talk to her.

That night was a special night at Compadre's. Melissa, my bartender friend, told me to make sure I come by that night. I walked through the restaurant into the back where the bar is tucked away. The normally empty place was full. I grabbed the last remaining barstool and sat down. The guy sitting next to me had his head on the bar, on the verge of passing out.

Melissa came over and placed a napkin down in front of me. "What's up?" I asked.

She reached under the bar and lifted up a gallon-sized plastic bottle and swished it around. "Quarter tequila night!"

"What? Are you serious?"

"Yup."

I examined the plastic bottle. "What kind of tequila is that?"

She turned the label around and read, "Captain America."

I have never heard of Captain America tequila before, but I was all for quarter tequila night. I took Geoff's five dollar bill and put it on the bar. Melissa smiled, "Keep it open?"

"You know it."

The guy next to me, with his own five dollar tab, lifted his head off the bar and shook it in an effort to regain consciousness. Melissa poured 4 shots of the clear liquid and left one in front of the boys on either side of me and one for herself. "Cheers!" She said.

The boys began the ritual of the salt and lime while I just took the shot straight. I put my glass down upside down and looked around the bar: it was all boys, punctuated by a handful of girls.

I never made it through my five dollars; I never expected to. I don't even know how far I made it, but the guy next to me had his head back down on the bar, fully passed out. Melissa kept watch of the time for me. "It's 1:45," she said. "You better go get your friend."

I got off my barstool for the first time since I sat down almost three and a half hours ago. I didn't think I was that drunk, but by the time I made it to the front door, the world was spinning. There was no way I was going to be able to pick up Geoff.

It's 2:05 AM and I ring the after hours bell at work. Geoff met me at the door.

"Shh, I'm drunk," I whispered.

"I can smell the booze on you."

We walked outside. Geoff stops and looks around.

"Where's your truck?"

"It's at your house."

"But you were supposed to pick me up!"

"I'm here!"

"Well, how did you get here?"

"I hitchhiked."

Geoff puts his head in his hands and groans.

It's a manageable walk to Geoff's house from work, but it's a pain. It's basically 2 miles uphill. I headed in direction of the road and Geoff headed in the direction of the school.

"School's faster than the road," he protested.

"I don't walk through North Campus at night."

"Why?"

"Because my freshman year a homeless man came out of a bush and started hassling us for money while we were trying to get back to our dorms. He scared us. That's where the homeless sleep at night and I don't want to go through there."

"Don't be a baby."

And so we walked through school. As we approached North Campus I became more and more apprehensive. I clung to Geoff, partly out of fear and partly because I continued to feel the effects of my quarter tequila night worsen with each step.

The bars had emptied out by this time and we groups of people were walking through North Campus. The globe lights lit the area, but I was still scared. I was so drunk from Captain America tequila that I felt delirious. I saw a group of guys approaching. I envisioned them harassing me and I lost it:

"I'm not giving you my money! Stay away from me and tell your friends!" I shouted. "Go back to your trees and bushes!"

"Jamie. Shut. Up." Geoff hissed and I broke out into uncontrollable giggles.

I open my eyes. It's pitch black. I can't see a thing, but I know these walls aren't my walls. "Huh? What happened?" I started to freak out. "WHERE AM I?"

"Shh. You're in my bed," Geoff mumbled.

"What happened?"

"You went to quarter tequila night and sang the theme song to Captain America the whole walk home."

"Oh."

"You only knew the tune, so you made the words up."

Parts of the night hit me. I sat up in bed. "Wait! The homeless men!"

"Yeah, those people weren't homeless. They were frat guys. You were screaming at people in North Face jackets."

A Tequila Story

Chuckieeverdapper's blog is a rich mix of honesty and vulgarity that either leaves me horrified or in a fit in my cubicle for trying to cover up my laughs that usually ends with a much messier result. In some posts, both occur. He brings out my inner sicko and has inspired me to share some of my not-so-flattering drinking stories.

In high school I was never noticed by the boys, but then again I never put out. These were the days where I still cared about things like pleasing my parents. As soon as I stepped onto my college campus, however, something changed. From orientation to graduation, there was always a boy. My longest dry spell was 3 weeks without a date.

The third guy I dated in college was Gary. He was extremely tall and rocked the skater alternative look. I still have a picture of him dancing at a rave with his wallet chain dangling out of his pocket. That feels like a decade ago, before people started dying on e. I met him through a mutual friend at a party my freshman year and I couldn't believe it when he professed that he had such a crush on me.

When he invited me to drive over to his college for the weekend, I was so excited. As soon as I arrived, he grabbed me by the hand and we walked a few blocks away to a Mexican restaurant and split pitcher after pitcher of margaritas. This was the beginning of my first attempt at drinking. I'd eventually quit until 2 1/2 years later when I met an Irish guy named Drew, and I'm pretty sure everyone knows the story from there.

From the restaurant margaritas we moved back to his place and continued the tequila consumption to the point where I'm not going to be able to give you any more details of the night. I think I spilled the bottle of tequila. I remember making out with him in his cheap bed furnished by the apartment complex. I remember him reaching under the bed and grabbing a condom out of a plastic container, only to put it away again when I told him I was still a virgin.

I woke up still drunk the next morning. Gary slept while I went into his bathroom and decided to shower. I put the shampoo in my hands and ran it through my hair, but something was wrong. My hair was not as long as it was the night before. I looked at the drain. My mother always told me that my hair would fall out if I dyed it.

The screaming woke Gary up. Frantic, blood curdling screams. He got up and ran to the bathroom and tried the door, but it was locked. He called in, but received no response, just screaming.

Gary had to break his bathroom door down. He ran in and yanked back the shower curtain. He found me crouched on the floor of the shower, clawing at the drain. "My hair! My hair!" I sobbed. Gary turned off the water and grabbed a towel, wrapped me in it, and carried me out of the shower.

He sat me down on the bath mat and rocked me, "Shh, shh." My sobs turned into whimpers. "Tell me what happened."

I told him about the shampoo and how my hair should have touched my shoulders, but didn't, and how I was trying to get my hair out of the drain. He laughed. "It's not funny!" I said and I cried all over again.

Gary said he had something to show me. We got up off the bathroom floor and he walked me over to the mirror and made a fist and wiped the fog away. He showed me my reflection. My hair had not fallen out, it was just really tangled from whatever happened the night before.

And this is reason number 1 why I have no business drinking tequila.

************

I was partying in Savannah a couple of years ago for St Patrick's Day. It was 4 in the afternoon and I just realized I could no longer see straight. Someone called my name, I turned around and stared at the culprit without recognition.

"Jamie, it's Gary!"

He was bald now, and I only recognized him by his height. He's the only guy I know who's 6'7."

"Gary!" I slurred and I ran across the street and jumped up and wrapped my legs around his hips and hugged him. And by jumped up, I probably mean climbed up: he's just that tall.

He laughed and set me down. Behind him a girl was standing, glaring at me. "Jamie, I want you to meet my fiance." Oh. Shit.

"Hello, I've heard so much about you!" I lied and smiled big so maybe she'd believe me. Then I made up an excuse and started running down River Street, mortified.

Gary has every reason to believe that I'm completely psychotic, and I wouldn't blame him if he did. He invited me to his wife's graduation party recently and I refused to go because I don't think I could ever face either of them again.

You'd have to be a drinker to understand

I found this article:

It looked promising. They are warning not to eat while reading it. Pink's pretty good at not hiding anything. I thought I found some good material to make fun of her.


At first I had a good laugh. It's been years and years since I drank so much I've thrown up. Pink is 26 and still doing it. Way to go on not ralphing inside the limo -- they'll charge you extra if you do that.

Then I remembered all the times I have thrown from drinking too much. No one has ever jumped out of a moving vehicle to hold my hair back. Humph.


Wait. Not only does he jump out of a moving vehicle to hold her hair back, but he offers to puke with her? No one's ever thrown up with me either! I think Drew once held me steady so I could get sick in his bushes, but that's it!

I get you, Pink. It is romantic. He jumped out of a moving vehicle to hold your hair back, then he puked with you.

Forget Prince Charming, that is true love.

When I was unemployed, I got really into watching reruns of "Judging Amy," the best show on at 1 pm. My favorite part of the whole series was when Amy was complaining to her mother after a break-up.

"I want someone who thinks I'm the meaning of life," she complains.

"Don't be so full of yourself," her mother retorts. "Find someone who doesn't care about the meaning of life and is happy enough with you."

That's the key. Don't build love up so much that no one can possibly live up to your expectations. I don't even think I would want a man who thinks I'm the meaning of life, sounds too clingy to me. I want someone who will puke with me, jumping from moving vehicles not mandatory.

Post Party Pillow Talk

Guy: What's this on my hand?
Jamie: Oh, um...
Guy: WHAT IS IT!
Jamie: Bite mark.
Guy: You bit me?
Jamie: I had the last beer of the party and you tried to take it from me. Hell yeah, I bit you!
Guy: Why'd you bite?
Jamie: Because you were trying to grab it from me and you're so much stronger than I am, I knew I had to fight dirty to keep my beer.
Guy: You would bite someone over a beer?
Jamie: Not just "a beer." The last beer. Besides you endured being bitten for the last beer. You held on pretty long and I had to bite pretty hard to get you to let go!
Guy: (Pauses) You realize we're poster children for AA, right?
Jamie: Yeah, I know.
Guy: (Inspects hand) Great teeth alignment though, not one tooth is crooked.
Jamie: I'll tell my parents that. They'll be so proud.