The Bill of Rights

It might be hard to believe but regardless of my numerous tales of inebriated adventures, I was not well and truly drunk until my sophomore year in college.

It was the first party of the semester and I was having a great time. I like to hang out with people and I love to get my groove on, so me + parties go together like ketchup and everything (I really really love ketchup).

I was already in two cups of punch (aprox. 4 drinks) when Chef offered me a round of Fire and Ice shots. Now, I don't really like the taste of alcohol, which is why I stick to mixed drinks and don't drink beer, so I'm not really sure why I said yes to this offer. I was not tipsy. Tipsy hits me around 6 or 7 drinks. Like I said, not really a lightweight. Maybe I wanted to try something new. I don't even know. But I took the shots.

For those uninformed, Fire & Ice shots consists of the following in order:
1 shot Jagermeister
1 shot Hot Damn! (or other cinnamon schnapps)
1 shot peppermint schnapps

The Jager was gross, the Hot Damn! just burned like cinnamon gum all the way up my nose and down my esophagus, and peppermint schnapps just tasted like slightly alcoholic mouthwash. All in all considered, I thought it was pretty good. So I did two rounds of this.

In the next hour I ended up doing two more rounds of Fire & Ice shots which brought my total number of shots to 12 and my drink total for the night to around 15 or 16.

Since my previous drinking total had never gone beyond 9 or 10--and the room was spinning--I came to realization that I was drunk. I remember thinking 'so this is what drunk feels like' and I wandered around the party chit chatting and bumping into things. Eventually I wind up on the front porch couch. When drunk me sits in the same place for too long I tend to start swaying. No idea what brings about my need to sway side-to-side like I'm at a Kumbaya campfire, but that's what I do. Then I open my mouth "I've never been dis drrrrrunk beforrrreee guyysssssss....it'sssss no bueno." Even though I have come to the realization that I'm drunk and I sort of know I'm talking ridiculousness, I can't bring myself to care. Thanks alcohol.

Metalhead eventually comes out to find me making an ass of myself. Mostly because my butt was stuck in the couch (it had no springs) and I was too plastered to get out of it on my own. Instead of helping me like normal people, my lovely friends are content to watch me attempt to maneuver myself into a standing position while still stuck in a sofa. I can only imagine how ridiculous I looked. Most of the time MH doesn't drink to excess, and thankfully this party was no exception. She took pity on my pathetic self and dragged me back to her house (we weren't housemates yet), which was only about a block away.

"You should probably have something to drink." MH hands me a cup of water. I chug it. "Do you want some bread?" "Sure!"

As I chowed down on bread I realized what a wonderful kind of food bread was. I then proceeded to literally eat half the loaf. I also chugged several more cups of water.

Metalhead leads to her basement, where there is a spare futon. She attempts to tuck me safely into bed while I babble on about nonsense. Somehow I move onto the topic of the Bill of Rights. I spend the next 30 minutes or so lecturing Metalhead--incorrectly, mind you--on the Bill of Rights. I am a ridiculous person. Even after all this, MH made me crepes for breakfast the next morning, because she's awesome.

I've never been black-out drunk, so I remember doing all this. I think that kind of makes it more funny.

Even funnier: at the beginning of this year after drinking a little too much punch, my drunken self decided to prove to Metalhead that I could indeed remember the Bill of Rights when drunk. So at 3am on a Saturday morning I wrote them down. When I drink, my handwriting is 200% more illegible than my normal handwriting. I thought that it would be a good idea to tape this piece of paper to Metalhead's door. So I did.

I didn't closely read it again until the next morning, but I failed again at correctly remembering all ten amendments of the BOR. The crowning moment of that brain blast is what I wrote for Amendment 4. "#4: No quart soldiers. Aka don't let ugly people in ur house."


Really, this just proves I am a drunken genius. But more on that later.