Can't touch this

DDN - a night to remember...or a night to forget? (a two-fer)

I couldn't have dealt with recent events in my life without having the proper education bestowed upon us by the greatness that is LvHS. Those four sensational years at a private, all-girls institution have taught one thing---epic tales spread like wildfire.

If you are a good friend of mine, or even just an acquaintance, then you've already heard. The magic that is created only at Dollar Drink Night- which the crew refers to as DDN (term coined by yours truly)-had only magnified immensely a couple of Mondays ago.

Allow me to elaborate…

It goes without saying that dollar drinks are begging for trouble-DDN is also an acronym for Drunken Debauchery Night. Oh yes, that's right.

What any normal person would witness at 540, is one of the most diverse crowds: the first timers over by the front door, the too cool hipsters that huddle around those two small tables up front, the social kings that make their rounds so often that they make you spill your drink every time they walk past you (kanye, etc.), and finally-the Inner Richmond rats—those grimy, inconsiderate, shit-canned assholes that always seem to post themselves at that exact place you order your drink at the bar…every time your order one. Despite the unusual crowd, I wouldn't have it any other way. Plus, you can’t beat the fact that for just one dollar, you can have any well drink your heart desires. The hours from 10-12am every Monday are my happy thought. There's nothing like being plastered off of 5 bucks (in my case it's 3).

It started out just like any other Monday night, the usual crew plus a few others--we run 540 on Monday nights, but we're not an exclusive crowd; the more the merrier. Anyway, we're drinking, socializing, flirting, the usual. Drinking, drank, drunk. What happens next is something so unreal, it's like it was straight out of the latest Judd Apatow film.

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It’s the morning after, and who better to tell the rest of this story, than someone who wasn’t even there – because as we all know, sometimes hearing the story from your hung over, slightly embarrassed friend makes for a much more epic story.

I started my Tuesday on a high note – I felt awesome because I made the decision to catch up on some much needed sleep instead of going to 540 (even though I found out a lovely lady was going…you know who you are). Anyway, I’m sitting at my desk, on G-Chat, when I get a message from a female friend who DID attend DDN the night before. The conversation began like any other – “dude…struggs.” I knew she was hung over as this is a typical side effect of binge-dollar-drinking, but nothing could’ve prepared me for the epic story I was about to experience.

So this is pretty much the story I was told – prepare yourselves…

DDN started like all the others, we were getting shitty, having a good time. All of a sudden, I see my old friend. We had class together awhile back, but he called and said he was in the city. I easily convinced him to come to DDN, where he began drinking like a fish…I mean, you have to take advantage of the DDN because you only have 2 hours to drink yourself silly. Anyway, we make the executive drunken decision to go back to my place – get there…and start hooking up. And then…he falls asleep…ON TOP OF ME!!!

I immediately begin typing the all-so-familiar “hahahaha” in response to this because…WOW. I don’t even know what else to say to this. Some guy got SO drunk from DDN that he passed out inside my friend. Amazing.

She continues…

So I roll him off of me and try going to sleep because, well, this night is pretty much over. My attention is then focused on his mouth and the strange burping sounds coming from it. Oh, fuck. He’s going to get sick. I get him to the bathroom to unleash the fury and head back to bed.

This is where I asked her if she started fucking him again…because that would’ve been awesome. Unfortunately, the night only got worse for her.

So he stumbles back to bed and passes out again, releasing his freshly brewed puke breath all over my room. I finally get to sleep, but am woken up by a mysterious feeling.

It’s at this point, where I’m guessing this “mysterious feeling” is his fully erect penis (some guys get really flaccid, and some are rip, roaring, and ready to go when they’re completely tanked). Oh no. No, no, no. She woke up feeling warm. Not the kind of warmth one experiences when they’re cuddling with a significant other, nor the warmth one feels after consuming a hot liquid. She – was being pissed on. Yes, that same guy that just passed out with his dick in her vagina just topped it off by pissing on her in her own bed. And this was no ordinary piss…this was straight out of “Austin Powers” or a “League of Their Own.” He continued to piss, until there were no fluids left inside him. He covered the sheets, the comforter, AND the pillows. It’s simply amazing how much urine one human can possess.

The best part: she didn’t even yell at him. Not even worth it. She heads to the bathroom to undress and re-evaluate life, when she notices her toilet seat…completely ripped off. She just stares at it for a good 5 seconds. UN-believable. Again, not even worth waking this semi-conscious, naked boy from his drunken sleep. After cleaning herself off and changing her clothes, she curls up on her couch. He can sleep in his own urine. Now, I’m going to be completely honest with everyone – I thought this was the funniest shit I’ve ever heard. I mean, keep in mind, I was asked to come out that night…and I didn’t!! This could’ve been ME! Thankfully, the gods were on my side…this time. As she’s frantically typing this story, I try to console her…because this is obviously not something to be proud of. So, I decide to not only type the following, BUT text her this as well --- “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA” --- because typing it just wasn’t good enough.

As I’m drying the tears of laughter from my eyes, I think – “who the FUCK was this guy, and where is he now?” Oh, this piece of shit leaves without waking a soul. Let’s recap what possibly went through his mind when he awoke:

• I turned this wonderful bed into a pool of piss
• I pissed on Monica’s friend – that’s probably why she’s sleeping on the couch
• I think I threw up…I don’t know where
• Why am I naked? Ohhhhhh
• This is embarrassing.
• Ok, I’m going to use the bathroom before I leave. Oh shit, what’s wrong with their toilet seat cover?

Life is full of surprises. Being able to have this story told to me the morning after was a beautiful surprise.

Fleeting? I think not. This love will last forever.

Fast food is like a free clinic: it brings people together on their worst days.

Yes, I’m talking about those days where you wake up wearing that oh-so-delightful outfit from the night before, with your hair totally disheveled, and your pores oozing the sweet smell of alcohol. You sit there, re-examining your life and think – only fatty goodness can save me now.

Once you muster the strength to actually leave the house (changing your clothes, putting on a bra, brushing your teeth, or applying deodorant are optional) the journey to grease heaven seems like a lifetime…but it’s worth it…it’s ALWAYS worth it.

We recently had one of these special days. It was the day after Kathy and Anna’s sweet shindig that brought the most amazing people together in a big way, **sidenote – I am so glad I brought my roomie. I think the highlight of my night, besides the 45 min cig break, would have to be the epic party foul by one Vincent. Sure, he didn’t spill the ENTIRE liter of cola…but I think throwing up off the balcony while putting himself in “time out” is too priceless for words. We drink a lot…and some people just can’t take it (wink!).

Anyway, our night of complete debauchery meant only one thing in the morning – STRUGGS. We awoke, craving burgers, fries, ranch, and fucking DP. There’s only one place that soothes our souls when we’re in need of deliciousness: Jack in the Box. Even though Burger King is a block away, it’s never an option. Eating Burger King is like is like bad sex – messy and unsatisfying. Once “JBox” is uttered, there’s nothing else to say because it’s that glorious.

Ordering is always an issue – “should I get the entire right side of the menu, or should I just keep it to the usual? Curly fries are obvious…but should I get the small, medium, or large meal? I’m really hungry, but I don’t think I need that much soda…fuck it, I’ll get the large.” PS – the so-called “large” drink is diabetes in a cup…do we really need that much soda Jack? C’mon. After I ordered, a wave of panic came over me. “Is everyone going to get their food before me?” Then I remembered that I ordered first. HA! Bitches. I hear my number called, and I release a sigh of relief…as I walk to the counter to claim my prize, I look back at empty space in front of my friends…suckazzz!

Once we all had our food, we looked at each other, similar to the way Harold and Kumar did when they finally reached White Castle. There’s only one thing to do once your meal is in front of you – stuff your face and rock out to the sick sounds of KOIT.

The best part about Jack in the Box is the fact that it’s a watering hole for the hungover. Every time we’re there, we undoubtedly know at least 35% of the people…and in no way is that depressing. It reminds me of the caf at USF…you stumble in on a Sat or Sun afternoon, order tots or fries (depending on the hour), and the fattest beverage imaginable. Soon enough, all your friends arrive, and you find yourself posting for at least 2 hours as you reenact the night before. After the epic night at the girls’ apt – you better believe we saw familiar faces…and a face from the past (whaddup rando LvHS encounter!!).

2 hours, rando run-ins, multiple serenades from artists such as BSB, Natalie Imbruglia, Sheryl Crow, and Fleetwood Mac, and a heart attack later – we finally make it out of Jack. Walk home? Nooo…random encounter #1 is going to drive. Thank you baby-Jesus. Meals like that are epic and come when you need them the most…when you feel like you’re going to die because of the ungodly amount of alcohol consumed from the night before.

What would we do without you, Jack? What would we do.