Good Morning. Who the Hell Are You?

I have very fond memories of college. The following story is not one of them.

By that, I do not mean I don’t have fond thoughts about it, I mean it isn’t a memory. Allow me to recount what I can remember about my very first (and last) alcohol-induced blackout.

***

Back in college, I was a bit of a lush. And sadly, the biggest problem with me being a lush is that I can’t hold my liquor. The likelihood of me vomiting in public or just passing out cold on a typical weekend night was about 50/50.

Nevertheless, I’d try to keep up with my friends. After three or four drinks, they’d have a nice little buzz going — but I’d be shitballs drunk. So during the first hour of the party when I’d hop onto tabletops and perform the running man like a coked-up MC Hammer, people just thought I was a fun-loving gal.

The night of the Big Blackout commenced at a fraternity party. I was in a sorority (shut up), and my sisters and I were most enthusiastic about getting our groove on with some hot Beta Alpha Something boys. I borrowed my roommate’s very little, little black dress and some big ol’ hoop earrings and was ready to par-tay.

The theme of the event was “Shots Around the World,” which meant each room featured alcohol from a different country. Go to the Japan room, throw back a kamikaze. Head over to Russia, shoot some vodka. You get the idea.

I had traveled halfway around the globe before I crossed the border into Mexico. Once there, an Asian guy in a sombrero handed me a jumbo shot glass filled with Cuervo Gold. I tossed it down my throat, only to have it come right back up into my mouth a second later. It hadn’t even taken the form of vomit, it was just the straight tequila, as if my stomach were saying, “Sorry, at capacity. Eject.” Stubborn and wasted, I decided to show my stomach who was boss and forced it back down.

That was the last thing I remember.

Rude Awakening

Cut to the next thing I remember: waking up next to a boy, in a dark room, in a twin bed, wearing nothing but a Red Sox sweatshirt and my thong.

I studied the boy, lying unconscious next to me, to see if I recognized him. I didn’t. I then took a gander around the room and noticed another boy in a second bed, plus two more boys passed out on the floor.

Holy motherfuck! How the fuck did I get here? Where the fuck is here? Who the fuck are these people?

For a moment I contemplated whether I’d been the guest star in a gang bang. However, my vagina didn’t feel particularly sore, so I ruled that out.

But orgy potential aside, my thoughts were focused on a more pressing matter: I had to pee. Bad.

I could have very well been a prisoner of war in an underground Al Qaeda bunker, but at that moment the only thing that mattered to me was locating a clean toilet. In all my days as a collegiate wino, I had never, ever wet the bed, and I wasn’t going to start in front of these strange bedfellows.

I snuck out of bed quietly so as not to disturb my possible rapist. I fumbled around, but didn’t see a bathroom door anywhere. I opened the front door and realized exactly where I was: a dormitory. Oh, for the love of God. I was a senior, for crying out loud.

I tiptoed down the hall, ass cheeks flapping in the wind, till I found the lavatory and urinated for a good five minutes. When I returned to the hall, all the doors looked exactly the same. I tried to open one, but it was locked. Then I tried another, and another. All locked. Evidently, dorm doors lock automatically, just like a fucking Hilton.

Swallowing all pride, I knocked on a door. A chubby fellow with a full head of pubic hair answered and let me in without a word. He lumbered back into bed and I realized I was in the wrong room. Fucker.

I exited and knocked on another door. This time, a thin boy let me in, turned around, and then collapsed back onto the floor. I did a body count. Two boys in bed, two on the floor. Correct room.

Should I Stay or Should I Go?

Now that I’d relieved myself, I was able to direct my attention to the situation of being in a dorm in my thong at 3 a.m. with four strange males. It was dark and I couldn’t find my roommate’s dress and heels anywhere. I considered my options:

  1. Wake someone up, demand my clothing and hightail it out of there.
  2. Leave as-is, hope like hell no one would see my naked ass and tell my roommate a wannabe cross-dressing mugger forced me to trade clothes with him.
  3. Go back to bed with the strange boy and deal with it in the morning.

Naturally, I chose #3.

I figured, if they were sociopaths, terrorists or scientologists, they seemed to be out for the count for the time being, and I really needed to catch some Z’s. Or maybe this was just a tequila-related hallucination, and in the morning I’d wake up in my own bed.

So I climbed over the boy I’d woken up next to, burrowed my way under the covers and drifted back into my drunken slumber, hoping for the best.

Read Part 2 to find out what happens next »

Categories: True Story

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42 replies

  1. Unfortunately, this was just another night for me in college. It got really sad when I was out of college and doing the same exact thing. Oh yes. Awesome, party of me and whoever had a penis.

    I love that you actually saw that something was not quite right…

    Me? I didn’t knock of this behavior until I was 24 and lying on a waterbed in Sparks, Nevada… enough said. Epiphany on a waterbed – I mean, it’s a pretty low bottom when you can’t get out of Sparks and your fucking guys who still own waterbeds. I mean the kind with the mirrored headboard and everything. Come on people….

    • Really heartfelt Courtney, thx for sharing this “bouncing off the bottom” vignette. Yeah, its better if it comes earlier in life. But at 24, you have a long run ahead…

    • Ha! If it’s any consolation, I had many, many drunken hookups with penises in my college days and beyond. But fortunately, this was the only one I don’t remember AT ALL.

      Sparks seems like a happenin’ town. Waterbeds and mirrored headboards? I just don’t see what’s not awesome about that. It sounds very Napoleon Dynamite. Lucky girl.

  2. I can not believe that you went back to bed! And I’ll read part II right now, I’m guessing that you didn’t sleep with any of them…
    I’ve never blacked out (I can hold my liquour because I’m latin american lol), I am lucky enough to remember every awkward dance, speech and song I dance, speak and sing when I’m drunk :p

    • Hmm. You raise an interesting point about blackouts. If we can’t remember what we did, we can’t be embarrassed, can we? Well, I guess until other people fill us in on all the shiznit we did. It’s really a toss-up.

  3. OK.

    Not only can i NOT hold my alcohol, it doesn’t seem to matter how many years that I’ve been drinking, I can’t tell when I am shitballs drunk. LIke, i’ll be all fine and laughy and then I’ll stand up to get in the car and i won’t remember anything from the rest of the night.

    every time.

  4. I’ve never once been in college but military lifestyle is definitely kind of like that. I can’t wait to hear this story! Cannot! I hope some shit is about to go down!

  5. Oh, dear god in heaven. And then I was back in college.

    I wish I could say I’d only had the one black-out. Really I do.

    I can’t.

    However. I don’t think I ever had that wake-up. I usually managed to make it back somewhere familiar. Although I got to hear allllllllll about how I did that the next day. And, funny thing, it was never pretty.

    PS Around the World parties with shots are never a good idea. Ever.

    • They never are pretty, are they? But they are usually funny. Well, maybe not at the time, but years later they’re funny. Glad you were always able to make it somewhere safe.

      You know, after I wrote this I remembered another time when I blacked out. And I woke up next to a guy in a dorm, again! But at least I remembered meeting the guy. What I didn’t remember was his girlfriend (who I didn’t know about) walking in on us. I heard about it a few days later.

      College.

  6. OMG, this story is awesome and I can’t wait to hear what happens next!!!! And I totally remember those around-the-world parties. Ahhh, college. Those were teh days 🙂

    • As Chef from South Park says, “There’s a time and place for everything, children. It’s called college.”

      I don’t know how anyone survives those around the world parties.

    • Oh, I wouldn’t call it brave. I’d call it stupid. I did a lot of stupid things in college. But then again, I also had a lot of fun 🙂

      Disclaimer: I am no role model.

  7. This?? Is fucking awesome. I feel like you’re talking about me. Or.. Wait, do I know you? Were we friends back in the day… Ugh. Can’t remember. 🙂
    Looking forward to more..

  8. Too funny! Sounds like every second Tuesday here in Winnipeg. There is a reason most evolved party animals stick to beer.

    Can’t wait for part 2: The Hangover.

    • Is that so, mama? I’ve had many a boozy hookup but this was the only time I completely blacked out and woke up with someone I didn’t remember meeting. Kinda freaky actually.

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