The Perils Of Drinking.

I just returned from Ocean City, MD today after a 3 day excursion with my girlfriend, her cousin, and her cousin's fiance. Nichole and I go to OCMD at least once during the off-season, as it is an excellent place to relax without dealing with any and all of the normal crowds that tend to swarm the peninsula come summer.

When we go, we stay at a place called The Haven Hotel, located on 1st street. A nice little hotel, very good off-season prices. Also, there's a jacuzzi in the room. Not in the bathroom, but in the room. It's awesome. We bring bubble bath.

So a few blocks down from the Haven is the world famous Purple Moose Saloon. By world famous, I of course mean not world famous, but some people know of it. I have developed good feelings towards the Moose, as it has served me well in the Drunk Department the last two times we have enjoyed the off-season.

The previous visit resulted in a $90 bar tab between myself and Nichole. At some point during the night, she had the idea to start doing shots, which probably contributed to the rest of the night. We began at 6pm, and around 10pm or so, a wedding party came in. I don't remember much of this, but apparently I was very congratulatory to the point of annoyance. We left the bar and stumbled to 7-11, where I almost knocked over an entire chip display in my rush to acquire another six pack, something I desperately needed.

I was successful. We ventured out onto the beach to sit under the stars, listen to the waves, and drink a beer or two. You know, real romantical type stuff. This didn't work out quite the way I had planned. After a few deep coughs, I turned my head to lean off of the blanket and promptly blew chunks all over the beach. Slight redemption came my way when I buried it with sand to keep it from the sight of my girlfriend. My girlfriend who seemed to be suddenly overcome with laughter for no reason whatsoever. We went in shortly after that, where I attempted to drink another beer. It's just so good when it hits your lips!

That was then. This is now. We headed over to the Moose after deciding not to head over to the bus stop and take a trip uptown. Why travel when you can drink at home? Or near it, anyways. So we ventured. It was barely crowded, maybe a good pack of 13 or so people, including us four. We got some beers, played some pool, did some shots. Eventually, the room began to spin on its own accord, much to my chagrin. Our tab reached the $100+ mark, which was a signal to us that it was time to leave. I do not recall much of what happened afterwards. I know we went out on the beach for a bit. The parts I do not remember are going to the same 7-11 as last time, where I was making loud jokes about Magnum condoms. On the walk back to the apartment, I tried to climb into and onto a construction site - unbeknownst to Sober Matt.

So, what have we learned so far? That I cannot handle my liquor? Correct. I cannot, nor have I been able to for a long time. I don't really like liquor, not a fan of doing shots, and rarely ever drink anything foo-foo-ish. I normally drink beer and beer only. The Moose just seems to get me. Thinking of my recent partial black-out and past inebriation adventure, it reminds me of the worst experience with The Drink I have ever had. I call it The Blackout. It is the reason I will not and cannot stomach Jagermeister. It is one reason I do not like doing shots anymore. It is one reason I have decided to believe in a Higher Power of some sort, even though I will never be a regular church goer or anything.





The Blackout

It was on the occasion of my 22nd birthday. I was living in Ocean City with two friends of mine, Ian and Joe. That night, we met up at a local bar whose name escapes me now. Atlantic Something Or Other. This was our hangout that summer. We went other places, but this was our main spot. We got to know the bartender, got some deals here and there, you know how it goes when you're awesome.

So that day, August 13th, whatever year, we headed on over to the bar. Joe met me out there from work, I had the day off to reflect on things that needed reflecting. That night, they had a special going on frozen Long Island Ice Teas. If you do not know what that is, go here. Then go order one.

As many of you know, it seems to take a long time to get drunk when drinking frozen drinks. It feels like you could drink 10 of them and barely feel buzzed. The truth is, that's a lie. I think it just takes longer to hit you. So while you pile them on, they are slowly gathering forces to attack.

So we were piling them on. On top of that, we thought it would be just the coolest to do shots of Jager too. I mean, it was my birthday and all, why not do it up? Thing become more hazy as the evening progresses, and the last thing I remember is a short sequence of events: Joe and I ordering two frozen Long Islands, and two more shots of Jager. The bartender brought us the shots, then made our drinks. He gave us the drinks, and we immediately ordered two more shots of Jager. Seriously, I remember nothing after.

That night, I had a dream. One of those dreams that just seem so realistic it feels like your actually there. It was early morning, and I was in water. I didn't necessarily want to be in the water, but there I was. There was a pier of some sort there, with ropes hanging off and stuff. I was trying to pull myself out but it wasn't working very well. Very frustrating. I wasn't scared, it was more of an annoyance than anything. Then, I woke up.

I woke up in my bed, with nothing on but the ol' skivvies. I had some little cuts all over my hands and forearms, and my left foot's big toe hurt like hell. So did my head. I looked closer at my foot and there was some green stuff under the toenail, packed in there like packed things get packed into packable things. I got out of bed, limping on my green toe, and looked around for my clothes. I found my pants in the living room, soaking wet. My shirt was on the bathroom floor, soaking wet. The only shoe I could find was soaking wet. I could not find the button down shirt I was wearing the night before, but I assume it was soaking wet, and might still be.

I was pretty confused, but upon inspection of my toe again, it hit me. I was slow that morning. The green stuff in my toenail looked like the kind of gooey, wet moss that grows on the submerged wood of a pier. Which meant my shoe had come off in some water, and my toenail became flush with green stuff as I was using my feet to attempt to get out of the water. It had not been a dream.

I had, somehow, fallen or jumped into the bay. I lost my shoe, my shirt, but nothing else. More exploring of the house.

Drying puke on the toilet and a little on the floor. I could only assume that was me. I cleaned up a bit, tried to get some of the toenail moss out of my foot, and brushed my teeth. Downed a few aspirin, then wrote a note.

My note went something like this:

Hey Joe, I blacked out and fell in the bay. What the hell happened last night?

I left the note in a noticeable position and went back to sleep, hoping to not dream of anything wet. Yes, not even that.

I woke up later when Joe stumbled in and went to sleep on the bottom bunk. Yes, we were a couple of 22 year old guys in bunk beds. Not our idea, it was only a one-bedroom place with three dudes. Before passing out, Joe had replied to my note:

I don't know, I blacked out too.

Not his exact response, but close enough.

Between the two of us, our roommate, a dude we knew, and a couple girls we knew we were able to piece together some of what happened the night before.

Joe remembered paying our tab and leaving the bar. From there, we headed over to a late night taco joint called Matteo's. It's not there anymore, but when it was... it was good. While we were there we ran into a guy we knew, who I apparently repeatedly high-fived.


From there, things get speculative. At some point in the night, it rained pretty hard. Somehow, Joe and me became separated. He stopped by an apartment rented by some girls we knew and fell into a bush. I fell into the bay. To this day, I do not know how I got out of the water. If there is some random fisherman who helped me out that morning, I thank you kindly.

According to Ian, my other roommate who left earlier than Joe and I and therefore did not almost die, around 9am Joe and I walked (trundled) through the door, holding each other up. We were somewhat incomprehensible. I basically stripped down to the drawers, threw up in and on the bathroom, and passed out. Joe grabbed his toothpaste, toothbrush, and a pack of crackers and headed to work after getting a phone call saying he was supposed to be there. I feel bad for the man. He spent the day puking in the work bathroom.

Around 3pm that day, I attempted to eat. I was successful. There was a little gyro stand near our apartment that was great for Next Day meals. I lost my shoe, shirt, and a silver figaro bracelet that night. My money was gone, but everything else in my wallet was whole. I had my car keys, which was a nice thing to see.

Finally, there is a nice scar on the inside of my left wrist to remind me that Jager = Bad.

So that was The Blackout. Kind of scary when you think about it. I mean, there is about a 6 hour gap where time seems missing. I don't know what happened, and neither does Joe. Did I spend 5 of those hours in the bay? Besides a few scratches and a green toe, I was no worse for wear. Didn't get sick or anything. Did I pass out somewhere for awhile? How did Joe and I reunite and make our way back to the room?

I have tried not to get out of hand like that since, and for the most part, I have succeeded. The other night was the first time since that I have actually lost a portion of the night before. I had others to babysit me, so maybe that was a bit of a catalyst. I knew I didn't have to drive anywhere, so that helped, too.

Either way, drinking is perilous. I think that was the point of this whole thing. Also, don't drink near a bay.

Not too much, at least.

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