Man oh man. Well, time to throw self esteem out the window, and unveil the greatest story I have ever contributed to this earth. I warn you, this could take a while.
Anyhow, to set the scene: It's Spring Break, or close enough to it, 2000. I'm a freshman in college at Santa Barbara, living in the largest Freshman dorms off campus. Two towers, 10 floors each, approximately 60 kids to a floor. I'm on the 8th Floor of the North Tower (hence the name 8 North for my basketball team, for those of you who followed our intramural playoff run). At this point, I don't have my car down south, because I didn't think I'd need it. As such, I'm getting a ride home from one of my friends heading back up to the Bay Area, but she doesn't leave until Saturday. I finish finals around Thursday, so I'm just kickin' it on Friday, waiting around. This is how it started...
Oh, and before I forget: At this point in my life, I have never drank a drop of alcohol before. Not a DROP. This is definitely a key factor to the story.
We decide as a group (a bunch of the kids on my floor) to go hiking. We go hiking, and it's a bunch of fun. Anyhow, we get to the top, around 6:00 or so, and it's starting to get dark. We decide, in a brilliant move, to jog down the trail. I, of course, with my competitive nature, decide that I need to be the first down the hill. So I'm cruising along, no problem, when I don't notice this root, and down I go. Sprained the living crap out of my ankle. So my friends get down there and help carry me to the car, because I sure as hell ain't walking on the ankle.
We drive back to the dorms, and I start looking for my Advil. I'm the kid whose mom bought me everything under the sun in Costco size packages: Economy size. As such, my Advil was passed around the floor pretty much always. Well, I can't find the Advil. At this point, I've gotten some crutches from my RA, and I'm scooting around the floor on those. I'm hobbling up and down the floor, asking people if they've seen my Advil. Enter Geoff Boyd, a rower buddy of mine who lived on the floor. "C'mere Vince, I've got a painkiller for you." So I follow him into his room.
Once there, Geoff proceeds to pour me a double-shot of Vodka. Now, I've never drank anything before, and that shot was a little daunting. But at this point, the pain is enormous, and I think, what the hell. I knock it back. (
Shot Count: 2) Immediately upon finishing it, I look up at Geoff, and say "That wasn't so bad...pour me another one!" He lines it up, I knock it back, and that's two more shots of Vodka (
Shot Count: 4). Geoff decides that that one wasn't so bad either, and sets me up with another one. I, brilliant as ever, go for it (
Shot Count: 6). In an amazing display of intelligence, over the course of 15 minutes, I proceed to have
5 double shots of Vodka (
Shot Count: 10!!!).
Well, at this point, I'm not feeling anything yet, so my roommate, John S. (also the best player on our IM Basketball team), gives me a 24 ounce beer, and I start drinking that. Geoff and company set me up on his bed, and we start watching Office Space. At this point, word on the floor has gotten out that I am drinking. And since I don't drink, this is an event. Soon, everyone has poured into Geoff's room to "watch Office Space." Well, I finish the 24 ounce beer no problem, but now I'm starting to feel it. Things are a little bit blurry, the bed doesn't seem to want to sit still. It's now been about 30 minutes since I took my first shot. I put the beer can down, and ever vigilant John provides me with another. I start drinking it, but very slowly.
This is the point at which I start not remembering.
My version of events:
One moment I'm sitting on the bed (which isn't behaving, and making it difficult to sit on), the next moment, I'm standing at Geoff's sink, spitting into it.
Blink.
Now I'm being escorted out the door of Geoff's room on my crutches, and someone is giving me five, and congratulating me.
Blink.
Now I wake up in my bed in my boxers and a t-shirt, and it's 10 o'clock the next morning. I walk up the hall, groggy as hell, and everyone who sees me breaks into a HUGE shit-eating grin. What the hell?
Now, what happened in the interim is the heart of the story. I'm afraid I have to recreate this from my friends' versions, because I don't remember a damn thing.
Back to Geoff's room and Office Space...right after I started to black out, I threw up on Geoff's bed. That's why I was at the sink; I was just a little late in getting there. After they were fairly certain nothing else was coming up, they decided to escort me to my room...some of my (retarded) friends were congratulating me on getting drunk for the first time as I walked out the door. Well, they take me back to my room, hoping to put me in bed so that I'll sleep it off. But no, I'm not having any of that.
I decide I don't want to go to bed, and "escape" my captors and start running around the hall on my crutches, trying to get away from people that want to put me to bed. Apparently I did a pretty good job, because they didn't catch me for a good ten or fifteen minutes. Anyhow, to prevent any further mishaps, they decided to strip me of my pants and crutches in an effort to keep me in my room. So now I was sitting on my bed in my boxers and a t-shirt. Two of my friends, Jen and John H. (different from the Basketball player, his nickname is Baseball John), are keeping me company and out of mischief.
Now, this is where the story gets diabolical.
The remainder of the story is rated NC-17, so don't say I didn't warn you. My friends, after I woke up and grilled them, explained it to me this way...
After they put me in my room, in nothing but boxers and a t-shirt, I thought it would be a good idea to be an exhibitionist. Boxers being a very miniscule protection, I was "showing off" for anyone who wanted to see. Even my friend Mike and his
digital camera. The fun part of this is, at Francisco Torres, the dorm we lived at, they provided us with a high speed internet connection. When you combine a high speed internet connection, a digital camera, a very drunk Vince, and an unscrupulous neighbor, you end up with very very bad pictures on the network, which were therefore also on the internet. Needless to say, we had words the next day and the picture was removed. However, for one night, my little buddy got his 15 minutes of fame. Not fun.
Anyhow, that's the story they told me...but wait, there's more! After much debate about the story, the truth comes out. It seems that I was not voluntarily exposing myself to those who were interested in seeing. Rather, the boxers I was wearing noticably lacked a button in the front, and the way I was sitting allowed easy view for those who put a little effort in. In my drunken state, I did not notice, and none of my friends decided to tell me. Jen, however, decided to not only tell everyone else, but to show them, and thus Mike and the Digital Camera entered the picture. At some point, after a few minutes of this going down, someone decided to tell me what was going on, and we fixed it, and the show ended. However, that still was not the end of the night.
I decide that I absolutely must talk to my girlfriend. I pick up the phone, and absolutely cannot dial the number. I call for my roommate John S to dial the number for me, and I start talking. John meanwhile takes off back to his adjoining room to mine. Turns out he pulled off the greatest sneak attack on the floor...while everyone was busy paying attention to my drunk ass, he was getting it on with a girl on our floor, and I so overshadowed it that no one ever noticed. Bastard
Anyhow, I'm now talking to my girlfriend, rather drunkenly.
Now John H and Jen come back in to check on me. I continue talking to Kristen, my girl, and things continue as normal for a little bit. John and Jen sit down, and wait for me to get off the phone. All of a sudden, in the middle of my drunken conversation, I bust out my most serious, focused thought in hours. "Kristen, I have to go. I have an important question I need to ask Jen." *click* I didn't even wait for a response from her, I just hung up on her. Heard about it for that one in the morning. Anyhow, I turn to Jen, and say "Jen, I have a serious question I need to ask you." Meanwhile, John is laughing at me, because I'm drunk and he knows it. However, I'm pretty focused and serious on this question. "John, shut the f*** up, this is serious! Now, Jen, honestly...I really want to hear your honest opinion-John, shut the hell up! Jen, really...what did you think of my penis?"
At that point they both broke down into gales of laughter at the utter ridiculousness of that question, and nothing eventful happened for the rest of the night. I passed out, and then woke up the next morning. The drive home was hell with the monster hangover I had
Anyhow, if you've read this far, I salute you...that was probably more out of me than anyone needed to hear. However, I've gotten over the humility of that night, and I think it's a pretty funny story, so I share it with people. It could have been worse
EDIT: I realize that this binge drinking is a terrible thing, and I'd like to add that I've never done anything as stupid as this again, and I would advise everyone else to similarly avoid drinking binges...it's not safe.