Before I started waking up in the Bathroom

I was fortunate of being the third out of four kids. We tortured our parents growing up with our constant yelling and fighting, it’s amazing they’re not in an insane asylum yet. My sister is the oldest and was the first one to come home drunk. It scared the crap out of my younger brother seeing her falling over like she was. He was too young to know that simply drinking too much is what causes this. Then my older brother followed by sneaking friends and alcohol in through the basement during high school telling our parents that only few people were coming over then to a full blown Cypress Hill concert in our basement. Both of them paved the way for me to be me. When it came to my time to growing up and partying, my parents were well aware of what was going on. My dad didn’t care much, he knew it was a part of growing up. He actually enjoyed seeing me hangovers and use it for his own humor and torture. They never told they were disappointed in me or shunned me if I made a fool of myself the next day, all my mom ever said was “If you need a ride call me, don’t get in a car with someone that has been drinking.” Come to think about it, I heard them say they were disappointed in me one time.

I guess that was the night when I popped my cherry. My buddy and I, we were about to be a sophomore’s in high school, and he asked me if I wanted to hangout with him downtown. He didn’t tell me until I showed up that he had some vodka for us to drink. This was the time I started drinking, aside from that one beer I stole earlier that summer, this was vodka, this was drinking. This is the type of stuff that puts hair on your chest. He handed me a water bottle full of Orange Smirnoff. I wound up going cap down, finishing the entire bottle in about an hour. It tasted so bad I figured I’d rather just be done with it than be stuck drinking it all night. At the time I was barely pushing 140, I could barely keep down that beer earlier without feeling it’s affects. I didn’t know what I was thinking drinking a full water bottle of vodka. It was either my friend in my ear telling me, “This is how you build tolerance.” or it was my ego trying to prove some sort of testicular fortitude showing off how much I can drink, regardless it was a horrible decision.

It was only a matter of time before I lost feeling in my face and it started getting red. My vision was starting to blur and I could hear my speech getting slower and my words beginning to mash together. I quickly become oblivious that I was out in public and sadly started pissing downtown on the sidewalk, right in front of a packed restaurant. It was dinner time, nine o’clock at night, and I had soiled about twenty five peoples dinner and their date night Thursday night out. One of the few things I remember from that night was this one guy, who was smoking a cigarette tried saying something to me like “You can’t do that here.” I heard his words but blatantly ignored them and took the end of my piss and aimed it right for his foot. Luckily I was all zipped up and we got out of their quicker than you can say, “Did you just piss on my shoes?”

We ended up walking to McDonalds, walking through their drive through window’s with cars behind us like total douche bags, only because they closed the inside so early during the week. They ignored us when we got to the window and gave us no solace of some nuggets and fries to help subside affects this Smirnoff. I could only assume they could see how much of a mess I was with my unbutton shirt and half open eyes, and just ignored my cries for help and food.

So we sat on the curb behind McDonalds and that’s when it hit me. As soon as I sat down my entire world started spinning and the only thing that seemed to help me was holding my head still, in-between my knees. A few seconds later I started puking profusely. I couldn’t stop, it first started with the McChicken I ate to earlier before I started drinking, then I saw the candy I ate with lunch, and it just kept coming up. I had no idea my stomach could hold so much leftovers. Looking back it’s safe to say I had alcohol poisoning. I should have got my stomach pumped, but instead of calling 911 and getting us in trouble not just for the underage drinking but also for public intoxication, my buddy made the one and only responsible decision of our night, and called my mom for help. She answered the phone after the first ring and was there in an instant throwing me in the front seat of her car.

She struggled to take me home, and I know I definitely didn’t make it easy on her. Any time she stopped or would slow down I’d open the door so I could get on solid ground. I couldn’t handle the spins. The only safe spot for me was on the side of the street, laying on the ground, perfectly still. I kept making her stop to run around the car, throw me back inside, before anyone was around to notice. What would normally be a five minute drive home took her almost a half hour to get home.

When we got to the house my brothers were there waiting for our arrival. My mom called them on the way home requiring reinforcements. My younger brother was a mess again, although at this point he kind of knew what was going on, he just hasn’t seen anyone in the state I was in before. It was not a site to see. My mom was pulling me out of the car like a rag doll. My older brother, was home, thankfully, and had some experience in this department. He knew that all that anyone can really do for someone in my state, is to funnel me water and let me sleep it off. He picked me up threw me on his shoulders, carried me through the house, and dropped me on the deck out back for the night. My mom spent the entire night sleeping outside on the deck with me. She at least got herself a sweatshirt, a couple blankets, and even a pillow. All I had to sleep with was the solid wood deck, a puddle of puke, and one blanked my mom put on me to keep me warm that didn’t even cover my feet. In the morning I snuck up to my room, naked, covered in puke, before anyone, specifically my dad, was awake to see me.

The next morning that’s when my mom gave me the talk. It was the first time she told me and only time she said that she was disappointed in me. Even worse, she made me call myself out of work in the morning. Up until then, I’ve never done that before.

I was able to keep that night’s events a secret from my dad for a couple years. But for the duration of that summer it become harder and harder to hide my newly found bad habits from him. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve woke up in the pool on a float, or sleeping in the grass to my dad cutting the lawn or skimming the pool. He didn’t specifically know that I was pissing all over downtown or jumping out of moving cars, but he definitely had a hunch I was up to no good.

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