On the dangers of binge drinking

Hang on to your butts folks, as Samuel L. Jackson would say, it happens to be a two-fer-one day. Good fortune has smiled so upon you because as I was considering what amusing anecdote to relate on this day, I stumbled upon not one, but two (at least) stories that happened to end in the same way.

We've all seen advertisements warning young adults on the dangers of binge drinking, perhaps you've even seen a lifetime movie or two tackling that issue. However, while we may all have that one crazy night we are lucky to have survived, the biggest danger you face while drinking too much isn't alcohol poisoning, its (you guessed it) public humiliation. Don't drink and drive? How about, don't drink and pee in a fountain?

My wisdom unfortunately comes from personal experience. At the tender age of 15, puberty was in full swing, I had finally grown some teeny tiny things that I called breasts, and was wowing all the boys with braces and such fascinating extracurricular activities as marching band. I was lucky enough to get to go to Europe to play my flute in a band, which was more like a massive ensemble of horny adolescents given free reign to humiliate themselves in 10 countries and 3-4 different languages. I played my part.

One of the hotels we stayed in had not only a bar, but a real-life honest to god "DiskoTeka" or whatever lame name the Swiss have for their dance clubs. Attempting to get over my natural weirdness and once again, fit in with everyone else, I decided that what I really needed to get down, was half a liter of orange vodka. And get down I did.

The patrons of this club consisted of a few big toothed English tourists, 1-2 french speaking Asian break-dancers, and about 50 of us marching band kids ranging in age from 15-21. I was feeling good. I was feeling more than good, I was feeling obliterated. I, oh-so-cooly, passed my "Booty Mix 2001" CD to the DJ and proceeded to climb onto a railing that separated the two dance floors. I inherited many gifts and talents from my parents, but dancing was simply not one of them. Usually, I'm aware of my disability and take pity on those around me, but I had succumbed to peer pressure and was fully immersed in my drinking binge.

I was feeling the beat. I just knew I was going to meet my future swiss husband in this club, and he was going to be stopped dead in his tracks by my gyrating, and full body thrusting as I balanced precariously on the railing. Luckily, I had a large 2'x4' which hung low enough from the ceiling that I could stabilize my flailing body with. Unluckily, this large board was also at head level.

The music began to crescendo, I was in the zone. I began a series of violent hair tossing movements and as you can probably guess where this is going, I slammed my alcohol-numbed forehead directly into the wooden cross-beam. The next thing I remember is looking up into the amused/annoyed/slightly concerned faces of the asian breakdancers whos sick reverse air baby/turtle spins my flailing body had violently interrupted. To add insult to injury, the head injury also caused acute belligerent drunk speak, and I had to be carried over a friends shoulder up the fire escape to avoid being caught out after curfew.

Now sometimes in our lives, it takes making the same mistake twice for the lesson to really set in, as evidenced by the fact hat you get two stories for the price of one today.

I wish I had the hormonal ragings of puberty to blame on this one, but unfortunately it was just the regular old hormones at fault here. Jump forward about 5-6 years. I was in a long distance relationship at the time, and also had a pretty nasty drinking habit that if you recall, had begun in my XXL Pink floyd sweat pants some years before. After guzzling, semi-socially, a bottle of the sophisticated "99 Bananas" which for those who dont know, is a 100 proof banana flavored alcohol which you could probably power your lawnmower with, I was feeling frisky.

It was my boyfriends lucky day, oh yes it was. I adjusted the mood lighting and flipped on the webcam and commenced to give what in my mind, would be a sexy striptease. intermittent stumbling, and probably hiccuping, I slid off those sweat pants, and did the little helicopter fling with my oversized hoodie. I decided maybe he needed a better look at the toned ass that gaming 20 hours a day had gotten me.

I threw my leg up onto my computer chair and began to do my slow turn around. Oh the humanity. Are you at a computer? If so, look down and note that most computer chairs are on wheels. It was this particular feature which was, quite literally, my downfall. The chair slipped out from under me as I mouthed the slow motion, "nooooooooo," just before my head slammed into the wall that I had previously not thought was a serious danger to me.

I awoke to my phone ringing. Not only had I knocked myself completely unconscious, apparently I fell directly in the webcams field of view, butt first, in such an unflattering and disturbing way that my boyfriend felt compelled to try to rouse me by phone.

So seriously folks. If ever you feel tempted to indulge in a drinking binge, think of my awkwardly positioned unconscious form, and think twice.