March 31, 2010


    We've all had one of those nights that started innocuously enough, just intending to have a few measly cocktails and chatter about topics of little consequence like sports or current travel. A Coors Light here, a jigger of Jager there and the path to obscured memories becomes clearer. 

    Yet we also know that these nocturnal excursions also take a u-turn for the absurd when we accept "just one more drink" into the night's liquid lexicon. 

   Let's follow the clues to revealing just how drunk you "really" were, Sherlock...

    Arguing with a stranger for an hour and a half how the designated hitter is necessary for the survival of major league baseball. 

    Waking up with a phone number illegibly scrawled on each hand...and they're both your own. 

    The car in the driveway is not your own. More pertinent information: the bed and clothes you're in also do not belong to you. And yet your shoes are your own.

    New tattoos: Multiple, misspelled and some scripted in a language recognized as possibly not earthbound. 

    Wedding band made primarily of braided animal hair. Discuss. 

    Passport stamp on forehead and impossibly-tan buttocks. From Thailand. Three weeks ago. 

    You have 127 text messages on your cell phone in a four hour time period. All sent. 

    Drinking enough Patron to realize that it really is that bad...and a sudden interest in cliche auto-tuned hip hop songs. 

    Drinking enough Jack Daniel's to realize that it really is that good...and a sudden interest in family reunions. 

    Arguing with your "new" best friend that the designated hitter will eventually ruin major league baseball forever.     

    Seeing the idiom, "Dance like no one's watching" vibrantly come to life on youtube and playing the role...fumble funking your way around a dance floor. 

    Receiving 127 text messages back, all with the short reply: "Take a cab."

    Scribbled notes on "it all being Hurley's Twinkie-induced dreams..."

    Waking up with a nicotine patch on your eye, a Marlboro bandana on your head, and a "I Was Puffy the Pirate Smoker for Halloween" t-shirt on. It's March. 

    So when you find yourself at the drink.drank.drunk stage of the night...use a dash of caution and a splash of common sense or nightmares and nicotine fits are in your immediate future. 

    A shower and a good attorney on retainer can't hurt either.