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Hmmm, how about spending a weekend in December 2004 during my first-semester law school final exams seeing bands at the Hardback Cafe in Chapel Hill, getting drunk, riding my bike to Carrboro to hang out with a band, getting sooooooooooooooooooper high really fast, then spending an hour at the top of the steps of their second floor landing outside the apartment trying to figure out how I was going to walk down them, then finally stumbling down at about 3AM, making it to the payphone to call a cab (to get me the 1/2 mile home...), taking my last quarter and praying that 933-TAXI would land me a cab company (the yellow pages were missing from the phone, naturally), and hearing a groggy 'hhhe-hello?" instead... Then I tried to see if I could ride my bike and couldn't even balance the thing. So, I parked my bike behind the dumpster behind Cliff's Meat Market, then parked myself behind the dumpster behind Cliff's Meat Market and laid down and slept til about 7AM - in December. What an idiot.... That was definitely one of those rock-bottom-I-swear-I'll-never-do-this-again moments! I never have drunk or smoked all that much and didn't then either, and damn, I don't see how anyone could if that was their reality more than once in a blue moon!

if this thread doesn't deserve a big fat bump, i don't know what does.

i was in a busy italian restaurant (of course i was sitting next to the most attractive girl in the place in order to compound my impending embarrassment) reading a paper... i forgot about the candle on the table and rested my arms on the table... my paper turned into a fireball and had to put it out by standing up screwing it up into a ball. i had also just ordered my food so i had to endure the mocking laughter until i had finished eating. urg.

another time my band was playing a show and for some reason i decided to kick our bass player`s carton of juice off the stage... i thought it was full so i gave it a generous whack... turns out it was empty and it went lick a rocket.... directly into the face of a man... who was in a wheelchair.. i looked like an ass and an asshole. so i curled up into a ball at the back of the stage and wouldnt look at anyone til our set finished.

One Friday, a few weeks into the last job I had in London, the people I worked with and I decided to go for after-work celebrate-the-weekend drinks. This was the first time we'd done this, and I was glad because it's always nice to break the ice with your new colleagues by going for a drink with them. It was nice too. I drank Stella. As one by one people drifted away into their respective weekends, the group whittled down to the hardcore, which in turn whittled down to the extremely drunk hardcore of the hardcore, which was just me and this girl, who ended up blitzed on Stella. We ended up walking to the tube station, but hit the pub beside it. The last I remember we were having a loud, good time with a bunch of people we didn't know who were also doing the Friday after work thing.

I woke up to the sound of an old lady shouting "Who the hell are you?!?" I was laid fully clothed in a room I did not recognise. I told her my name and she asked me how the hell I got in her flat. All her doors and windows were locked. I said I had absolutely no idea where I was or how I got there and if she just calmed down I'd leave. She was frightened, so I tried to just make her calm down, which she did a litlle bit, but she still decided she was calling the police. Her phone was in the hallway, so while she called the cops, and after I had had a subtle play with the locks on her doors and realised they were indeed totally locked to fuck, I asked if I could use her bathroom, had a quick wee and threw some water on my intensely hungover face. I came out while she was talking to the police. She was saying "Is he dangerous? well no, he's being quite polite actually..." I had to stand there and wait for the police. When the two cops came to the door they were both red faced and full of adrenaline. I just tried to keep as calm as possible. They cuffed me and one took me outside while the other talked to the woman inside. He asked me questions and I answered them up to a point. At this juncture I made a mistake. I had until recently been heavily involved in political activism, and have had a fair few dealings with the police, and am trained in how best to deal with them, what they are officially allowed to get away with and what they are not, what information you are entitled to withhold in different scenarios, etc. This is all training based on activism, not based on actually getting nicked for doing something completely mental looking like somehow getting into an old ladies flat in the night. I explained to the cop I'd been out with colleagues. He asked me where I worked. I said "I'm not obliged to give you that information." Something clicked in his eyes. When the other cop came out of the house, the one hanging on to me said, "he knows the score." I got placed under arrest on suspicion of attempted burglary. As they led me to the van in my cuffs, the old lady was saying "sorry about this John" and I was like "that's okay, I'm sorry." At this point I still had absolutely no idea where I was. I was taken to Hammersmith Police Station and spent six hours in a cell. I had called one of our law firms and they got a solicitor down to see me. He laughed all the way through my consultation, occasionally stopping for a few moments when I expressed how frustrated I was, then carrying on uncontrollably laughing. When I finally got brought to the interview room, the plain clothes cop drily milked the humour of the situation for all it was worth, playing up to my solicitor, who had tears pouring down his face and was almost apopleptic. At the time, I was staying in the converted garden shed of a houseful of yoga teachers, who I had planned to spend this summer solstice saturday with in Hampstead Heath, relaxing in the sunshine. Instead, represented ny a solicitor in hysterics, I was having to convince an extremely cynical comedian cop that I was not a burglar or lockpicker, had no recollection of anything after being in a pub with some strangers, and did not have a thing for old women. When they finally let me out in the early evening, the cop suggested that I go and drink a load of stella, as this would bring it all back to me and I'd remember what happened. I did not.

so do you have any idea how you ended up there?

honeyisfunny wrote:so do you have any idea how you ended up there?

Her flat turned out to be located over the road and a couple of blocks away from the tube station I should have got the train home from. The only thing I can possibly think of is that maybe someone I ended up drinking with in the second pub was related to her and offered to let me stay there. But surely they wouldn't let a complete stranger stay at their grans, lock him in and not tell her. They'd have to be insane.

I have no lock picking experience to speak of.

I have absolutely no idea how I got in there, nor why I ended up there.

Stella.

did you ask your co-worker who was out with you?

weirdness.

honeyisfunny wrote:did you ask your co-worker who was out with you?

Yeah. She left the pub before me.

honeyisfunny wrote:weirdness.

Tell me about it.

This thread has made me happy all morning. This is perfect reading for slow hungover friday morning at work. I feel I should share one. I think enough time has passed since this incident that I can share it all over the internet.

My boyfriend and I went to windsor for spring break when I was 18. It's not such a great place for a vacation, but we wanted to get out of town and stay in a hotel for not much money. We got a room at this decent chain inn (i think it was a radisson) where there were only a few other guests.

So...just the two of us, in the room, getting kinda drunk. We went to make the humpings but there was a problem. It got stuck in the doorway, see, couldn't make it in. He was pushing to try and get it in there, when all of a sudden he screams and runs to the bathroom. I run after him and see blood spurting from the head of his penis. It looked like he was coming blood. And it just kept coming. He was screaming in pain.

I freaked out a bit, and called "911" a few times before realizing it's different in canada. I paged the front desk and asked them what the number for 911 was, which I think confused them a bit, but they connected me to the emergency number. Then as I was trying to explain to the emergency phone answerer, they wanted to send an ambulance, and I was thinking like I was in america and said "NO! DON'T! Just give me directions to the nearest ER; we can't afford an ambulance." It took like five minutes for them to convince me that there's no charge for ambulances in canada.

By this time the inn manager was banging on the door, demanding to know what was happening. It was this indian lady. I tried to delicately tell her that my boyfriend's "male parts" were bleeding, and she was horrified cause she thought I did it to him. She went to call the cops. My boyfriend is still screaming in the shower.

Paramedics arrive, and they get him to lie down on the bed with his groin elevated. There are five male paramedics, giggling, peering at my boyfriend's penis, at this point quite shrivelled from pain and cold water. He has lost so much blood he doesn't really care. It ended up being the teeniest tiniest little tear, on the part that holds the foreskin to the rest of it, but because he was hard AND drunk when it happened, there was an enormous amount of blood. Then the cop showed up and had a good look as well.

When we got home, he told the story to all of our friends, usually starting out with "Kayte broke my dick when we were in windsor"

So there that is.

Reading Ally In Exile's post of simmo's post in the EA Hall of Fame thread reminded me of this story.

A couple years ago I was living in St. Cloud, MN with 3 others in a 3 bedroom apartment. On this particular Friday, one of my roommates and I were planning an hour trip to Minneapolis to see Shipping News play. He was still in college, I was not, but I had the day off from work so I was sleeping in. That morning my roommate, we'll call him "Paul" because that's his name, was getting ready to go take a final or something and came into my room where I was asleep on his way to school. He said something along the lines of "I'll be back from class by noon or so, do you want to head down early and go record shopping or something". I replied, "yeah, sure, I'll get up in a little bit". As I said that, I rolled off of my stomach to face him. He immediately looked down towards my weiner and gave me a look that said something along the lines of, "jesus christ Shaun". I looked down and there was my dick, sticking out of my boxers with a sock intact. Apparently I had passed out the night before in the middle of trying to get some (off myself).

To add to the fun, like I mentioned before, there were 4 of us sharing a three bedroom apartment. Paul and I were the lucky ones who shared a bedroom. He had a futon mattress on the floor, and I slept directly on the floor about 3 feet from it. So not only did my sock-cock mishap prove that I had infact cock-blocked myself by falling asleep the night before, it also confirmed that I had attempted to catch a whack less than 4 feet from my roommate's sleeping body.