The Life of an Attention Whore

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Puking can be fun!

I am generally known for my courtesy when I get sick drunk. I have never thrown up anywhere except for acceptable locations such as a toilet, sink, garbage can, remote corner, or on people I don't like. There is the exception of the NYC subway car, but that was a rare event. Here is a chronology of some of my passing out drunk stories from previous years:

-The Thong Song/My First Kegstand Story-
During my senior year I started to get to know someone that would become one of my closest friends. He goes by a lot of names, somtimes it's Bud, sometimes Jack, sometimes Coors - he's a man of many identities.

Sometime in the spring Trish invited me, Bffaeaeuddup, Pinky, and Larry to go to a keg party thrown by a guy who had graduated last year. This was my first keg party. I had heard rumors and I had seen in movies showing how crazy these things could get, so I felt like I had a pretty good idea of what to expect. When we opened the door there were maybe a half a dozen other people there, and it didn't look anything like the insanity in the movies. Then again we were young and stupid and had come to the party at 9:30. We headed straight for the keg to defeat the awkwardness of not knowing anyone there. Oh alcohol, the social facilitator. After a few drinking games Trish convinced me to do my first keg stand.

A few hours, a few drinking games and about 3 kegstands later I was bombed. In addition to experiencing my first kegstand, I also experienced my first black out drunk that night. The last thing I remember from the party was being taken down from a kegstand and people placing bets on how far I would puke across the pool. (for the record I didn't puke at that party)

Sometime around midnight we headed home because after all, we were in high school and had curfews. Bffaeaeuddup, the designated driver herded our drunk asses into her car and drove us home. After dropping Larry off, Bffaeaeuddup, Pinky, and Trish proceeded to tell me about the party that I had already forgotten.

Bffaeaeudduptold me that we had left the party on a bad note because some of Larry's brother's female friends had shown up and were jealous of the attention that we were getting. We were inexperienced, drunk high school girls AKA fresh meat. What did she expect? The other girls at the party started glaring at us and threatening to tell Larry's brother about our "out of control" behavior. At that point I had to ask, what exactly did we do that was so out of control.
Bffaeaeuddup: You mean you don't remember?
Me: No, what were we doing??
Bffaeaeuddup: You went into the living room, stripped down to your underwear and danced to the thong song.
Me: WHAT!? Are you serious??
Trish: Yeah, you were outta control.
Me: (checking down pants) But I'm not even wearing a thong!
Bffaeaeuddup: Oh, you made it into a thong.

So that's the story of my first keg party. I went to school for the next week with my head down averting my eyes from the stares of my peers, not wanting to talk about my experience. Even if no one else at the party was a drunken idiot, at least I had fulfilled the role of that girl at the party. I believed the story of course, because that's what's supposed to happened to people when they get drunk right? Wrong. I'm a guillible asshole and BFFAEAEUDDUP, Pinky and Trish are just plain assholes.

-The Strip Never-Have-I-Ever Story-
The first time I woke up in a bathroom in Geneseo was the first month of freshman year. My roommate came back to the room to find me playing strip never-have-I-ever, with guys who she believed had slipped me roofies, considering their level of attractiveness and the fact that I was willing to get semi-naked with them. She kicked them out and I snuck out of the room half dressed in order to have a conversation with my RA. My RA was the type of guy whose sense of style was defeated only by that of Napoleon Dynamite. His high water pants pulled up to his waist, collared shirts, and thick glasses were enought to attract any female. Somehow I discussed a completely normal and appropriate topic with him (despite retelling this story from a second hand account) that involved his number one interest...Disney. Don't ask me how or why I did it. Anyway, the next thing I remember is waking up with my head in a garbage can in the girls bathroom while 3 of my friends were taking care of me. Apparently, I refused to leave the bathroom, and after 2 hours someone finally got me into bed...until the next morning when I came back for another couple of wonderful hours of bonding with my new best friend... the garbage can.
-FlamingPoop to the Rescue Story-
Freshman experiences involve certain rites of passage; excess of alcohol, stupid hook-ups and of course nudity. One night I summed up all of those things into one blackout experience. The night started typically enough, pregaming in my dorm room with my roommate then heading to Bubbles' room. He was older, and thus refused to consume $8 a handle vodka like the rest of us. I showed up there, met up with Crackey, did shots of Goose and Tequila...and thus one of my worst nights was born.
Shortly after the drinks, Crackey, Bubbles, Luci, a couple of others and I headed over to JohnGacey's house for some more beverages and drunk Jenga. Drunk Jenga consisted of a regular Jenga set upon which we had written things such as "lick someone's ear lobe" or "order pizza in assless chaps" or "give JohnGacey $5" or "Bukkake Risa". I'm not sure how drinking tied into the game exactly, but it definately facilitated the dares.
A little while, and a few drinks later, we headed out to a frat party, which I would inevitably not pay for since I was known for flirting with the door guys until they let me in for free. The party sucked so we decided to head to the bar early circa 11 pm in hopes that they would let the our underage selves into the bar. Unfortunately, flirting with the bar bouncers would not get me into the bar as over, and despite being fairly drunk I did not want to flirt with the legend known as Fat Carl. Fortunately, they let us in for under and FlamingPoop bought me a drink. A little while later Luci who had left us earlier walks into the bar with a girl holding her hand.
Now here comes a slightly important anecdote to the story. Luci and I have a little "history." This history involves certain things that might cause anger at seeing him walk in hand in hand with a girl. He looks at me, I look at him and he quickly runs with the girl in the other direction. So here comes the typical college part. Here comes the "I'm the crying girl who thinks resolving problems while drunk is the best way to handle things." I however was going to be older and wiser than that, and immediately asked FlamingPoop and Bubbles to buy me another drink. And then another. And another. And another.
The next thing I know I'm back in Bubbles' dorm in his room (which happened to be next door to Luci's room) crying like a little girl. Make that an alcoholic little girl since I also had a bottle of tequila, bottle of rum and a shot glass all attemptingto pacify the crying child. Bubbles, being the mature one told me to "shut up, stop drinking and stop crying" as I continued to cry and complain like the insecure freshman that I was. Finally I left his dorm to go back to mine, but apparently the night continued without me.

The rest of this story was accounted to me by FlamingPoop. FlamingPoop and Crackey were in the room and they continued to drink with Bubbles after I went back to my dorm. A few minutes later FlamingPoop went to pee and saw some chick's naked ass sticking out of the bathroom stall door. Repulsed that anyone would actually lie on the public bathroom floor he left and returned to his room.
"There was some naked chick puking or passed out or something in the bathroom. I thought it was Risa but then I remembered she went back to her dorm. Thank god." A few minutes later being a good memeber of Geneseo's First Response team, FlamingPoop decided to check on the chick in the bathroom. I'm sure you know by now who the naked chick on the floor of that bathroom was.
"God damnit. It is Risa."
After that FlamingPoop carried me up to Crackey's room where I promptly passed out on the
floor only to find myself awake and running to the girls bathroom. While sitting on the cold tile floor puking, another girl came into the bathroom crying. We had a tearful heartfelt conversation about how much the guys suck at Geneseo. We both cried, and talked about our deep dark secrets regarding guys we had hooked up with. What she said specifically, I have no idea. Who she was? No clue. But as we all know, alcohol and puking is always a great bonding experience.
I spent the rest of the next morning and afternoon cuddling with Crackey's floor and the communal toilet bowl. Around three I stagger downstairs to FlamingPoop's room to get my shoes and bag and of course, Luci is in the room. I igonore him, grab my stuff and dart out of the room. I later found out he didn't go home with the girl, and I had went home with a naked chick (the naked chick being myself of course.) Minus the puking, I'd say I had the better night. On the bright side, at least I can say that I've passed out naked in the boys bathroom of someone elses dorm. Oh wait, that's not a bright side...

Friday, November 18, 2005


The summer between my sophomore and junior years of college was that summer where I could tell my parents that I had learned responsibility. I was working three jobs and spent at least 25 hours a week just commuting between them. However, not wanting to be the only one without an "I broke my _____ but it was ok because I was so drunk/stoned/drugged up!" story, I quit all my jobs the Saturday before I went back to school in hopes of creating my own soon to be forgotten memories.

To kick off my week of summer, I decided resolve a bet I had made last year. The previous summer Slick and I had gone shot for shot while eating pasta and watching the Olympics (we were a bunch of track dorks). Slick ended up puking all over the entrance to our friend's incredibly expensive upper east side apartment and I had to call his younger brother (LilBro) to tell his dad to pick him up because he had gotten food poisoning. Since then I've teased him mercilessly and as a result he challenged me to a drinking contest to protect his manliness from a 5'3", 100 pound Asian girl.

The Sunday after I quit my job Slick came over with LilBro and Tennis so we could resolve our competition. My mom and siblings were in Cali for the week, and my Dad was out celebrating my aunt's birthday, so I didn’t have to worry about him for another 6 hours or so. For the contest I contributed a bottle of rum and Tennis had brought a bottle of Brandy and a bottle of Malibu. Unimpressed by the amount of liquor available for four people, we went out to buy more. However, there were two problems with this idea.
1) None of us were 21
2) My dad's car was the only one there and I didn't have a license. (Make fun of me all you want, but how many of you want an asian female driver out on your roads?)

We decided our best plan of action was for me to steal my Dad's car and use my fake ID (of a 5’9” white girl) to get the alcohol. We got into the car and drove to nearest discount liquors. Fortunately everything worked out, and we proudly added a bottle of Jose Cuervo to our competition.

After we arrived at my house the crucial moment had come; what were the rules of the competition going to be? We decided that each person would have a sheet of paper with their name on it and had to record each beverage consumed. Do you the logistical problems behind trying to score this drinking contest?

The rules having been set, we cut up a lime and raised our shot glasses of Jose to the drinking to come. Then promptly wrote it down. Next Slick decided to make us pina coladas and we sat down to Kung Fu Hustle to drink them. A few minutes later Groinmaster came in poured himself a drink and joined us.

After finishing our pina coladas none of us had reached an adequate point of intoxication. Round three consisted of another tequila lime shot…followed by 2 more. So far the small Asian was holding her own in the competition. But, take into account that I weigh 100 pounds and had consumed three tequila shots in 10 minutes plus three other drinks over the course of a half hour. I started to feel a little woozy and Groinmaster produced my cure all for drinking nausea…good old Mary Jane. (What can I say…my Jamaican genes have to kick in somewhere.) At the very least that would allow me another 3 shots. Plus Slick wasn’t looking much more sober than I was and MJ was on my side.

After smoking, my memories of the night get a little hazy (bad joke intended) and most of this story had to be recounted to me the next day. The next thing I remember is stumbling through my house drunk dialing Russian. Russian wanted to get drugs so we could take over the market in Geneseo, unfortunately he didn’t have a connection in NYC. His plan consisted of me talking to our mutual friend because I was a girl.
Me: yew knowh him too.
Russian: but you’re a girl
Me: wha do you wahn me to do?
Russian: you don’t know what he’s going to ask…
Me: Stop whorin me out fer drugs, I’m nah Jennifer Connoly from requiem for a dream.

The next thing I know, I am Superman…after he fell out of his wheelchair. I am crawling around my backyard and lying on the lawn. However, Slick has not been drinking more, so he is not beating me. Loss of motor control and all I am still winning. Suddenly I see lights coming up my driveway and it hits me. Shit. My dad is home and I’m wasted and there are a bunch of people at my house. I proceeded up my driveway on hands and knees to make sure I handled the situation properly.
“Risa what are you doing?”
“Oh my god! Bffaeaeuddup! I though you wur my dad.”
Relived that I had some time to sober up before my dad actually came home, I promptly passed out on the lawn.

Some how I made it back into the house (probably compliments of Bffaeaeuddup) and my legs had ended their strike against cooperation with the rest of my body. My doorbell rings and in come Word, Kessel, Woody and Kunal. I greet with them with the articulation of a deaf mute, take shots with them, and then my blackout continues.

Now imagine you’re my dad. You open the door to your house and you see eight guys, your daughter’s best friend, and a bunch of alcohol. Your daughter is missing. What do you do? Choose your own adventure!
Turn to page 8 if start kicking some ass
Turn to page 57 if you begin walk out because you realize they are likely running a train on your daughter.

“Where’s my daughter?”

Meanwhile I was in the basement with Slick and LilBro, arguing about who had won the contest. Slick passed out and LilBro and I were still awake so I declared myself the winner of the contest. Bffaeaeuddup came downstairs and told me my dad was home. I tripped up the stairs in my effort to greet my dad. When I got upstairs, he laughed at me and I proceeded to attempt conversation. However, speaking with me was like conversation in the Alzheimer's ward.
Me: Hey Dad, how was Aunt Jen’s birthday?
Dad: good, make sure you clean up and get the kid out of the bathroom upstairs (Tennis was puking)
Me: I will, and I’ll clean up, how was Aunt Jen’s birthday?
Dad: good, you just asked me that
Me: I meant to say where was it?
Dad: In Manhattan
Me: How was it?

He told me to clean up and get Tennis off the floor in the upstairs bathroom. I agreed and he went to bed. I went back downstairs and continued chatting with LilBro and a mostly passed out Slick. Sometime in the middle of the conversation I must have passed out since the next thing I knew, everyone was gone and it was 8 am and I was running to the bathroom to puke. While bowing down to the almighty porcelain god, I wondered whether holding off puking till the next morning meant I could maintain my position as drinking champion of the underage runners.

The sad of the competition was that the score sheet had actually been maintained but had been lost in the process of everyone trying to hide the evidence of drinking from my dad. This means only one thing…the competition must be redone over the next major school break. Two of the half empty bottles of liquor were found by my fourteen year old sister (we start alcoholism young) who casually mentioned finding them while driving me up to school. Meaning she could keep them. I later found out that I had consumed somewhere around 10 drinks in the only two hours we were drinking. As for responsibility, my dad made fun of me all day for being hung over but at least he didn’t tell my mom.

This experience has had a major effect on my parents' opinions of me. When I asked them if I could go on Spring break with my sorority to Cancun my mom expressed her fear that I would be kidnapped in Mexico. I assured her that as someone who doesn’t drink I was going along as the responsible one to make sure that nothing of that sort would happen. As for my dad,“If I find out you’re on a girls gone wild tape, you’re dead.”