DOSE:

12 oz

oral

Alcohol

(liquid)

BODY WEIGHT:

145 lb

Let me first start by saying that I am a novice to alcohol (or any drugs, for that matter). The experience I am about to tell you was approximately my sixth time ever getting drunk . . . which would explain my complete and utter stupidity.

My previous few experiences with this particular liquor (Bacardi Limon) were mild at best. I began slowly, starting at three shots and so on. But I was never feeling the drunk I was craving. A good buzz that would disappear too quickly. This was not acceptable if I wanted to enter the club scene. My drunks were weak and short-lived, unless mixed with another alcohol such as vodka or beer.

To add to it, my tolerance to the fluid was building quite quickly. Soon, six shots would hold the same effect as three.

Finally, I said 'Fuck it' and purchased 12 shots from a friend. (Dosage confusion arises here. Twelve 1 oz. shots should obviously equal 12 oz. But it filled a 16.9 oz. bottle nearly to the top. Still trying to figure it out.)

Did I plan on finishing the entire bottle in one night? Not exactly.

As soon as the night began, I was pumped. I thought it would be nice to get piss-drunk for a change, so I started downing the bastards one after the other. I mean, I would literally take another shot directly after the previous, using only swift sips of O.J. to mask the bitter taste. I do not know what got into me, but I was a madman.

About thirty minutes or less had passed before I had destroyed the entire 16.9 oz. bottle. Was I insane? Apparently I had underestimated the power of liquor. . . .

'Whoa,' I said, spinning. 'I need to get this drunk *every* night!' I did not realize that the effects I was receiving -- which were pretty fucking strong -- were as a result of only about a fourth of what I had consumed. The first fourth, hehe.

'It hasn't hit you yet, bro.'

And that is when I choked. It had occured to me that I was about to take a journey. A long and miserable journey that I never want to encounter again.

That exchange in dialogue was the last thing I remember. . . .

Suddenly, I wake up outside on the concrete in the freezing cold. I hear a vaccuum cleaner whining inside. I hear people in a silly tone of voice, but with a hint of panic. What the hell just happened?

What sucks is that I only remember the HORRIBLE part of the night. The part where I attempted to recover from what was probably alcohol poisoning. I am covered in puke. People are around me, feeding me water, taking pictures, laughing, staring, asking questions (like I can answer them). Out of nowhere, vomit sprays from my mouth. This is not a case where you can control it. I felt no warning signs that I was about to puke. It just fell out. And the worst part was that it was all over me.

I was in such terrible condition that I was literally laying in my own puke. The icing on the cake was that it was on my new clothes I had purchased just hours earlier! The smell was rancid, and the people around me were going nuts (all while laughing and thinking it to be 'cool'). I heard hacking in the background. My friend was also puking, only it sounded more like prolonged dry heaves. Oh, the sight it was!

The night was long. I mean, the longest, most miserable night I can recall. The fact that it was freezing did not help much either. The most potent simile I can conjur up would be that I felt as though I was going through heroin withdrawal.

It is not fun to sleep in your own puke on hard concrete in winter weather. Especially when that constant feeling of 'I'm going to vomit again' is hovering over you. When I woke up (yes, I slept there all night and even got up to go inside and piss!), I felt that if I moved to go home, which was quite a distance, I would hurl again. But I eventually forced myself to ride my bike back without a shirt on.

The next day was torture as well. I *had* to eat, no doubt, but when I ate, I puked. I was sick and tired all day. The alcohol was taking its sweet-ass time to free me from my personal Hell.

To add to the pain, I was slave to the people whose house I painted with vomit. I had to scrub up the stank all day. And washing the shirt that spent a night soaking in throw-up was not an easy task either. The experience was NOT what I would call 'cool'.

Little blanks here and there were filled in by my friends. They said I was doing all kinds of stupid things. I was wobbling around, knocking over people's drinks, staring blankly at uniform objects. What is so odd -- and I have never before experienced this -- was that I do not remember a goddamn thing. Besides getting punched in the balls (which still hurt), the heroin withdrawal feeling (wish I forgot), and a few minutes of following my friends around (annoying them, I guess), it is all a blank. Especially hurling all over their living room floor!

Looking back on it is fun, sure, but the experience was a mess. Sure, I now have a rep for being an insane drinker (remember, my tolerance is low, as well as my body weight) . . . but I would never want to go through it again. Smelling Bacardi brings home memories -- I doubt I will drink it any time soon.

I have (crime scene) pictures to show my grandkids, and we all get a kick out of laughing about it. However, I would take this as a warning: ALCOHOL IS A POWERFUL DRUG! My first time alco-puking will hopefully be my last!

Exp Year: 2000	ExpID: 3289
Gender: Male
Age at time of experience: Not Given
Published: Oct 15, 2000	Views: 24,716
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Alcohol (61) : Large Group (10+) (19), Overdose (29), Health Problems (27), Difficult Experiences (5)