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Last Five Hangovers...
The Ten Thousand Dollar Choking Hazard - 2004-12-09
Mixing Advice - 2004-10-24
A Grave Injustice - 2004-09-27
A Short History of the Bloody Mary (in My Life) - 2004-07-31
If You Build It, We Will Come - 2004-07-19

BE A FRIEND OF THE MOVEMENT!

It had been a while since the DbF gang had gotten together for a big rip-snorting party, so the occasion of Lauren's birth provided a fantastic opportunity to get the entire extended family together with a whole lot of alcohol.

Friday night: Daddy's, Lauren's Official Birthday Party

Lauren's drink of choice for the night was the classic margarita, although being the birthday girl, she was handed numerous shots that she was expected to down without questioning it. After she merrily knocked back a shot of Rumplemintz, delighted by the goofy name, she suddenly noticed she was standing there growing drunker by the second. It confused her until the shot purchaser gleefully informed her that Rumplemintz is 100 proof. So, a word of warning to all the revelers out there: You might not recall the name -- it might just hang out in your brain as "that rumbly mint drink"-- but if you remember nothing else, be sure to note that it is going to be the strongest motherfucker you've ever chugged. Especially after three tequila-heavy margaritas. Fortunately, knowing Lauren would want to be conscious for the rest of the weekend, Heather gracefully and subtly ("Don't you dare -- she's a lightweight") deterred our friend from purchasing more Rumplemintz so that Lauren wouldn't black out at her own party.

Unfortunately, with Lauren out of the shot game, it fell to Heather to pick up the slack. Because Heather is easy, and dumb. She'd been drinking margaritas all night as well -- it should be noted that Daddy's Lounge is extremely generous with the Cuervo -- and then found herself standing with a kamikaze shot in her hand. This was one that earned the bartender his tip, as it was almost double the size of a normal shot and practically had visible fumes coming off the top.

As soon as it disappeared down her gullet, things took a turn for the inappropriate. As Heather tells it, "I think the thing went down, decided it didn't want to die that way, and then scrambled right back up. So even though I was running to the bathroom, I couldn't get there fast enough, and some of it may have come up into my cupped hand." As such, Heather gets the award for Funkiest of the evening, because one else, fortunately for them, came remotely close to throwing up in his or her own hand and then continuing to drink for another three hours. Brava, Heather, for being indomitable to make up for your lack of class and restraint. Lauren takes the cake for Drunkiest -- if not on quantity, then on quality.

Cute Bartender came to the party and brought three friends who thoughtfully flirted with everyone; one of them graciously offered Lauren some gift tongue for her birthday. She politely declined. ["Which, apparently, is not a sign of the apocalypse after all, given that the world did not subsequently end. Who knew?" -- Heather] And when they were forced to leave early because two partiers were too drunk to stay, the Drunky but Funky crowd chalked up a big moral victory.

One took our phone number down to call us later in the night. He very carefully and illegibly wrote it on a napkin, which he then handed to Lauren and walked away. Count it… one, two, three… he turned, ran back and said, "I need that!" as he grabbed the napkin and took off again.

Jessica witnessed one of the night's biggest "What the fuck?" moments. Entering the bathroom, in which the one and only stall had been occupied for fifteen minutes by some girl, Jessica saw an impatient would-be peeing bandit hiking up her skirt and heaving herself up onto the counter in order to turn the sink into a second toilet.

Jessica promptly left the bathroom.

The conversation outside the cab when we arrived home was nothing short of brilliant. Held at amazing volume (wherein we pointed out the neighbors would hate us, and Heather took stock of the windows that face the street and pointed out that we didn't care about any of those neighbors), it was decided that there was nothing we wanted to do more at that moment than watch Annie. So Heather, Jess, Carrie, Tacos and Lauren curled up, fast-forwarded to each song, and sang along. (Well, except for Tacos, who watched us with boozy amusement and then on Tuesday scratched his head and frowned, "Did we really watch Annie?")

Lauren then dramatically announced that Judy Garland was the voice of the lead cat in the movie Gay Purr-ee. No one else knew what to think, except that maybe it was time to put Lauren to bed. Which Tacos eventually did, if you know what we mean, and we think you do. But in case you don't, we mean that she hooked up with him. And Carrie notched an impressive accidental groping when Michael hurled himself on top of her to greet her extra-enthusiastically, and her hand got caught between his legs.

Randy.

Saturday night: Irish Pubs 1 and 2, Lauren's unofficial party, ringing in the birthday at midnight.

About half the crowd from the previous evening ended up ready to party again; along with a couple others, the core group was present, but for Michael. But he deserves an honorable mention because the reason for his absence was that he stayed up drinking until 6 a.m. after the birthday party the night before, and consequently could not really make it off of the couch. Well played, Michael. Well played indeed.

We started off with a civilized dinner of fish and chips, and then moved over to the bar where the drinking started in earnest. Liz bought Lauren a shot that's exactly like an Irish Car Bomb, if you replace the shot with Jagermeister and the Guinness with Red Bull. "What does it taste like?" Heather asked, suspiciously. "It tastes like Vegas!" Liz replied. "What does Vegas taste like?" Heather then asked Lauren. "It tastes like CANDY!" she slurred.

Cider after cider disappeared until ten seconds before midnight, at which time we counted down and chugged a car bomb to usher in Lauren's 26th year. Some guys at the bar really wanted to join us despite never having met us, so they joined in the toast. But their big-toothed charms didn't work on us, and our love ended when the empty glasses hit the bar.

A few drinks later, a few of us headed over to our second bar, Irish Pub 2: Electric Dartsaloo. They were closed for the evening for a private party, but our friend had told us they were letting in some regulars, and sure enough, our bouncer friend was working the door and ushered us inside without so much as a furrowed brow. Another good lesson: Knowing the bouncer can sometimes be even more important than knowing the bartender, because free drinks are no help if you can't even get inside the bar.

We were kicked out after 2am, and headed home with sober Carrie behind the wheel. Heather gave Lauren her phone to kick off the ritual drunk-dialing. Sunday morning, while nursing one of her very rare hangovers, brought on by two successive nights of heavy partying:

Lauren: Oh no, we should have drunk-dialed JTR!
Heather: Um, you did.
Lauren: Really? I wonder what I said.
Heather: You said… I think you said a lot of, "AAAAAHHHH!"

All in all, it was the drunkiest and funkiest of birthday weekends. And now we're starting the quick move toward the holidays, with many more opportunities for DbF shenanigans.

Coming one day soon: When JTR returns from his month at sea and comes to visit, DbF will probably get a special bonus entry comprised of what we must have said to his voice mail on every drunk night out for the past month.