[NeonAges]

I don't know how some of you guys do this EVERY WEEK...

(Beware, article is written in Apok's Super-Long and Detailed style)

So, I've never been drunk before... well, before this. Tipsy, a little dizzy, yes. Drunk, full blown, no.

Last night, though. That was the exception.

It was Margaret's birthday, a friend of ours from across the hall. She requested Margaritas and Jell-O shots, and the majority of us stayed home to indulge her. I should not have. I really should have opted out, or gone home to pick up my guitar and stuff, see the folks, especially considering my boy Will was in Savannah getting stuff ready for the next chapter of his life as part of the Military. But no... I was enticed.

Admittedly, I was a little depressed from some recent events. This woman I've been going out with for a while now from UGA, I haven't seen her in a month, and I was a little worried about us, considering I'll be starting my summer fun and then as soon as I get back in Mid-June, I'll be moving 6 hours away to Savannah. I don't really think it was a big factor, but it couldn't have helped.

Add to that my reputation, of never having gotten drunk before. I'm supposed to be the "The Tank" so to speak, drinking fairly strong drinks (Everclear, Golden Grain) and having no problem. It's this mentality that stayed with me when I hit "tipsy" so it stayed in the forefront of my mind later on.



Anyhow, Margaret's birthday. We make Jell-O shots with Clear, and "Margarets", named in honor of her, obviously. The Margarets are nothing special, in actuality. Just Strawberry Margaritas, made with Jose Cuervo Clasico. The Margarita's are SUPERB. Frozen and mixed well, not weak and not strong-- just right. Y'know, like Drunkilocks used to say.

I have a couple of those, in fairly large glasses-- pub-style beer glasses. Then *bing!* Jell-O shots are done.

I get finished pwning my boy Chris in Half-Life 2 DM, and I go grab a couple shots, and a cupcake.

This brings what's in my stomach to a grand total of-- Maybe, some remnants of a snack bowl of Corn Pops. A bowl of ramen with an egg and cheese. A cupcake. 2 big drinks and 2 time-release Everclear stealth bombers.



Somewhere along the line, my common sense DIVES out the window, leaving me a message on the answering machine that says "See you later, bro. Do whatever the fuck you want, this Titanic is ready to set sail." But my mental phone is only 1GHz and Everclear is like 1,000,000 GHz, so I didn't get that crap until the next morning.

With that gone, I went back to the kitchen a couple times had 4-5 more Jell-O shots. When all those were gone, my mentality was still "I can take more than this!" so I began to drink straight out of the Cuervo bottle. I got back to my room, and I began to speak with the birthday girl over AIM. I report to her that all the Jell-O shots are gone, and we don't have the ice for any more margaritas, and she is remorseful, as any person seeking to see out the back of their head by the end of the night would be. "But there is still Cuervo!"

So she hobbles over, and I pour her a drink, and myself one... in retrospect it looked more like a double, and we drink. I go back to my room, and she to hers, and we continue to talk-- her telling me about some guy she's talking to online, and yadda yadda yadda, y'know, girl stuff, and I read as much as my state will allow.

My typing is unbelieveably clean for the state I'm drifting into, I would just like to say. :p

Then, everything comes together, and I'm drunk. My head is real fuckin' heavy, and everything is slow... when I look around at something, it only becomes truly visible when I've stopped moving-- almost as if I was turning my head with my eyes closed, and then opened my eyes to let the image in.

Margaret starts talking about going to go see her ex-boyfriend, and somewhere in the back of my 180-proof mind, I see that this is a BAD idea. It's 2 o clock in the morning, her ass is drunk, and he lives in one of the other buildings on campus. No sir. So, my quest for the moment is to keep her planted firmly in her room, away from outside where there are police officers, and also to find out-- why am I sweating so much?

While I tried to keep her inside, my hand began to act on it's own, pulling over my trach can, and grabbing stuff and tossing it out so I could throw up in it if need be. But my common sense came through, thankfully, once again-- "Op, that shit has holes in it."



I blinked.

When I opened my eyes, I was in front of the sink, gripping the walls, and TALKING to myself.

"I'm not going to throw up. I'm not going to throw up. I'm going to be fine, I'm not going to thr- maybe. No, I'm NOT going to thr- MAYBE! *long sigh* I can get through this. No, I can't."


And I guess "No, I can't" is the secret password, and not "Open Sesame". (WTF does that mean, anyways? Sesame. Pff.) Once I gave up on trying to keep composure, my brain sent the command to put everything into reverse.

What came out was some wild stuff. Like, Bill Cosby said, I wouldn't have been surprised to have seen my own feet come out of my mouth, but what DID come out struck me as interesting. It was some crazy strawberry red, with little pieces of brownie all over it, and some undigested egg white.





Yes, damnit, I took pictures.



After pulling up all that, I went back to my room to recover. I thought that was the end of it. Man, I was wrong. It's about 3:00, and I try to lay down on my bed. My body quickly responds with "No, sir! Fuck that!" and I get back up almost immediately. I try to make it back to the sink, but don't quite make it, and throw up some on the floor before I DO make it to the sink. (but it was like... leftover Cuervo and water, clear vomit) Then, I threw up in the sink again. That's the clean spot you see in the picture above.


In the back of my mind, sober Apok is being beat ferociously with bags filled with Cake cd's, a recent Film paper on Kill Bill, and leftover tuna-- whatever the alcohol can find in the room sober Apok has tried to hide himself. Admist all the wet slapping and expletives, sober Apok is able to get something out.

"You don't want to put your face back in that shit!!"

So I dive over to my roommate's sink, and begin to run cold cold water over my face and hand for the next... oh, HOUR. Felt like 3 though, because I kept spotting in and out of what was happening.

I have sleep apnea and some horrible tonsils that are just begging to be removed (gotta wait until June), and there are times in my dreams where I can't breathe, or when I get sick sometimes, I can't breathe. Or when I'm sick, I have dreams of being unable to breathe. And I snore like a bastard. As a result, difficulty breathing is a staple of my lifestyle. The majority of what I remember is coming to for a moment, gasping for breath, then closing my eyes and drifting away beneath the cold water stream again.

Everything is black and white while I'm at the sink. At least, that's how I remember it. It may be because I was staring into the sink alot, which is white, my face was equivalent when I saw myself in the mirror, and my shirt was also black and white, so perhaps my brain thought everything else was black and white too.



There are only a few images I can remember. Looking at myself in the mirror. Looking into the sink. Looking at the door behind me to see if my roommate Phil was still awake, and down the hall at the bomb site that was my own sink, just to make sure that A) this is all real, and B) that I'm not dead.

The only sounds I heard were of the running water, my own drunken moaning and gasping, and Phil's chatter around the corner in the living room while he talked to his ex-girlfriend on the phone-- because that's what HE does when HE'S drunk. (Next time, I'll trade.) It's interesting because he was talking throughout the entire ordeal I was having, and I could hear every word.

I just couldn't understand a damn one of them.

Throughout my entire issue, there was this weird ambient chatter as background music to my crash and burn saga. If you listen to Ming+FS' "Electro Space Modulator", it's kind of like that, but with a deep male voice instead of a female, and the occasional "Heh heh heh-heh" meathead laughter. As I recovered from my poison expulsion, more and more of the conversation was comprhensible, which is interesting-- makes it like a meter as to how fucked up I was, and how close I was to being okay.

After about an hour and a half of waiting, I finally threw up one last time, expelling the last of the alcohol in queue in my system-- leaving only what was currently occupied beating the living ass out of my brain, and drowning my liver.

I opened my eyes after the last heave-

I blinked.

And at last, I saw beautiful c o l o r.

Able to finally take everything in, I realized I had removed my shirt, leaving my undershirt at some point. And I was doing very well in my attempts to put every inch of my upper body into that sink and under cold water. My two arms, half of my shirt, and the majority of my hair, all soaked.

Phil finishes the phone call, comes over:


"You alright, dog?"

"Bohhhhh."

"Oh. Drink some water, man."

"MAAH?"

"Drink some WATER. Use my cup right there, it's clean."


*Phil walks over to my sink, while I drink water*


"Dear God, man."


*me laughing*


"Jesus."

"Yohhh."

"You gonna be okay, man?"

"Yaaah, yaaah."

"Okay. Hey! And can you take the towel and put it over that? Kill the smell a little bit."

"Naaashaw..."


Did that, took some pictures, and then I woke up the next morning in my boxers, with a rager of a headache. I got up, put on pants, saw I had no juice, came back to my room, grabbed a Fanta, shoved it in the freezer. I then cleaned up the sink, talked to Phil, and matched his story to mine. Grabbed the Fanta, a couple of Tylenol, and sat back, assessing my room.

Somewhere along the night I tried to open a pack fo candles, I think in an effort to kill whatever smell might have seeped in, but again sober Apok was able to come through the static of drunkedness and tell me that drunks plus fire don't mix. But that doesn't mean there wasn't plastic and candles all over my desk. My precious Zen also got onto the floor, and there were boxes and old cans on the floor from when I feverishly was removing trash for the trash bin.

And that doesn't even count where the shit demon came out of the sink.

All in all, I'd say it was a horrible experience. I would have given up a finger if it would have taken me out of that funk. Not being control of my own stuff is really frightening. It was like having an out of body experience, and I get to watch myself act on the most basic of instincts.-- "Bad. Sink. Go."


I don't know how you guys do it.

~Apohhhh...

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