Your browser does not meet site requirements for the full experience.
Regardless if your're a Mac or Windows user, consider downloading FireFox.
3 January 2005
Then it went black. As the sound of sirens whined somewhere in the distance, my eyes roughly opened close to two o’clock in the afternoon on New Years Day this year. Too bad the sirens were echoing farther and farther away in the distance. They should have been arriving in my bedroom for the 4-alarm hangover that was blazing inside of my head. I buried my head beneath some errant pillows and demanded a handful of ibuprofen or failing that, a hand grenade.
After swallowing a handful of pills and drinking a tall glass of water, I calmly cleared my throat and bellowed “Um, hey, what happened last night?” Only muffled giggles answered my query. So, in a feeble attempt to coax some information from the group of people in my living room I loudly spoke down the hallway from my bed, “I remember when we couldn’t get a cab I think ...continued below
. . . we piled into the SUV and then, uh, I recall Bull saying something really funny to judge Harry Stone and then Dan Fielding cracked a joke about that prostitutes outfit and we all laughed.” For a moment, there was nothing but total silence. I quickly visualized the empty questioned stares that people were making toward each other. Glancing at every face in the circle to see if anyone had even the foggiest what the frig' I was talking about. “What in the hell are you talking about, Ian?” was the final reply.
Shit.
I had blacked-out. The VCR in my head had stopped tapping whatever my eyes had been relaying to my brain and filled it with an old episode of the popular 1980’s television show “Night Court”. Or maybe someone just changed the channel to the TiVo in my head. Whatever, you pick the technology, either way, it had all went black leaving me flustered as I tried to piece together memories of New Years.
For those of you who have never ingested enough alcohol to anesthetize your short-term memory, I would prescribe several bottles of malt liquor or some hard booze. Drink liberally and then call me in the morning. I mean if you are a big fan of the television show CSI, what could be better then introducing it into your real life as you try to reconstruct what problem was a crime scene from the burnt shambles of your memory?
Really, I find that the best thing to do is to start where you are and retrace your steps. Walk backwards, if you will. In my case, I woke up with a can of diet coke in one hand and a bag of flavored rice cakes in the other. My shoes were still on and laced, so we can pretty much deduce that I didn’t get laid. More likely than not, sex was offered and I simply walked away in order to hussle me up another drink. That comes naturally to me though. NOT banging, that is. I have been NOT banging hot chicks since I was a little kid. I mean it happens to me constantly. It doesn’t matter if it is in the grocery store, gas station, bars, restaurants, and in the mall. You name it, wherever hot chicks are, I have NOT banged them there. My dad says I should find that one special girl that I could see myself NOT banging for the rest of my life, but that is why he married dear old mom, right?
Anyways, back to blacking out. The thing that sucks about New Years was everybody else had been drinking heavily so their recollection of my actions is nearly as shady as my own. When you can turn to nobody else for assistance in remembering what happened, you can only hope for some sort of picture or recording that can jog your memory. What’s this? There was a disposable camera used on New Years night? I’ll have to take a look at these and get back you all.
You must be logged in order to leave a comment.
If you have not registered, you may do so at the homepage with very little hassle.
I swear it!