So to get this board started off on a more familiar footing, we should start with an old school style thread. So a couple of years ago I was living in Germany, and took the opportunity of living in the land that has invaded more countries than any other to travel around, see the local scenery, and try and have as much sex with foreign women as possible. It was on a trip to the Czech Republic that I hit a low point in my life, a point that made me look back and think; wow, I really was fucked up. Basically, I was in a hostel in Prague, and encountered 2 lovely young Swedish women, and we hit it off. Later that night, we went out to bars, and clubs and more bars before ending up at our hostel again, where the taller, blonder of the two asked me if I wanted to go spoon on the top of her bunk bed in a room with 20 other people. After as much alcohol as I had consumed, this was a great idea, as I imagined in Swedish, "to spoon" meant to have sweet sweet European loving. As luck would have it, it did mean that, and things were going my way for a while. Until it came time to get my dick inside of her. As it turns out you can be too drunk to find a chick's vag. I fumbled for a minute, trying to find it, yet it was elusive as bigfoot. I couldn't find the hole, so I was honest, and slurred, "I can't find your vag, you get my dick in there" Now she was as, if not more drunk than I, and I imagine that she had guided her fair share of cocks into her, so that shouldn't have been a problem. Unfortunately it was, as she was also to drunk to find her own vag. We decided teamwork was the way to go, so we both tried to guide my dick in there, yet we still weren't able to get it in, so we passed out drunk. The next day some Polish guy who was in the dorm style room asked me: "Seriously, did we all have to hear about how you couldn't find her pussy" It was at that point that I realized I had hit a new low. FocusWhat was you low point/ trashiest moment?
Probably the fact that I keep clicking the link for RMMB and its still not there. I'm gonna miss that boobie thread..
If that is the low point of your life, you need help. Once I siphoned gas from a random car in the parking garage to drive home from the casino.
Tough to tell. It's one of two drunken moments. 1. Freshman year. Drank way too much in my dorm room, passed out outside my dorm, was woken up by a cop, fought him when he tried arresting me, and ended up getting arrested anyway. And tasered. To top it off: the next day was kick-off of Parents' Weekend. My parents came up to find me AWOL and eventually worked the truth out of the neighbor girl, before picking me up from my arraignment. 2. This past spring. I earned myself a lifetime ban from one of the campus bars, despite the notable handicap of being only 20. Had a fake, so I got in. Was drinking excessively beforehand, and text-fighting with my girlfriend, who was home from the weekend. She sent me a text "Whatever, I'm done with this," which I took to mean as "I'm dumping you." I decided to drink until I couldn't feel feelings anymore. Was drinking beer before heading to the bar, at the bar I switched to a Tokyo Tea (for those not familiar: take a Long Island, except sub in two shots of melon liqueur for the sour mix and Coke. Basically, it's pure alcohol, and tastes like gasoline. But it was the strongest drink I had heard of, and I wanted to get tanked). Ended up blacking out and throwing up over the bar. Yes, over the bar. As in, into the rail. Meaning that at one of the four campus bars, I am no longer welcome. I'd say it's a coin flip.
Ultmate in pathetic moments I waited for three hours in a parking lot for a girl who was supposedly going to hook up with me. Instead she just edited our conversation and spammed it across the internet [and to my girlfriend] Sad because I fell for it, sad because I'm a cheating dick.
I guess the low point for me was the morning I woke up in the passenger seat of my truck, relatively dirty and missing my shoes. I was relieved to find I was still parked where I was the day before, at my buddy's house. I was not so relieved to learn that the night before I had passed out face down in a ditch near my friend's house and was found some time later by someone at the party who had went outside to smoke a cigarette. I was carried inside and laid on my friends bed, which I naturally threw up on. Apparently I then demanded to be taken to my truck, where I slept the rest of the night.
My trashiest moment came a few years back when I was still in college, and it happened at the event where a lot of people experience their trashiest moment- Mardi Gras in New Orleans. I had met up with a bunch of my friends from back home to take part in our annual celebration called "Super Sunday": a 24 hour event on the Sunday before Mardi Gras, where a large group of people from our town congregate on the parade route. There are normally around 20 kegs or so, but I was industrious that year and brought a fifth of Old Charter. Long story short, I got drunk. Now, in the process of getting drunk, I met a girl who was a member of on of my town's sororities. I also found out later that she had the honor of being a former recipient of the "Miss Pine Louisiana" award, which is as backwoods of a town beauty queen as you could get. We got along pretty well, and by the end of the night, we were making out in public and she was flashing Emeril Lagasi her tits. There was a problem, however- we had no place to hook up- everybody we were with was driving back home, and hotel rooms are hard to come by during Mardi Gras. She tells me that her mom was out of town and that we could go to her house, so I hope in her car and we take off. There was another problem- her mom's "house" was in friggin Pine, LA, which is about 1hr 45min from New Orleans, so we get there around 5AM. Also, it was not so much a "house", as much as it was an old, ratty single wide. Oh, and mom was home. And awake. And so is little sister. Awesome. And we still go into little sister's room and I guess hook up. I don't really remember. What I do remember was being woken up my her mom screaming "HURRY UP AND GET DRESSED- YOUR MAW MAW IS HERE AND SHE WANT'S TO TELL YOU GOOD MORNING". In the end, I had to sit in the living room alone with Maw Maw while Miss Pine got dressed. Maw Maw gave me the evil eye for a few minutes, and then finally pipes up: "Well, at least you have a nice jacket." I was wearing my old work Carhatt jacket that I had brought to New Orleans because it was cold and all of my nice stuff was back at school. She thought I was a farmer.
I would have to say my lowest point occurred almost exactly a year ago. It was the weekend before Halloween, and a few of my friends came down to San Diego to get drunk with me. So as soon as I get off work we start drinking at my apartment for a few hours, then head out to the bars. Since I'm an idiot, and was only 21 then, me and my friends just start pounding down drinks one after another, and by midnight or so, I am completely blacked out. And I'm still not entirely sure what happened to me, but I'm pretty sure I figured it out. At some point I get separated from my friends, and decide to try and walk home. This shouldn't have been to difficult, seeing as my apartment was only a half mile or so from where all the bars were, and I had been to all of them before. But I am so drunk, that I have absolutely no idea where my apartment is. So I'm walking for awhile, when I find an apartment complex. In my drunken mind, I believe that I have found my apartment complex. So I go up to the complex, and walk into the first door that's unlocked, and immediately pass out on the floor. I was not in my apartment complex, not even close. So the first thing I actually remember from that night, I am being rudely woken up by a cop, who is handcuffing my while I'm still laying on the floor. As I start to wake up a little more, I realize I'm in an apartment I have never seen in my life, there are two people I don't know staring at me as I'm being handcuffed, and I feel like absolute dogshit. On the ride to the station, the cop is just laughing at me the whole time, asking me if I had any idea what the hell I was doing, which of course I did not. In the end, I only had to spend a night in the drunk tank, so I guess it could of been much worse. I'm sure the people living in that apartment could have charged me with something, or just beat the shit out me when they saw a drunk college kid laying on their floor, but luckily they did neither.
I have lots of low moments. Hooking up with random sluts from bars, or random fatties from plenty of fish, drinking my piss for "rock 'n roll". Oh, sharing needles with less than stellar people is pretty fucking low as well.
Mine actually just happened this weekend. 6 of us went to the Texas-OU football game in Dallas. We started pregaming around 9 and I had a bottle of Olde English before we left the hotel. I had another 4 shots in the cab on the way to the stadium. Still felt fine thus far. Since me and one of my other friends are TExas transplants and we only had four tickets, my friend and I decided to wander around the state fair. We found a liquor store in the nearby ghetto called Farm Boy Discount Liquor and befriended the owner, who was awesome and ended up giving us free tickets to the fair. I bought a fifth of Crystal Palace and snuck it into the fair. We found a group of hot girls who found our heckling of the people trying to throw the ball through a hoop for prizes funny. We flirted for a while, but I still decided I was too sober. "Are you seriously pouring vodka in your beer?" one of the girls asked me. This is essentially my last clear memory. Apparently I wandered off after polishing off the vodka and looked for a place to urinate. Deciding a restroom was too logical, I stumbled into the dog show, where I found a suitable bale of hay. I then promptly passed out and someone must have called 911. This was the EMT report: "22 year old male found passed out face down at dog show, pants around ankles, empty bottle of vodka in hand. Combative." This was at noon. I guess I was unconscious at some point, because judging by my fractured rib(s?), they had to perform CPR. I also vaguely recall being given a CAT scan. According to the nurse, my BAC was .36. "At .40," she said, "you usually go into a coma and die." Whoops. The next thing I remember I was trying to escape from the ER wearing just my underwear. I tried to escape two more times before they stationed a police office outside my door. My favorite burnt orange sweater is cut in two and I can't feel my right index or middle finger. I don't know how it could get any lower than that, but I think I'm going to take it easy for a long, long while.
My lowest moment had to be running out of gas at 18, shit drunk on the side of 95 north on my way back from Providence at 430 in the morning, and getting my ass kicked and arrested by a state trooper for talking back to him. Waking up in the small ass holding cell with my entire face and body in some of the worst pain I've ever had with my mom waiting for me made me realize I should re-evaluate my shit.
I hit my lowest point the first time I got drunk. Like any stereotypical british underage teenager I got drunk in public, but rather than in a park we decided that a cinema carpark 5 miles from home was more suitable. While the boys drank lager, I had a bottle of vodka to myself - bad idea. The last thing I remember is stating I couldn't be drunk because I could state the alphabet backwards, reciting poems from elocution lessons I took when I was ten, and complaining about the price of bras. That's the last clear memory I have. I don't remember why I then started crying, I can remember stopping for 5 minutes while we walked past a police car as a crying 17-year old girl being escorted by 5 boys wasn't a great idea. Then apparently I carried on crying the whole way home, I cried because I puked, I cried because I couldn't remember puking, I cried because we went to a kebab shop and I wanted McDonald's (which we apparently went to afterwards and got free food!), I cried because I couldn't remember going to the kebab shop, I cried because my two of my mates were talking about the army and were going to die, I cried because I needed the toilet, I cried because I didn't want to go to toilet anywhere but my own house. They finally got me home, and the minute I stepped into my mum's house, I stopped crying.
I'm old enough to have a stable of events to choose from. #1 Realistically, it would be the time I had to call my dad to pick me up from the police station after getting arrested for a DWI. I was no longer wearing underwear (and my fly was undone) and had lost my license, so it wasn't a stretch for the police to figure out I was hammered. #2 Walking into a cab stand at 2 a.m. with vomit down the side of my jacket and somehow getting them to understand that I needed a ride home. #3 Being discovered hiding in my girlfreind's closet, au natural, by her landlady.
Fell off a balcony from drinking - blew a .38. YES a DOT THREE EIGHT. Spent 4 nights in the hospital wearing a neck brace, went on dialysis, was pissing blood for three days, and had a grade II concussion. And that's not even the low point. The low point was when I was at the hospital I decided to cry so the nurses would give me more painkillers. Ughh that all happened a year ago this Halloween.
Mine occurred this past Saturday night, and is a relatively simple story. I showed up at a street meat stand to buy a sausage and a poutine. I did not have enough money to buy a poutine, and haggled with the vendor until an...aesthetically challenged girl...came up and offered to pay for my poutine if I ate with her on the nearby bench since she was alone. I agreed. I woke up beside said girl. I made up an excuse about a Sunday exam (absolutely horse shit), gave her a fake number and that was the end of it. One of my friends asked me if "I knew the ugly girl I was talking to on Saturday", and I denied even being at the bars on Saturday.
It's pretty hard to beat that... (pun intended) My low(est) points were all this summer where I wallowed in depression. Sadly I was on RMMB all day every day and it reflected in my posts/rants. I'm pretty much better now, summer's over, got new girls, parties and whatnot, so we'll see. The lowest valley was when I would sit in my room and listen to sad music; one of the songs was Bridge over Troubled Water. I mean, for god's sake, Art Garfunkle?!
Maybe not my lowest, but the point where I had the greatest self-reflection and changed my behavior happened earlier this year. Early warning, this isn't the most entertaining story, but it was a surprisingly big event for me. Short version: I hooked up with one of my sort-of ex's best friends after trying to hook up with my ex, and almost lost a good friend because of it. Long Version: Around March, me and some friends took a party bus to Granville Street in Vancouver (I live out in the suburbs) for a birthday party. Ended up meeting up with a girl, who I had hooked up with on multiple occasions. Bit of a necessary side-story: I met said girl (D) at a concert downtown a year before this, ended up sorta-kinda-not really seeing her for a few months. It was awesome because she was 5 years older than me and had her own place downtown. It sucked because she lived downtown, and refused to come out to my place. Partly because she had no car, partly because she was scared of my mom (she thought my mom would be pissed about some big, bad 24 year old preying on her sweet, innocent 19 year old son), and partly because who in their right mind would leave their apartment downtown to hang out in the burbs? We slowly drifted apart when I got tired of having to drive into the city on a weekly basis just to see her. We still stayed in touch through Facebook, and would end up meeting up whenever I was downtown for a concert or whatever, but that was it. Back to the story: D had just broken up with her boyfriend, and so she was on the rebound and excited to see me, a past hook-up that she was good friends with too, at the bar. We danced all night, made out a ton and had a good retardedly drunken time. I kept telling her to come on the bus with us back to my place, since my parents were out of town, and she could come to my place for once and not be scared off by my big, bad mom. She politely declined each and every time. Her friend H, who knew one of my friends back in my hometown, did ask for a ride though. She wanted to meet up with my friend for some late-night sex, and I was happy to help out a buddy in need. Once the night winds down, I say bye to D, kiss her, tell her that it would have been great to have her come back and wave goodbye, with H walking along beside me. Well we get back close to my house and my friend, who H was supposed to be meeting up with, has now passed out, leaving her without a place to stay. Over an hour away from her place, in a tube top, mini-skirt and hooker boots, in about 40 degree weather. Being the gentleman that I am, I offer her a place to stay in the form of one of my spare beds at my house. Obviously she accepts. Back at my house, my brother and his friend are up and drinking so I introduce them to H, who decides that she'd rather stay up with them than go to sleep quite yet. Fine with me. I tell her where my room and the spare room's are. About 10 minutes later, she comes into my room. H:Fucking asshole! Me:What? H:Your brother's friend is an asshole! Me:Oh, ya, sorry about that, shoulda warned ya. H:Move over, I'm climbing in. She decides to skip my spare bed and just slide in with me, a little surprising to me. But hey, I'm drunk and horny, so ... Awesome! We're laying in bed and I decide to go for it, when she starts talking again. H: You know we're not gonna hook up, right? Me: Why not? H: Because I'm good friends with D, and you've hooked up with her. Me: So? We're both drunk, who cares? H: Good point. Check and mate. The next morning one of her friends comes to pick her up, she thanks me for the warm bed to sleep in and I figure that's the end of it. Silly me, things are never that simple when hooking up with an ex's friend. A few days later I get a message from D on Facebook, calling me various names, and telling me to, in not so kind words, go fly a kite. I try and play dumb, asking her what she's talking about. Apparently H told D about us hooking up because she figured she owed it to her. Woops. I tell her I don't see what the big deal is, we were drunk, shit happened. Time to move on, right? She tells me I'm a fucking asshole, that she really believed I was sincere in the bar that night, and that I need to grow up and start taking responsibility for myself, whether I'm drunk or sober. I initially chalk this up to her being bitter and pissed that I fucked one of her friends, but then I start to think about it deeper. I spent half the night telling this friend of mine, who was obviously feeling fairly vulnerable having just broken up with her boyfriend, that I wanted her to come home with me, and kept kissing her and whatnot. Then 2 hours later, I'm sticking it to one of her bestfriends. Without even realizing what I was doing, I had brought her up out of her funk because it seemed like I had been so keen on hooking up with her and only her, then put her deeper down when she realized it was only a warm, wet spot to put my dick in that I was after. I felt like a complete ass for what I had done, apologized, let her know how I had realized my mistakes, and am now on great terms with D once again. The self-reflection that came about this was that I needed to stop following my dick around looking for pussy, like a fucking divining rod searching for water. I was actually doing damage to people who I actually cared about, thinking that sex and feelings are completely separate entities, when in reality, they are strongly intertwined. That and the fact that I had taken my friends toss-aways, who my other friends referred to as "that fat chick with way too much skin showing brought home on the party bus".
Last time I was really broke I met a friend in a Safeway parking lot so he could lend me some money. After he left I sat in my car for a while since I had nowhere to go. Then I saw a fat guy come out of the store pushing a cart full of food. As he unloaded groceries, he put a baguette on the roof of his car. He apparently forgot about it and climbed inside, backed out and left. I immediately started tailing him hoping the bread would fall off. I followed him down a quiet residential street with a couple slow turns. Trying to remain inconspicuous while tailing someone at 25mph is harder than it seems. Eventually the bread rolled off and I sped up, jumped out, grabbed it before hopping back inside and speeding around a corner. After a few blocks I pulled over and devoured the baguette with my heart racing.
Some good friends of mine were in the same fraternity, so when they asked if I could help them set up for their annual big party my sophomore year, I was happy to help out. As it turned out, they massively overestimated how much work they actually felt like doing, so "helping out" turned into putting up a few posters and then starting a pre-party beer pong tournament. I was on top of my game that night, hitting almost every shot.For about two hours, I was Reggie Miller at the Garden. Normally, being on fire is a great situation, but in this case, it meant that we played a shitload of close games in rapid succession. These games quickly took their toll. By the time the party actually started, I had long since passed the hammered stage. I was fucking catatonic, and spent the majority of the party sitting on a couch drooling on myself, unable to move a muscle. Any attempt to form words yielded deathly gurgling noises, scattering horrified sorority girls. The night was partially redeemed later on. Having regained my motor functions but unable to avoid dry heaving for more than 18 seconds, I resigned myself to leaning overthe balcony railing, awaiting the inevitable. Thankfully, people stopped by to keep me company - but probably mostly to make sure I was still alive. A good friend decided to not only cheer me up, but to give me a memory I will forever cherish. He walks up to me, claps me on the shoulder, and asks how I'm feeling. No sooner do the words leave his mouth as he projectile vomits twice, each traveling what seemed like a hundred yards horizontally as they fell five stories, coming to rest on the now-splattered windshield of some poor soul's Mercedes.