The Most Splendiferous, Moumental Event in the History of the World

Two Words: Open Bar

I don't have many "near death" experiences. That is, I don't recognize most events as being such. But last weekend, I had one. And unlike other brushes with death, this one was fun.

So here's what happened: A friend of mine was turning 25, and as a celebration, he was renting out a bar for the night. That mean free drinks, food and limo service. Yes, I'd like caviar with that.

Without a doubt, this could only be an epic journey. OPEN BAR? Dios mio, man. So on the day of the party, I meet at my buddy's apartment and wait for the limo to pick us up. When it gets there, we have bottles of champagne and glasses in the thing along with our own sound system. It may have only taken us about 15 minutes to get to the bar, but in that time we killed 3 bottles of champagne and a bottle of Seagrams (I did not partake in the Seagrams). When we got to the bar, the driver rolled out the red carpet (THE red carpet) and we proceeded to the door.

The party was well underway when we came in, and the booze was flowing. I ordered myself a Johnny Walker on the rocks, and much to my dismay the bartender said they were out of it. Already? How could this be? He assured me that there were several other top shelf single malt scotches at my disposal. While I cannot remember what he brought me, I do recall that it was smooth and delicious.

I moved on to the food of the night. There were more things available than I could eat, but I satisfied myself with quesadillas and BBQ chicken wings. Soon enough, I realized that my scotch was gone and I needed something else to drink. This, and I was also covered in BBQ sauce from those wings. When I returned from the washroom, I went to the bar and ordered what any man in my position should order:

"Get me 4 Irish Carbombs."

I wasn't going to drink all of these. No man can just go in and drink 4 Irish Carbombs by himself. This isn't a question of whether or not this is possible (it is) but rather that Carbombs are a group activity. So I took my Carbomb (delicious) and ordered a specialty of the house: The Shanghai.

The name should have stopped me, but it didn't. The drink is a mix of hazelnut rum, orange juice and, I think, something else. It sounds a bit odd and, well, it is, but it also tastes pretty good.

But the Shanghai was a small drink, and it didn't last long. Something else was needed. The bar was crowded as hell now, like a grocery store in some apocalyptic scenario. It was every man for himself. Or woman.

"Who do I have to blow to get a drink around here?" I heard one girl say. In a mostly joking manner I said, "You know, if you flash the bartender it will probably get his attention." She looked at me. "Do you think that would really work?" "Well, it can't hurt." Sadly, this didn't actually come to be. Everyone agreed that this girl was the best candidate to make this plan work, but we eventually got served despite this. "Get me 3 berry mojitos."

Berry Mojitos? I was intrigued. Sure, it sounds like a sissy drink, but as a guy who is comfortable with who he is, I ordered the fucker. And I can tell you that it was delicious. It didn't even taste alcoholic, but the kick it gave after drinking it said otherwise. When I was done, I finished with a glass of Maker's Mark on the rocks.

It was around this time that things start to get blurry. I remember ordering 7 Jager bombs and getting a shot of Jager to go, but that's as far as pure recollection goes for this night. I do remember that following the Jager bomb I had the following: 2 shots Jager, 1 Maker's Mark on the rocks, 2 Hennesey on the rocks, 1 hazelnut rum and coke, 1 cucumber vodka tonic (I don't know how I ended up with this, but I drank it anyway) and 1 Jack on the rocks. Everything I consumed was between 8PM and 11:30PM.

So it's no wonder the world was blurry. I remember leaving that bar to go to another one. Then I remember my roommate walking me back home (and I was slapping a tree for some reason). Then I remember sitting in my kitchen as my roommate was eating some tomato soup, and I felt sick. Then I remember being helped to bed. Then I woke up, confused.

When I awoke the next morning, I went to the bathroom to find that I had vomit on my arm. This confused me, because I had not vomited in bed, nor did any vomit from my arm get on my bed. The day, from then on, was based on figuring out what I had done since I left the bar. As it is, I'll put it simply: I spent more money on drinks and puked outside a nightclub. Then I went home and made tomato soup and puked some more. Then I passed out, woke up, and puked again.



So...is there a lesson here? Yes; watch yourself, especially if it's open bar. It may be a good time, but you don't want to end up polishing your shoes (If you've ever seen/read "Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas," you should know what I mean).