This is a real struggle writing this because of all the brain cells I absolutely starched this weekend with a bender that I’m sure grossed a few people out. It all started with what was supposed to be a fun, relaxing visit with some friends in Virginia. This is my weekend as I best remember it, for those of you that were there: I’m sure I’m getting quite a bit of this wrong, whatever, this is how I remember it happening. Also, I’m going to use people’s first names in this, if you don’t like it I guess message me and I’ll give you a fake name.

I arrived in Virginia with stars in my eyes and beer in my hand. After giving everyone hugs and kisses (because that’s how I say hello now), I went right to work on some PBRs. Once we realized that we had enough people to have a slightly competitive volleyball game we went for it. Everyone who knows me knows that despite my soft some-what fluffy exterior, I’m actually an incredible athlete. This is especially true when it comes to volleyball. Not only did I crush it in high school gym class, but I also played intermural in college too- no big deal.

There are a few stand outs- both negative and positive, so lets get to those grades:

Dooley: Despite knocking down and destroying the volleyball net while running to catch my absolutely flawless throw, I still give him a 7.9 out of 10. Not a bad score. He missed a few really pivotal hits that could have changed the game, but despite that he was willing to give up the body and lay himself out to try and make the hit. I appreciated it. Your selflessness helped me go a perfect 3-0 (I think we played three games, I honestly can’t remember. I just know I never lost.)

Justin: Such a fierce competitor. He’s got the second highest ranking of the day, absolute 9.9. He played against me once, which he lost, but that’s only because he was the only person on his team who wasn’t afraid of the ball. He crushed it, 9.9 out of 10. The only thing keeping him from a perfect score is he wasn’t on my team once and for a perfect score you can’t lose.

Jess: Absolutely the worst volleyball player ever. No hand-eye coordination. At one point she used her feet. Honestly, I’m not even sure if she knew what game she was playing. I would give her an absolute zero, but she drank like a champion during the game, she gets a 3.4.

Me: Absolutely perfect 10. I never lost a game, so that pretty much speaks for itself.

Everyone else did well enough to not be subject to any insults. Shoutout to Amy though, who chose not putting her beer down and taking a drink over hitting a ball that was coming right at her. And one more shout out to the Navy boys, who broke the stereo type that all Navy guys are good at volleyball. Golf claps all around.

The rest of the night was a blur of jello shots, shot-gunning beer after beer and the usual table top drinking games. I ended up being one of the first people to pass out. But my story doesn’t end there.

I woke up around 3am after a solid power-black-out. I had to piss so I stepped out of bed and directly on a few people who I didn’t know were sleeping next to my bed. Feeling restless and not wanting to wake them up I did what anyone in my position would have done. I went to the kitchen and started drinking.

This is the point in the night when I found a Jurassic Pork apron and a chefs hat. Obviously I put both on. This became my outfit for the next eight or so hours.

After forcing down some horrible wine I found half a handle of Tito’s Vodka. Not wanting to drink straight vodka until the sun came up and with the memory of mimosas bouncing around in my head I opened the fridge to a beautiful sight. Half a gallon of orange juice. I grabbed it and started pouring. And drinking. And pouring. And drinking.

After a few run-ins with people grabbing random drunken bites of food in and out of consciousness and the early morning flow of people grabbing ibuprofen to combat a day full of drinking, I decided I needed a drinking partner. After scouring the house for anyone awake I decided to take the high road. Well, my version of the high road.

This is what anyone who came into the kitchen that night/morning saw. As you can see I’m killing it in this hat/apron combo. Also, that pimple on my forehead makes me want to kill myself.

I started text messaging everyone at the party with this message: “There’s an emergency in the kitchen!”. I figured if the actual text itself didn’t wake them up, whenever they got up to pee they’d inevitably see their phone and come to the kitchen to drink with me. Absolutely flawless in concept.

I only got one response and it was Juan coming into the kitchen in his underpants to make sure everything was OK. I asked him to drink with me to which he quickly declined. By now it was about 6am and I decided I needed a more pro-active approach.

I walked into the room Dooley was in. I knew he would be the most likely to agree to drink with me. He woke up pretty quickly and followed me into the kitchen under the proven ruse of the kitchen emergency. Once he entered the kitchen our conversation went like this:

Dooley: What the fuck is the emergency you woke me up for fatass?

Me: Look, I made us screw drivers [I held out two very off colored cups of orange juice and vodka. We were getting low on OJ, so it was like %65 vodka.]

Dooley: Are you fucking kidding me? You woke me up to drink? It’s 7am.

At this point I felt that our conversation was about to take a negative turn.

Me: Yea, this is the emergency.

Dooley: You’re such a piece of shit. I can’t believe you woke me up for this.

Me: What? Do you need to take your HIV medicine before you start drinking?

Dooley: Fuck you.

Dooley obviously doesn’t have HIV, but it’s a fun joke I like to make, so whatever. I drank by myself for another few hours, with my level of intoxication growing to what some might consider dangerous heights. By 830am I decided enough was enough, time to start waking people up.

I went room to room yelling about my emergency until people had enough of my yelling and gave in and decided to start their day. Also, the Giants were playing at 930am here, whatever fucking time that is in London is beyond me, but I needed to figure out how to use the television.

Right now you’re probably thinking “What is so difficult about their television that you’d need help?” or maybe something like, “You have a drinking problem.” But I’m only going to address one of them. The house I was at had some stupid fucking internet television instead of cable.

Everyone at this point decided to go to the diner. Having learned that the diner doesn’t have alcohol, I chose to stay at home and try and figure out how this internet TV thing worked. Not surprisingly, I failed miserably. In fact, we later learned that you can’t watch live events on the bullshit internet TV contraption.

Luckily, after an hour of me screaming and yelling like a child, one of Juan’s work buddies was able to stream it to a computer and then he hooked the computer up to the TV. It was all for naught though, as I passed out pretty quickly and remember literally nothing from the game.

I woke up a few hours later from another power-black-out and joined everyone who didn’t have work that day outside.

I’m going to end this here, with Part 2 coming in a few days as I don’t want this post to be three thousand words.