The Soul Borrower

A Blog of Photography and my Lifeography

Alkoholiker

So I had dinner with a friend tonight. We got to talking about our exchange student experiences.

It got me all sad. I miss Europe.

We got to talking about the best times we had over there. Ironically, they all had something to do with Alcohol. It’s sad, but on the other hand understandable. I don’t consider myself an alcoholic at all. I haven’t drank since I left europe – 15 months ago. Most of the kids I went to high school with hit the bottle at least once a week. I find those people who can’t have fun without alcohol pathetic. There are tons of other things to do sober that are just as fun.

But enough of the rant, on to the story!

I’m not quite sure If I’ve blogged about this or not. But one of the last trips I took in germany was to Cologne. I had 500$ Christmas money, buckets of anger (Yes, that’s right, buckets)towards my host family, and a desire to travel. Nothing was stopping me. The week went alright. I met a guy on the train there and we got off just fine. We talked and had fun for a day until he went on to his next city of European Tours. He was rather strange…He was traveling by himself for something like 3 weeks. Boring, I’d say.

I stayed in a hostel with the human statue and two guys from New York. New Yorkers. Strange folks ­čśŤ They were nice, though. The last day of my trip came and for some reason we decided to party. I’m not a big partier but I’d thought, what the hell. So we ran down to the local liquor store, got some vodka and redbull (rookies’ and lightweights’ choice), a couple cases of beer and some Kraeuter.

The party started off with just the 3 of us. Not long after, a couple other Americans joined us. One from Alabama, another New Yorker and probably one from somewhere else. After awhile, we’d moved into a larger commons area with dozens of comfy chairs and couches. Soon, the room was full with probably 25 people, all gathered around this one tiny ass coffee table. A bunch of australians, and other people from different countries (god I can’t even remember).

With this many people we soon found out that we had no where near enough beer. So me, Nebraska (my official name for the evening), and Alabama, stumbled off on a beer run. At this point I wasn’t too bad. I could still walk straight. I tend to be alright as far as thinking and functioning goes, but when I get really drunk I tend to lose any sort of balance that I’ve gained through Martial Arts and other things. So after a short while we returned to the cheers and applause of the thirsty audience.

This is the point where things start to get hazy. Oh wait, that was 2 hours ago at this point.

We started playing this one drinking game. At this point I have no idea what it was, but apparently I was freaking terrible at it. In the middle of the coffee table there was this huge coffee mug. Probably about 10 ounces (The standard coffee mug, for those of you overseas, is 6ounces). Everytime someone (read: I) lost, everyone around the table poured whatever they were drinking, some vodka, red wine, redbull, beer, into the mug. The loser (read: me) had to chug the mug. Talk about a true ‘suicide’ drink. I remember getting to the third mug.

After that, I don’t remember anything. I remember during the night waking up and taking a shower. When i woke up that morning my clothes, shoes and all were soaking wet with me still in them in my hostel bed. My hostel New Yorker mates, (and Alabama too, i think) told me that they and the statue guy carried me up the stairs and put me in the bed. Four people. Four.

That morning was the morning I talked to the statue guy and found out a bit more about him. He was one of the nicest person I’ve ever met. He laughed at my ‘situation’, but said that it’s happened more than once.

that morning was the morning that I decided I would never drink again. I haven’t, but once I go to Germany i probably will again. The worst part about drinking is not being able to remember what happened. That absolutely terrified me. It still does. That’s when it stops being any fun. I remember the third mug, but what did I do after that? I left the party probably 3 hours before any one else. I blew the chance of meeting or making any long term friends. This was my third time being drunk, and first time to really pass out. Hopefully my last.

Terrifying. I get goosebumps even thinking about.

The next day, I was sitting at the train station, about to ride the train to my host family, when I saw one Australian guy on the opposite platform. We waved at each other, and I got on the train. I never saw any of them again. I added the first two New Yorkers to Facebook, but haven’t spoken to them since.

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March 27, 2009 - Posted by | Uncategorized

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