The goal on birthdays was to get the birthday boy or girl as drunk as possible. I don't know why we did that but it seemed to be tradition, we couldn't change it. Aaron one time got so drunk that when we had gotten him he was laying with his head in the toilet with no shirt and his boxers showing. He had tried to take his pants off but they had gotten stuck on his shoes. Neither me or Nene were about to start trying to pull them off for him. We left him with his sister looking after him. Little did we know he ended up spending the night next to the toilet.

For Brian he spent most of the night in his laundry room next to the kitty liter box. CJ spent most of the night passed out in the car speaking some strange jibberish, a slurred speech with his bassy voice, some strange jive, ghetto slang, that when slurred sounded like an African language. Scott spent part of his night passed out in the bed of his truck laying in some liquidy, tomato sauce and flautas in the parking of lot of Chico's Tacos begging us for the keys so that he could drive home. CJ ended up driving him home, the whole way his head hung out of the window in the rain. He woke up the next morning wondering why the floorboard of his truck was wet.

For me it would be no different. I remember my twenty-second birthday clearly. That night my friend¹s kept shoving drinks into my mouth. Shot after shot, beer after beer, I kept putting them down endlessly. My friends kept trying to bring me down. I was known for having a tolerance higher than everyone else. I was hoping that I would at least be able to drink until they all ran out of money. Jagermister, GoldSchlager, FireWater, Schnapps, Buttery Nipples, and Royal Fucks, the shots kept pouring. I remember stopping my count at thirteen shots. But they seemed to keep coming. Jessica looked up at me once that evening in awe, "I can't believe you are still standings."her words were drowned out by the bass thumping speakers of the club.

Realizing that with ten of my friends all trying to get me drunk there was no way I was going to outlast the amount of alcohol they could buy. I hoped that final call would roll around. My prayer was answered but it came with a punishment. Moments after final call Tequila, Jack Daniels, and Wild Turkey appeared before me. My friends were really trying now. But I played the game. I couldn¹t break our tradition. I had done this to so many of my friends that it was their turn to do unto me.

I was still standing after all that. Jessica's amazement was also mine. Carlos drove me home with Mark and Jessica following them. I remember everyting, Carlos talking about Dave Brubeck, Miles Davis, and John Coltrane as the Take Five was playing in the car. Didn't feel sick at all. No one had to help me inside. I felt fine.

I remembered the advice my mom once gave: always drink a glass or two of water before you go to sleep after drinking so you don't have a hangover. I followed her advice. Sat down in the reclining chair with a cold glass of water and started to drink. The room shifted suddenly. I was stationary but the room was sideways. You know this feeling if you've been drunk. No matter which direction you lean to the room seems to spin in one direction. I tried closing my eyes but every time I opened them the spinning had sped up. My stomach turned, that feeling that you are about to throw-up from drinking. I wasn't about to give in though. I got up and started walking outside. I must have paced around my backyard for thirty minutes before I sat down in the grass.

I don't remember the rest. Hours later I heard a wimper. The same wimper my dog gives when it has to go out to do its business. A wet nose lifted my flipped my hand up. The wimpers continued. I awoke. The sun was rising, my close were damp from the sprinklers that had started on the other side of the lawn. My dog sat there looking at me as though I was dead. When I rose she wagged her tail, probably excited that she still had someone to play fetch with. I walked inside the house, clothes damp, my shoes making that squish noise every step I took.

My dad was sitting on the couch. Taking part in his early morning ritual: coffee, newspaper, and peanut butter on toast. His eyes rose to me in amazement, or was it confusion, who knows. Not a word was spoken. I walked straight to bed. The phone rang hours later waking me again, Carlos was laughing as I answered, apparently my dad had asked him what happened the previous night. Carlos told him that I was fine all night long, my dad's response was "then why did Ryan walk in the house from the backyard with wet clothes on."My story spread like a virus everyone knew of what happened, each time something different was added, I threw-up, I slept in dog shit, the sprinklers had been on for an hour, my dog tried humping my leg. They won. It still ranks among the best of the stories we tell. The ones when we all get together and drink and tell stories about drinking hoping that the next birthday will produce more.

 

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