shot of sass, served on (n)ice

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

my (friend's) embarrassing drunken story

Prologue

I don’t get drunk, y'all. Really, I don’t. This story is about a friend, okay? So don’t judge me…I am not the star of this story.

Story of My Friend (not me) and her Stoli Problem

My friend, see, has a weakness for Stoli Vanilla vodka and orange juice. Tastes just like a creamsicle, she tells me. And apparently, according to my friend, one drink is great, but six…well, that’s just a par-tay.

Once upon a time, this friend of mine (remember, this is NOT me) went to Atlanta to visit a guy friend of hers. We’ll call him a friend with benefits (FWB) on the verge of becoming a boyfriend.

She goes to dinner with FWB – a real, authentic date. They laugh, they talk, she doesn’t go near those creamsicle-tasting disaster cocktails. They have some wine, and end the night with a sweet kiss. She sleeps in his guest room (that part I can attest to), and she goes on with her weekend the next day.

The next night, however, the Stoli Vanilla and the OJ, well, it flowed freely. At a fundraiser for her boss in Buckhead. She drank toooo much, this friend of mine. And she did what any stupid drunk girl would do after six of these disaster drinks.

She drunk-dialed the boy.

Except boy did not answer. So she drunk dialed him again.

And again…and…well, you get the point.

11:30 pm. My friend hits her ceiling for drinking. But she does not, unfortunately, hit the stopping point for drunk dialing. And no one tried to take her phone away. Which was what this girl really needed…someone to stop her from herself.

But no one did.

So…she hopped in a cab, rode to Brookhaven, moved beyond obsessive drunk dialing, and made a house call. (I believe you’d call this a booty call. But I wouldn’t know, see, because this is a friend, remember??)

My friend knocks on FWB’s door. No answer. She calls FWB for the fifteenth time that evening. (It’s probably morning by now, my friend reasons, so the number of calls are reset to account for the new 24 hour period).

No answer.

So, my friend did what any reasonable girl with a fifth of Stolichnaya in her body would do at 12:15 in the morning.

She asked the security guard (who happened to be approaching her, rather apprehensively) for help.

And, instead of arresting her for trespassing, the security guard does help her. By hoisting her up ten feet to the back balcony of FWB’s apartment, cheerleader-style.

My friend finally gets into the house and scares the living shit out of FWB. And gets no benefits that morning.

And wakes up with the worst hangover of her life the next morning, and enough embarrassment to last her for a good ten years.

Epilogue

Friend and FWB are still friends. They are both married (to other people, that is), and get a chuckle out of this story on a more than annual basis.

I’d like to say that I've sworn off Stoli Vanilla and OJ, but sadly, I haven't.
I mean, hold on...I meant my FRIEND has not sworn them off. Really, I don't get drunk, honest! :)

6 tips left at the bar:

Andi said...

Oh this is such a great story. I'm so glad your FRIEND didn't mind you sharing it.

tempe said...

What can I say? She has no shame. :)

Megan said...

OMG, this is so awfully good! TERRIBLY good, even! Cheerleader-style? Fantastic!

Oooh, now I'm Tempe-ted to try a creamsicle drink (one, not six)!

penelope said...

Yes, the security guard cheerleader assist is simply the best part of this whole story, I love it!

I had no idea about the Creamsicle drink, it sounds fantastic. Or it would, if I hadn't gotten so drunk once myself on regular screwdrivers that I ended up with a day of dry heaves. Vodka. Makes me shudder.

niki said...

Thank you for sharing about your "friend." After a long three days of 6pm+ court, this cheerleader drunk booty call is hilarious.

ashley said...

Tempe...this post...it kinda makes you my hero. A little bit. Your tenacity is deeply applaudable.