Being Drunk and Productive = Counter Productive

I've finally learnt after 3 separate occasions that being drunk, in my case, and trying to be productive has often left me in a situation worse off than improved. This is also 3 occasions that I remember because they have left a lasting effect, like when you watch all of LOST and realise that you could've stared at a giant question mark for 6 years and STILL have gotten more answers.

"Previously on LOST..."

The first of these stupid escapades was something I mentioned in a previous post before. I stumbled into my room like a bowling ball falling down a staircase and saw my curtains agape. This could not stand if I were to sleep in that morning so like a whiley racoon I decided to close them. This proved much more difficult than it appeared, my drunken motor instincts confused closing with going rigid and my balance confused standing up with...not standing up. I forgot this had all happened until I woke up and thought for a moment "my window wasn't on the floor before?". Anyways, the good thing was, I still managed to close the curtains, even if they weren't attached to the wall anymore.

The second time is also something I've mentioned in previous posts. My sister and her boyfriend were over visiting and we all were drinking here in my apartment, which is also their ex-apartment. As per usual I was using my laptop to show funny videos (probably about cats) and play music no one wants to listen to at 3 in the morning. I also felt that the laptop needed no better place to be than on top of stereo speakers, at my head height with wires protruding from it all around the room. After showing them one of the trippy psychedelic fight scenes from Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World I took my own trip over my laptop charger sending my laptop on a very brief and ultimately horrendous speed date with gravity that ended at the floor. My laptop still worked but now my screen is stuck in what I am dubbing "Scott Pilgrim mode", it's flickery, crazy, fuzzy and psychedelic making reading just about bearable and the only thing that does look normal on it is Scott Pilgrim Vs. The world.

"Currently what Hibernation Mode on my laptop is like"

The final escapade happened nary a night or two ago. I came home and realised that I had left on a dehumidifier in my room for the majority of the day and as a result my room resembled something of a giant sandcastle. My bedsheets also weren't dry nor on my bed as I had just washed them, so I decided to stay up for a while drying those (not physically, in a dryer of course) and put them on my bed, all the while letting the dehumidifier suck up any dampness left in the sheets. When all said was done I proceeded to turn off and move the unit out of my room. It was probably like watching a newborn deer learn how to walk while trying to carry a dehumidifier. As you may have guessed, the simple idea of moving it didn't go exactly as planned and much like my cutrains and my laptop it ended up on the floor with an almighty crash loud enough to wake a Kraken. It also proved it did it's job well by spilling all of the daily moisture it had collected all over my bedroom floor. Now that's what I call counter productive!

After a bitter 5-10 mins of cleaning this mess and also reassembling the unit, I succeeded in removing it from my room. I walked back into my room and closed the door. Now, this was the third thing that has fallen to the ground in my apartment because of me being drunk so I think it was at this point that the other inanimate objects decided to join in on the fun too, such as the foldaway table behind my door. It lunged itself at my foot and nearly broke my toe. If I wasn't so drunk I probably would've also noticed it giggling as glided effortlessly through the dehumidified air. The Kraken awoke, ME!

"BLUAAAA MY KRAKEN TOE!!!!!!11111!!!1"

I've decided the only thing I can't do wrong when drunk and returning from a night out is to just go straight to sleep. What could possibly go wrong in that situation?

Dance Pants - NO!

I just recalled a slightly embarrassing memory from a few years back. I went through this odd phase thanks to a few of my friends where I would pull down my pants whenever I was drunk, because, y'know, it was just THAT funny to do. What was even MORE funny was doing it in a nightclub, on the dance floor, because everyone wants to see that right? So there we all were, early as the morning birds (except it was night time, at the club Cuba, and we're not birds), we had the dance floor to ourselves so we all took our stationary dancing posts at each corner and dropped the pants, laughing at our delightful foolishness! This idea progressed into the night but became less frequent as more people began arriving, the non early birds. It seems we were only trying to impress each other, our strange insecurities made secure by bearing our legs to each other. As the night wore on (like a pair of jeans!) we got progressively more drunk, me in particular as the event I'm about to tell you unfolds.

Everyone was dancing in a group on the dance floor. This excited me greatly so I downed the remainder of my pint, slammed the empty glass hard on the table as if what I was about to do my final note on my "to-do before I die" list and headed to the dance floor. I imagine if this was some sort of film the remainder of this would play out in slow motion. Like an unexpected ostrich I sprang onto the dance floor into the center of the group dropping my pants and flailing wildly in an orgy of cacophonous laughter while swinging my head around in a drunken insanity. If I had feathers they would've been flying everywhere. As I continued flailing but slowly succumbing to a more acceptable dance so I could read the reactions of my friends, a sudden realisation fell upon me, like a bird had shat on my head. These weren't my friends. And they certainly weren't impressed by my powerful bare ostrich legs. The looks on their faces were caught somewhere between disapproving, disgusted and eyebrow raised confusion.

As the truth of all of this dawned on me I turned around to see all of my friends sitting in the corner laughing at my misfortune. All I could do was stand there, hang my head in shame in a group of strangers, with my friends pointing and laughing at me, with my pants down. Textbook humiliation

Waking Up in Strange Places

Have you ever woken up in a strange place and forgotten how you got there for a brief moment? Until reality comes crashing down on you, or in my case, you go crashing into reality (aka ground).

Let me tell you a story about one of the more odd places I've woken up in. How I got there was obvious, I was indulging in a few underage drinks with my friends. And like all underage drinking nights, something stupid happens. To me. I remember the night not clearly now, back yonder to my sweet 16 days, it was my friends super sweet 16th birthday and it was super fucking cold out...

I don't remember exactly how we got the drink, but anyways, we used to drink in this field between two estates thinking it was safe, when in reality it was actually quite a retarded place to drink. Anyone could trap us there and people, mainly parents, frequently walked it on visits or on catching-underage-drinkers strolls. Luckily for us, the Garda in Castlebar are as retarded as we were (double negative makes a positive!!), so we never really did get caught.


"Oh no! Double Garda means double negative! That means there poooositively will be trouble!"

So we would drink there, bushing as it were, and we would go clubbing (or we would go "club", because there was only one really worth going to, unless you had one of those spontaaaaaaneous  urges to be stabbed at the other). This particular night though, it turned out that going club was as fun as sitting in a cold shower trying to light a cigarette. If that doesn't make it clear, I will just say, it was not fun. Fun it was not. Luckily clever little ustards stashed some extra drink back in our field. So back we went back, flaming 3 can heads on us, we WERE Castlebar!!

We arrived at the field, it was beginning to rain, but like good alcohal does to you, it makes you forget why our bodies warn us of cold, of pain, of stupid decisions, of just about everythingness. So we drank for a while and then for the first time ever noticed a peculiar tree about 100 metres away. It looked a little something like this:


"We might've been seeing a little extra that night..."

One of my friends let us in on a little secret, apparently it was a BANSHEE TREE, oh my! So not only did parents, Garda, scumbags and children walk this field, but also screaming dead old women. I have to say that was certainly a little more alarming than most things (apart from Irish Radio). Especially if you believed in it, which unfortunately one of my friends did (at the time). I won't mention his name though because James will get really angry at me.

So we left the field because this tree was creeping people out (or person). The weather had also gotten a little bitchy so that last pulsating part ourselves that was sober managed to give common sense a shout and get us to make a move along. We did move along, but alas, underage drinkers don't really have a place in the world besides in the wild emerald banshee infested fields of Ireland. So what was the next best thing to a field? Well since we felt neglected by nature, with it's sky piss and tree whores we decided to drink in a place that was fighting back for us, a building site.

At this point  I had drank a few more cans, and being the Captain Incapableofalcohal I was, I was pretty shteamed.  We found the building site, with a lovely shed to shelter us and lots of cardboard to go pyro with. So we had it all, shelter, warmth, drink... but wait, we didn't have ONE thing. Music! Now, before I go on, I don't  really listen to bands at all, I'm a bit of soundtrack buff, or scores or whatever you wanna call them. I like them ranging from TV shows to films to videogames. This night in particular I felt like being a videogame music. So I kept singing this:



Now don't even ask me how or what I was doing, let alone the fact that only one of my friends actually knew what I was talking (singing?) about. The rest just stared on at me while I constantly repeated myself until (and I'm just realising that this was probably the case) they actually had to resort to giving me enough drink to put me to sleep, which admittedly, wasn't a whole lot. I gladly took it, they gladly saw it worked. I blacked out, which was unfortunate because everything in the night was fairly non memorable, yet the part I forgot was pretty much essential in knowing what shouldn't have happened next.

Anyways, all I remember next was waking up cold. I didn't open my eyes because I didn't exactly quite realise I was awake yet. So like I always do in my bed, I turn over to get a little more comfy. Except I wasn't in my bed. And what happened next certainly wasn't comfy. If the coldness didn't wake me, the 7 foot fall to the ground definitely did. As I laid there sideways in the kind of pain that can only be described as listening to Justin Bieber, I saw that I had laid my shoes perfectly and neatly next to the scaffolding that I had just taken a short cut off of. It turns out that at some point in the night I felt like that the higher I was the safer, BUT I HAD to make sure my shoes were neatly stowed away first. I probably just wouldn't have slept otherwise!

Anyways, I think one or two of the lads were awake in the shed, and I'm pretty sure if they weren't, the sound of me hitting rock surely did (I was something of a human alarm clock). We awoke, we felt pain, we felt misery, we felt hungover. Yes the boys of  the super sweet 16th certainly WERE Castlebar that morning (that sentence is to be read like the narrator in desperate housewives).

Any of ye ever awake in a funky place?