When I went to University of Missouri Rolla out of a Podunk high school in the farmlands of the bootheel of Missouri, I was a naive smartass young lady who had a good brain but little common sense. Trying to fit in with all the folks from big high schools around St. Louis and Kansas City intimidated me and so I resorted to showing off at the things I was really better trained by my country upbringing.
St. Pat, if you didn’t know, is the Patron Saint of Engineers, which means that at an engineering school like UMR was then… the middle of March was an unofficial week off for students to party and celebrate the Irish in all of us.
Well, there were beer chugging contests, of course.
I could chug a pitcher of beer faster than the biggest guy around. For some reason, my brother had come back from the Navy when I was 14 and decided his little sister needed to be able to drink beer and maintain. So, I entered and won, which impressed all my new fancy chic college friends famously.
In fact, I was asked to repeat the feat several times and the captain of the rugby team declared I was his kind of woman and swept me up in his handsome arms and I promptly threw up all over him.
It was a night I never forgot. Fortunately, the semester was over a few weeks later and I never returned to the school.
My son is there now in his senior year and I have not told him that story. I’m hoping he doesn’t come home telling me the St. Pat legend about this wild country hick chick who could chug beer like a sailor.
harry p.
March 17, 2016 9:47 am
I literally can’t remember…
Weedhopper
March 17, 2016 10:10 am
Our ship was breasted outboard of two other Knox Class frigates. They were virtual carbon copies. I came back drunk and miss-counted brows. I ended up in the engineering birthing of a sister ship in some other guys rack. The next morning everyone was wondering who the new guy was.
Weedhopper
March 17, 2016 10:13 am
* Berthing…stupid spellcheck/autocorrect.
Francis Marion
March 17, 2016 10:38 am
Mostly from high school – small rural town in northern Canada so every weekend was a good drinking story. Most of them centred around a guy we called “Jethro”. I’ll leave it at that.
Iska Waran
March 17, 2016 10:52 am
The best stories usually involve dropping acid – only if you survive, though.
TC
March 17, 2016 11:37 am
Too many stories… couldn’t possibly come up with a best one.
Maggie
March 17, 2016 12:10 pm
There was also the time I woke up in a hotel bathtub fully dressed outside the Air Force base I was TDY to without a clue how I arrived there or why. But, that is NOT a St. Pat story. Just a military drunken stupid trip.
Maggie
March 17, 2016 1:42 pm
And those are the only two times I ever drank too much.
Bob
March 17, 2016 2:23 pm
I visited my cousins in Florida at age 17, when the legal drinking age there was 18. My older cousin bought the four of us almost of a case of Mogen David 20-20, also know in the day as Mad Dog 20-20. I believe it was the grape flavor, just like grape cola with a BIG kick.
We went to the drive-in movies, and proceeded to drink it up. Fortunately, the driver had the sense to imbibe in moderation, or I may not have survived to tell the story.
Those of you who are familiar with Florida roads know that many of them are built like 4-lane highways. We decided to go late-nite cruising — lucky we didn’t run across any cops. Sometime during the ride, I got sick. I handed my glasses to my brother and rolled down the back seat window. Hanging almost halfway out the car window, with the car going 60 mph, I painted a straight line of puke on the road for at least half a mile — that’s about 30 seconds of elapsed time, btw. Much hilarity ensued. Someone got the brilliant idea that they wanted to try to top my impressive feat of grossness, so we turned around, we went down the same stretch of road, and by God, my cousin laid a strip even longer than mine. It must have been the corn dogs he had eaten that put him over the top!
Upon later reflection, that turned out to be one of those experiences some people get — the kind that make you decide to swear off a certain form of stupidity going forward. After that, for me there was no more MD 20-20, no more drinking contests, and no more drinking at drive-ins. I do miss the drive-in movies…
Stucky
March 17, 2016 4:11 pm
I got drunk one day last year while reading TBP. I got so drunk flash’s posts starting making sense.
That’s why I’ve vowed to never ever get drunk again.
IndenturedServant
March 17, 2016 6:07 pm
I can’t answer that on the grounds that it might incriminate me!
tayronachan
March 17, 2016 10:58 pm
I can’t remember.
Gayle
March 18, 2016 1:47 am
There was the commuter bus from San Francisco late on a Friday night. I was 23. My husband and I had partied heavily with people I worked with and were heading home. The bus was filled with mostly men in suits and ties, and I was wearing my cute coat and cute heels and carrying the matching purse. We sat towards the rear of the bus. It was a quiet ride. Suddenly I knew I was going to throw up, and I panicked at this turn of events. It was going to go all over the floor or only one other place: the purse. Of course I chose the purse. Have you ever tried to retch quietly? I closed the flap of the purse against its new contents and hoped the aroma wasn’t wafting through the air, but I imagine it was. When we reached our stop, I walked up the aisle daintily carrying the purse from hell, trying to look prim and nonchalant at the same time. To this day I wonder if I fooled anybody (probably not).
Only because I’m a very different person now….
When I went to University of Missouri Rolla out of a Podunk high school in the farmlands of the bootheel of Missouri, I was a naive smartass young lady who had a good brain but little common sense. Trying to fit in with all the folks from big high schools around St. Louis and Kansas City intimidated me and so I resorted to showing off at the things I was really better trained by my country upbringing.
St. Pat, if you didn’t know, is the Patron Saint of Engineers, which means that at an engineering school like UMR was then… the middle of March was an unofficial week off for students to party and celebrate the Irish in all of us.
Well, there were beer chugging contests, of course.
I could chug a pitcher of beer faster than the biggest guy around. For some reason, my brother had come back from the Navy when I was 14 and decided his little sister needed to be able to drink beer and maintain. So, I entered and won, which impressed all my new fancy chic college friends famously.
In fact, I was asked to repeat the feat several times and the captain of the rugby team declared I was his kind of woman and swept me up in his handsome arms and I promptly threw up all over him.
It was a night I never forgot. Fortunately, the semester was over a few weeks later and I never returned to the school.
My son is there now in his senior year and I have not told him that story. I’m hoping he doesn’t come home telling me the St. Pat legend about this wild country hick chick who could chug beer like a sailor.
I literally can’t remember…
Our ship was breasted outboard of two other Knox Class frigates. They were virtual carbon copies. I came back drunk and miss-counted brows. I ended up in the engineering birthing of a sister ship in some other guys rack. The next morning everyone was wondering who the new guy was.
* Berthing…stupid spellcheck/autocorrect.
Mostly from high school – small rural town in northern Canada so every weekend was a good drinking story. Most of them centred around a guy we called “Jethro”. I’ll leave it at that.
The best stories usually involve dropping acid – only if you survive, though.
Too many stories… couldn’t possibly come up with a best one.
There was also the time I woke up in a hotel bathtub fully dressed outside the Air Force base I was TDY to without a clue how I arrived there or why. But, that is NOT a St. Pat story. Just a military drunken stupid trip.
And those are the only two times I ever drank too much.
I visited my cousins in Florida at age 17, when the legal drinking age there was 18. My older cousin bought the four of us almost of a case of Mogen David 20-20, also know in the day as Mad Dog 20-20. I believe it was the grape flavor, just like grape cola with a BIG kick.
We went to the drive-in movies, and proceeded to drink it up. Fortunately, the driver had the sense to imbibe in moderation, or I may not have survived to tell the story.
Those of you who are familiar with Florida roads know that many of them are built like 4-lane highways. We decided to go late-nite cruising — lucky we didn’t run across any cops. Sometime during the ride, I got sick. I handed my glasses to my brother and rolled down the back seat window. Hanging almost halfway out the car window, with the car going 60 mph, I painted a straight line of puke on the road for at least half a mile — that’s about 30 seconds of elapsed time, btw. Much hilarity ensued. Someone got the brilliant idea that they wanted to try to top my impressive feat of grossness, so we turned around, we went down the same stretch of road, and by God, my cousin laid a strip even longer than mine. It must have been the corn dogs he had eaten that put him over the top!
Upon later reflection, that turned out to be one of those experiences some people get — the kind that make you decide to swear off a certain form of stupidity going forward. After that, for me there was no more MD 20-20, no more drinking contests, and no more drinking at drive-ins. I do miss the drive-in movies…
I got drunk one day last year while reading TBP. I got so drunk flash’s posts starting making sense.
That’s why I’ve vowed to never ever get drunk again.
I can’t answer that on the grounds that it might incriminate me!
I can’t remember.
There was the commuter bus from San Francisco late on a Friday night. I was 23. My husband and I had partied heavily with people I worked with and were heading home. The bus was filled with mostly men in suits and ties, and I was wearing my cute coat and cute heels and carrying the matching purse. We sat towards the rear of the bus. It was a quiet ride. Suddenly I knew I was going to throw up, and I panicked at this turn of events. It was going to go all over the floor or only one other place: the purse. Of course I chose the purse. Have you ever tried to retch quietly? I closed the flap of the purse against its new contents and hoped the aroma wasn’t wafting through the air, but I imagine it was. When we reached our stop, I walked up the aisle daintily carrying the purse from hell, trying to look prim and nonchalant at the same time. To this day I wonder if I fooled anybody (probably not).