John's Bachelor Party: The Not-Quite-Sober View
The title of this post is derived from a similar post by Peter, who has a new LJ as of yesterday. While I'm pretty sure his username, gats, is something from some anime, I can't help but wonder whether it's Norwegian for "peep-show" ;) Anyway, everyone put him on your friends list and harass him.
But, let's get back to the subject at hand, John's bachelor party, which took place last night. As Peter has already summarized what happened until he left at 2:30, I guess I'll just fill in the rest, which was probably the most interesting/frustrating/humiliating part of the evening. Since I don't have nearly enough money to drink at strip clubs, I was pretty sober throughout the whole night, and so my recollections are pretty secure (though I've omitted some of the less interesting bits). If you are uninterested in a sordid tale of personal degradation (John's, not mine), you can stop reading now.
...
Well, after John had consumed all the booze we put in front of him, and possibly more (I think Peter's estimate of 10 vodka shots and 8 beers is about right), he was pretty drunk by 3:00, given that we were stone-cold sober at midnight when we got to the bar. And so, just after Peter left, John quickly lost motor control. By the time we pulled him out of the bar, he was rambunctious but still upright, which led him to run off to pee on the bushes surrounding a restaurant patio off Ste. Catherine St. Which would have been great, except that the cops were sitting half a block away. Fortunately, they had better things to do than charge us all with accessory to public urination.
Moving along the street (slowly), we didn't have to draw any attention to John on his 'special night', as he was, by this point, losing the ability to move on his own. Because the person we thought might be taking John home turned out to have left without our knowing, we convinced Chris L. to help us get him home in his car. For some reason, Chris was unwilling or unable to bring the car to John, which seemed fine at first, but after he started getting more ... troublesome ... it was a bit inconvenient. John thought it would be hilarious to run us (we were holding him upright at this point) into the trees along the street, and then spent some time hugging the trees as well as one of those big pillars with the Montreal map on it. We cajoled, bribed and coerced John until we finally made it to the car, all the while amusing the folks on the street. At one point, John lay down on the sidewalk and refused to walk any further, which was damn inconvenient. But, using my years of practice with the terminally inebriated, we forced him to put one foot in front of the other, given that John's a pretty hefty guy and we would have had difficulty carrying him uphill to where the car was parked.
So we finally got him in the car, and Chris, Louis, and I took John home. By this time, it was well past 4 am. Fortunately, John passed out in the car, which made for a quiet ride. When we got to his place, however, we had the joy of trying to coax/pull him out of the car. John, somehow, had got it into his head that we were not yet at his home, and kept on insisting that we needed to go to his house, and reciting his address. Then he started to throw up; fortunately, he managed to (mostly) get his head out the car door, so he only got a little puke on the very edge of the car. After that, he seemed to become slightly more aware, and we dragged him, stumbling and cursing, into his apartment, where I got him a glass of water that I'm not entirely sure he drank, and then left him to restfully slumber. By the time I got home, it was past 4:30 am and, given the whole summer solstice thing, it was already becoming light out.
So that's the end of the story. Fortunately, John never got to the point where he would have needed longer-term supervision, since Julia would not have been thrilled to see John on our couch this morning when she woke up. In conclusion, John's two goals, namely to have a good meal and to get really drunk, were fully accomplished.
But, let's get back to the subject at hand, John's bachelor party, which took place last night. As Peter has already summarized what happened until he left at 2:30, I guess I'll just fill in the rest, which was probably the most interesting/frustrating/humiliating part of the evening. Since I don't have nearly enough money to drink at strip clubs, I was pretty sober throughout the whole night, and so my recollections are pretty secure (though I've omitted some of the less interesting bits). If you are uninterested in a sordid tale of personal degradation (John's, not mine), you can stop reading now.
...
Well, after John had consumed all the booze we put in front of him, and possibly more (I think Peter's estimate of 10 vodka shots and 8 beers is about right), he was pretty drunk by 3:00, given that we were stone-cold sober at midnight when we got to the bar. And so, just after Peter left, John quickly lost motor control. By the time we pulled him out of the bar, he was rambunctious but still upright, which led him to run off to pee on the bushes surrounding a restaurant patio off Ste. Catherine St. Which would have been great, except that the cops were sitting half a block away. Fortunately, they had better things to do than charge us all with accessory to public urination.
Moving along the street (slowly), we didn't have to draw any attention to John on his 'special night', as he was, by this point, losing the ability to move on his own. Because the person we thought might be taking John home turned out to have left without our knowing, we convinced Chris L. to help us get him home in his car. For some reason, Chris was unwilling or unable to bring the car to John, which seemed fine at first, but after he started getting more ... troublesome ... it was a bit inconvenient. John thought it would be hilarious to run us (we were holding him upright at this point) into the trees along the street, and then spent some time hugging the trees as well as one of those big pillars with the Montreal map on it. We cajoled, bribed and coerced John until we finally made it to the car, all the while amusing the folks on the street. At one point, John lay down on the sidewalk and refused to walk any further, which was damn inconvenient. But, using my years of practice with the terminally inebriated, we forced him to put one foot in front of the other, given that John's a pretty hefty guy and we would have had difficulty carrying him uphill to where the car was parked.
So we finally got him in the car, and Chris, Louis, and I took John home. By this time, it was well past 4 am. Fortunately, John passed out in the car, which made for a quiet ride. When we got to his place, however, we had the joy of trying to coax/pull him out of the car. John, somehow, had got it into his head that we were not yet at his home, and kept on insisting that we needed to go to his house, and reciting his address. Then he started to throw up; fortunately, he managed to (mostly) get his head out the car door, so he only got a little puke on the very edge of the car. After that, he seemed to become slightly more aware, and we dragged him, stumbling and cursing, into his apartment, where I got him a glass of water that I'm not entirely sure he drank, and then left him to restfully slumber. By the time I got home, it was past 4:30 am and, given the whole summer solstice thing, it was already becoming light out.
So that's the end of the story. Fortunately, John never got to the point where he would have needed longer-term supervision, since Julia would not have been thrilled to see John on our couch this morning when she woke up. In conclusion, John's two goals, namely to have a good meal and to get really drunk, were fully accomplished.