Cliche High School Eurotrip

Note*

Upon proofing this post I realize it is random. That is a result of not being able to remember much of what happened. Thanks be to alcohol, right?

April 2007

There are plenty of stories about American teens being drunk in Europe. Hell, there is even a raunchy movie about graduating seniors going wild in Europe. The problem with most stories, is that they are only entertaining to their friends or family, but when a random person is told, that person does not get the same entertainment out of it. Why do my drunk tales entertain just about anyone? It is because of my erratic behavior. You do not even need to know the other people involved; it is purely what happened that entertained you. A friend of mine who reads my blog, suggested I write about my adventures in Europe. I have been to Europe many times, and thus have been really hammered just about each time I went. I decided that nothing would beat my stories of when, instead of going on vacation with my family as our annual tradition, I went on a high school trip to Italy and France my senior year.

By the time we went, which was during our spring break in late March, early April, I was a full blown alcoholic. Now, I did not drink every night. I was more of a party alcoholic. The weekends to me were all about drinking. My friends would take me to parties and they would all go get a beer, maybe take a shot or two and start dancing or go and talk to people; I arrive and my some telepathic properties instantly find the alcohol cache and I start my night with a good four shot train, all by myself. Soon after, I chug a beer. Then, I take one more shot, and take a beer and start talking to people. Unlike other people, I did not really go to parties looking to hook up, seeing as how I was foolish enough to try to remain faithful to a girl who was too ashamed of me to kiss me in front of her parents and family, but I do not give a shit, that story is not worth the blog. I went to parties and tried to start drinking competitions. I was beaten plenty of times, but there was a point where it seemed I was invincible, even at the risk of blacking out and not being able to remember trying to kick in every door in the house.

By the time it came to depart for Europe I was well prepared and very anxious. Probably not as bad as this one guy who was puking vodka in one of the plane's lavatories before we even finished boarding, fucking amateur. Our first destination was Rome, but we had to stop in Paris's Charles de Gaulle Airport to transfer flights. Before we even find our terminal, I find the bar. I knew it was going to be expensive considering we were inside the airport, so I only had four shots. I was feeling warm and cozy for the next flight and slept quite well. I wake up midflight and see my friends have beers, free by the way of flirting with a male flight attendant, so I go and pound both their beers, go back to my seat, and continue sleeping. The first night in Rome was liquor free, but this gave us the chance to buy some booze while sightseeing the next day. Now I have heard stories about the infamous Absinthe and its hallucinogenic properties. Now the only reason it ever made people hallucinate was because their absinthe had cocaine in it; mine was drug-free but it rocked my world nonetheless. The only liquor that comes close to the strength of absinthe is Everclear. They usually come in different degrees depending on the brand, so of course I had to buy the strongest one I could find. I do no remember the proof, but I do remember it being 96% alcohol. I bought two bottles.

We buy some beer and some other liquors prior to heading back to our hotel. Once we get back, we chow down our dinner and head up to my room. For some reason it was designated the "place to be." I guess I had a party guy image since people were spreading rumors that my room was the most likely place to get cigarrettes or booze. I get a knock on my door and it is two girls looking for some cigarettes and were told to go to my room. This is how I first met my friend Grace, standing in my doorway half naked and somewhat inebriated. I had not even taken my first shot of absinthe yet. Now what was completely oblivious to me was the "proper way to drink absinthe" which is putting ice cubes in a cup, pouring sugar over the ice, pouring half a cup of absinthe, and then diluting it with water. My friends were on the right track, they went a quarter of absinthe, and the rest was Sprite. I was not so smart. I did not really like mixing drinks, so like an idiot, I wanted straight shots of it. That first shot almost made me jump out my window, it burned so damn much. My friend Matt also took a straight shot with me and was feeling the same. Two beers later, I was ready for another shot. This was even worse and the result was me cursing out my window down at the courtyard for two straight minutes without taking a breath of air. Some shots of scotch whiskey and three beers made me prep for a third shot. Same result as shot number two. By the fourth shot I was so drunk and the straight absinthe was so horrible that I was drinking beer to cool the fire in my throat. Two more shots within an hour and I was gone. By then the absinthe was gone, there was no beer, not even the gay fruity beer someone bought, and I was so drunk I wanted to drink more. So I proceed to walk around the hotel looking for booze and pretty much clearing out the bar in the hotel. I do not really remember much of what had happened when I left my room but supposedly I went to two other rooms and had shots, I yelled at a bunch of french students in the patio, I mooned my brown ass to a handful of people, and flashed my penis to an unlucky handful. Also this conversation occured.

Me: I think I scared subuncha stupid ferrnch kids in the hall.
Matt: What happened?
Me: I was just walking down the fucking hall to go to the bar and some littlerr rat bastards started talking shit and called me an asshole. So i flipped them off, told them to fuck off or suck my dick and glared at them.
Jesus: I just saw it happen; all they said was "bonjour."
Me: HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!!!!
(Everyone in the room just laughs, except me)

I do know what "bonjour" translates to.

The following morning I woke up naked lying on top my bedsheets. The alarm starts blaring and my roommates are pissed when they realize the first thing they see that hungover morning is my naked still drunk body. Instead of trying to cover up my nudity I merely stand up, walk to the bathroom, and take a piss with the door open. My friends were pissed, but I do not blame them. I think what makes me so proud of that night is that I did not puke. Unlike the following night in which I drank 13 Irish Car Bombs, nine beers, and eight other cocktails over the course of two and a half hours. I do not even remember the vomit, but the next morning my new friend Grace tells me that I'm a horrible bastard. I guess I puked on a doorway she happened to put her hand on when stumbling back to her room. I still feel a bit bad about that, but I always burst out laughing when I think about it.

Have an airborne day.