Well played china… Well played.
The Driveway Camping Incident….
So… In May 2011, I had just returned home from Colorado a few weeks prior from a short stint in treatment. I was like a freshly unkinked hose, I was partying way too much and way too hard after two weeks of forced sobriety. A visit from an old friend, combined with some partying that would’ve frightened Motley Crue, put the brakes on that. What you’re about to read is my account of round two.
The aftermath of night one still was echoing through the poor, abused streets of South Minneapolis. So, we decided to keep it local and mellow and go to Rosemount and hit the mini crawl aka the trifecta. Anyone who is familiar with the bars in Rosemount also is familiar with the fact that there is no such thing as a mellow night in Rosemount. It’s a fucking black hole. The key players in this game of “Drink Until You’re Legally Retarded” are Smelson(and other variations of anything with “smell” in it) and yours truly
Now that we have the stage and the cast established, let us proceed.
It’s Saturday night, I’m broke and bored. My sister and brother in law suggest that we go to Celts and sing karaoke. I agree to go after they agree to sponsor a few drinks for me. We go in and it’s a real chill atmosphere so, we settle in and order a few drinks. I order whiskey on the rocks and beer. Then I sign up for a few jams and begin drinking. I sing and check my phone, Smel Gibson has been blowing me up. I assume that his grandfathers 1048th birthday party is over and I call him back.
After some less than witty banter he informs me that he will be meeting me at Celts and that if I haven’t already done so…. I should lace up and tie my drinking boots. I, of course, call him a pussy and point out that I came stock with drinking everything so drinking shoes aren’t necessary and I tell him to hurry up.
A few drinks and a few songs later, Smelly arrives. This is were things begin to get get hairy.
Smelson is immediately told to fuck off by a bartender who assumes his ID is clipped when in reality, a puppy had chewed the corner. FUCK! Now we have to go to Shenanigans. This is rarely a good decision.
Upon arrival, Smelly Retardo begins force feeding me Jag shot after Jag shot.
Me: Dude! What the fuck!?
Smel: I have to catch up!
Me: You’re buying me a shot every time you buy one for yourself…. You will never catch up with me like that. I am shit faced.
Smel: Pussy. You want red bull in them then?
Me: …. Yes.
The shots keep coming, my head starts hanging due to lack of motor skills, muscle function, and a mild case of alcohol poisoning.
Kate(sister): Jimmy, are you ok?
Me: I’m fine. I’m really fucking drunk.
Kate: I can tell. Do you wanna go home, Bobby and I are leaving.
Me: No.
Kate: Are you sure? I don’t think you should be drinking anymore.
Me: Pff…. Fuck that. Hey Nelson! Are you staying?
Smel: Fuck yea!
Me: I not leaving. (This was a typo but, it’s seriously closer to the actual dialogue)
Kate then proceeds to tell me that she nor Bobby(my bro in law) will be coming to get me after they leave and that if I wanna go this was my chance. Then she turns to Smelly and tells him that I am no longer responsible for myself and that if anything happens to me, he answers to her. He then tells her that we’ll stay a few blocks away at his Uncle Wades whom is out of town. Smel Gibson is not any sort of person to trust with a raisin let alone a severely drunk maniac.
The Jager keeps coming.
Last call is announced and I am handed another beer and several Jags. I am blacking out and waking up surprised that I’m still at the bar.
Last memory of the bar: Nelson tells me that he has to pee and that he’s calling his Uncle Wade to make sure we can get in(it’s a 5-6 block walk.)
I snap out of being blacked out on auto pilot heading towards Uncle Wades…. Alone.
I panic.
I see a car. I assume that it’s a cop and run into a yard and do an action roll into a patch of pine trees.
It’s a mini-van.
I wake up. Shivering. In a fucking driveway! My belongings are surrounding me. My cigarettes have been emptied out of the pack. I am wet. I am confused. I stand up and realize that I’m still probably at a B.A.C. that would land me in the Guinness Book Of World Records and begin laughing at the fact that I made it to Uncle Wades.
I’m too drunk to care or acknowledge that it’s 60 degrees and I’m soaking wet. I try and go back to sleep on the porch in the sun. I have the spins, I’m still so hammered. I give up and try and get in, the door is locked. “Fuck….” I mutter as I pull out my cell phone to begin calling for some help. Smel? No answer. Kate? No answer. Bobby? No answer…. It’s 5:30 am. I call my Dad. He answers.
Dad: Hello?
Me: Dad. Will you come pick me up in Rosemount? I’m really drunk and I slept outside last night. Pretty sure I pissed my pants….
Dad: Goddammit! I have to go to work!
Me: I’m stranded.
Dad: Where are you?
Love,
JIM
P.S. It was totally piss.
I practice slow moshing all of these dances between bands at shows because I’m so hardcore and my mosh is choreographered.
