PARTY FOUL!

Don’t act like you haven’t heard it before.  According to Urban Dictionary, it’s “something socially unacceptable done in a social gathering.” For those of us who have been in the presence of a party foul or may have accidentally committed one ourselves, we know that they’re much more than that.

Thanks to digital cameras, your unfortunate lack of judgment will probably be plastered all over the Internet before you even have the chance to pull your head out of the toilet the next morning.  But no matter how bad things get for you, just thank your lucky stars that you’ve never committed any of these…

You haven’t, right?

Tossing Your Cookies. This is quite possibly the most commonly seen party foul. If you really have to throw up, try making it to the bathroom.  When your pre-drinking meal ends up on a fellow partier or in a potted plant— major party foul.

Bed Hog. “Getting jiggy with it” is not a party foul itself, but when you’re doing whatever you do in someone else’s bed— not so cool. Especially if you don’t know whose bed it is. Extra bonus points if you wake up next to the biggest creep at the party. He may have looked like Rupert Grint last night, but this morning your Harry Potter hottie looks a lot like a steroid-induced Carrot Top. Yummy.

Dancing Queen. The next time you get the urge to clear the dance floor and whip your hair back and forth, don’t.  Only one person on the planet can actually look cute flinging their head around like a crazy person and that’s Miss Willow Smith herself. Anyone else who feels like attempting this dance move should resort to doing so in the privacy of their own home…doors locked, curtains closed.

The Hot Mess. You might have your way with the fellas sober, but if you’ve been pounding down the spiked punch all night you may want to back off a little. When you start hitting on every guy at the party with fake eyelashes dangling off your face and your breath reeking of the soggy chips you just found on the floor, it’s time to call it quits for the night.

American Idol. So, you think your voice is God’s gift to the world? Well once your favorite song comes on and you start belting out the lyrics to “The Climb” at top of your lungs, you’ll have people running for the door. Stay off the furniture, it’s not a stage. And when your audience is throwing beer cans at you, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Somebody’s Trippin’. Blame it on the a-a-alcohol all you want, but no one is going to care why you just belly-flopped into the middle of the floor. Whatever the reason, it was hilarious and certainly party foul-worthy. And possibly a candidate for America’s Funniest Home Videos.

Duel it Out. There’s nothing like watching fights get broken out over the most ridiculous things. Girls pull each other’s hair, guys punch walls— it’s lots of fun. Usually the fights conclude with the girls “hugging it out” and apologizing for hitting on each other’s boyfriends and the guys making up for lost drinking time by doing multiple keg stands.

In the end, a party isn’t a party without a few drunken messes stumbling around, breaking things and wondering why they’re never invited back again.  No one wants to be “that girl,” but for the sake of everyone’s entertainment, we might as well get those referee’s whistles blowin’.

What’s the worst party foul you’ve ever been called out on or witnessed? Tell us in the comments or, better yet, give us the deets in an anonymous morning after story.

I remember my college graduation like it was yesterday. After a group of my friends threw an open bar graduation party for family and friends the night before, I woke up graduation morning hungover, naked and confused about  my whereabouts. I rolled over to find myself lying next to the first college friend I made at orientation.

“Fitting,” I thought to myself. Then I grabbed my clothes (all but one shoe…which I told myself I could live without) and ran out the door. If I didn’t get home soon, I would be late for graduation.

I hailed a cab on the corner of the street and hopped in. On the short ride back to my house, I passed families all dressed up for the great moment that was their son/daughter/grandchild/cousin/brother/sister’s graduation. I looked down at the clothes I wore the night before and the unidentified scars that can only come from a night of heavy drinking on someone else’s tab.

“Fitting,” I thought to myself again.

When I got home, I threw open the door to find my roommates standing around the mirror attempting to get their caps on straight. They looked at me with a mixture of “you go, girl!” and “really? The day of graduation?” looks on their faces.

I ran to my room. There was no time to shower, so a ponytail and a fresh coat of makeup would have to do. I was meeting my family in 25 minutes and, being that it was MY graduation, I couldn’t be late. I threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, washed my face, threw my hair in a ponytail (thank god that cap covered all the grease) and was on my way. Before I could make it out the door with my roommates, though, a wave of nausea hit me.

I leaned over the porch and puked. On my honors cord.

“Fitting,” my best friend said as she fished my cap out of the bushes.

My roommates helped me wipe off my overpriced rayon gown and held my clammy hands as we made our way to the stadium. I chugged a bottle of water and chewed three pieces of gum before quickly greeting my family and getting in line for the procession.

The rest of graduation is kind of a haze. I walked with my friends while simultaneously talking to and looking for my parents in the sea of 100,000 people.  I spent the rest of the boring 2 hour ceremony talking to my friends over some boring speech by some dude I’d never heard of, all while praying to god that I could make it out of there before I puked again.

And then it was over. When all was said and done and our caps were thrown in the air, I started to sob. Somewhere in the stands my parents were also crying, but unlike their tears of joy and pride at their baby growing up, mine were tears of deep, deep sorrow.

College was officially over. The life I had worked towards for the past 16 years was about to begin. All the friends I had made were about to be gone.

I stood in a circle with my best friends and we all cried as the stands emptied out around us. Then one of them pulled a fifth of vodka out from under her gown and passed it around.

“How fitting,” I thought to myself. And it all was.

Any of you have graduation stories to share? Was it everything you thought it would be? Share your stories below!

I remember those naive high school days when puking during a rager meant that a) you couldn’t control your liquor and b) the party was over, for you. That’s why I was shocked one night during my freshman year of college, when my friend came back from the bathroom and proudly announced, “Oh, man, I just puked my brains out!”

I immediately switched to babysitter-mode. “Are you okay? Do we need to leave?” I asked, fully concerned.

“Nope!” My friend replied. “Got more room for beer now!”

At the time, this was an unprecedented occurrence to me. I’d never considered the theory of “puke and rally.”

A few years later, I’ve totally become acquainted with this practice. One summer, after a coworker tried unsuccessfully to light three consecutive shots of Sambuca on fire in mouth, I knew that that much booze so quickly was not going to be good. After the third shot went down, I booked it for the bathroom and barfed. A friend was worriedly knocking on the bathroom door, concerned as I had once been for my own friend. I opened the door, and she asked if I was okay. My response?

“Let’s rage!”

It wasn’t until the next day that I’d admitted to vomiting. The funny thing is that, at the time, this seemed logical. But as I’m writing this, I am already imagining the scathing comments this article will receive from disgusted CC readers.

The truth is, there are thousands of college girls across the country who have taken to this procedure. Not only is it easy to think you’re sobering up by sticking your finger down your throat midway through the night (newsflash, you really aren’t), but, in today’s media-crazed, looks-obsessed society, there’s a lot of pressure for women to keep the freshman (or sophomore, or junior, or senior) fifteen off. And a lot of the time, getting rid of the empty alcohol calories seems like the way to go.

It’s a lot easier to induce vomiting when you’re already close to naturally letting go, or when you’re buzzed enough not to feel your index finger scraping your tonsils. And then there’s the midnight munchies. You know, when that chicken parm calzone, side of curly fries, and half order of mozzarella sticks sobers you up enough to know that you’re going to want to throw up in the morning just thinking about all those calories. So, ladies, what do many of us do? We throw up.

Vomiting due to drinking doesn’t have the stigma that true bulimia has. Bulimia is a disease. Binge drinking in college is merely a social problem. Besides, there’s always the “that hit me way too hard” excuse. If you’ve thrown up from drinking, chances are, people will assume it was a freak incident, but if your friends suspect you of having an eating disorder, they will call for intervention. So making yourself throw up with the “well I was drunk” excuse doesn’t seem so bad.

The truth? Purging is purging. You can’t make excuses to your esophagus when it is being eaten away by the stomach acid you just conjured up. And if you’re drinking to excess every night and consistently blowing chunks before hitting the hay, you better write an apology letter to your liver as well.

So, ladies, let’s make a pact – let’s not over-do the binging, and let’s not rely on purging as a quick solution to our bad decisions. Besides, what happens when you run into a hot guy at the end of the night, and your breath smells (and tastes) like stale beer, vomit, and the lingering aromas of cheese fries?

Yup, they’ve thought of it. The toilet seat scale. In case you don’t have time to stand up and wait about three seconds for your weight to show up. You can kill two birds with one stone by checking your weight and peeing out your recommended eight daily glasses of water at the same time. And everyone knows, we Americans love to multi-task.

That was my initial reaction to the news of the toilet seat scale.

But then I got to reading about the inspirations for the TSS.  Poor, naive, non-toilet-humor sharing little me didn’t consider the fact that this was actually created for consumers who might want to see how much weight they lose each time they relieve themselves.  It makes sense, but I’m a bit uncomfortable with that.  Sure, there are times when I’m at a seedy bar and refuse to risk getting the clap from the bathroom stall, and wait to get home to piss out approximately three gallons of beer.  And there are times when I indulge in some Olive Garden or Taco Bell and some unladylike shizz goes down in the bathroom.  It doesn’t help that I tend to get bladder (and bowel)-shy around people I don’t know and have to hold it for long periods at times, and at the end of those excruciating intervals, yes, I feel like I’ve lost about five pounds.

But do I actually want to know?  I don’t think that’s necessary.  Besides, one of the criticisms of the TSS is that it’s an open invitation to struggling bulimics.  Can you imagine that locker room convo? “I just puked up three pounds of Sushi.  You?”  Gross.

So, if its a convenience factor, I say bring it on.  Build a scale into the tiles immediately in front of my bathroom sink so I can check my weight at a glance while I brush my teeth.  But I’m perfectly content to refrain from monitoring how much skinnier I become after taking a massive dump, and I certainly don’t want to find out that when I “drop the kids at the pool,” I’m talking about quintuplets.

My personal consumer’s conclusion? Thanks, but no thanks, Toilet Seat Scale.

Annoying drunk people…

1. Feel the need to scream, “Omigod! I’m soooo drunk!” It’s not an Olympic sport. You don’t get a medal if you blow a .20 at the end of the night.

2. Feel the need to deny their drunkenness. They fall into walls and slur “I’m totally fine!” and then reach for a bottle of Bud Lite, Jager, Windex, anything, to prove that they can handle even more.

Avoid being an annoying drunk by going with the flow and hanging out. No need to announce your current level of inxotication, or how sober you think you are.

Annoying drunk people…

3. Need to be the center of attention by screaming, dancing on tables, and giving other partygoers a general headache. “We’re going streaking!” is only funny when it’s Will Ferrell.

4. Can’t help but be the center of attention by getting over-emotional and crying. Extra annoying points when they lock themselves in bathrooms and demand consolation from their best friend for hours, thereby ruining the non-annoying best friend’s night.

Avoid being an annoying drunk by checking your emotional baggage at the door and not using alcohol to combat your life’s problems. Also, don’t use booze as an excuse to prove how wild and uninhibited you are. If you are headed down the attention-whore road, try parking yourself on one bar stool for a night and seeing how many people gravitate towards you.

Annoying drunk people…

5. Need to get laid. No matter what. They think they’re sexy when they whisper sweet nothings into a hottie’s ear, when in reality they are slobbering all over a stranger’s face. Gross. Once rejected, they will probably stumble around the party, trying again. And again. And again.

6. Will get laid. By anyone. And sometimes everyone. Annoying drunk sex-maniacs will leave their friends behind to go home with a stranger, or swap saliva and other bodily fluids with many people – sometimes even multiple partners in one night. This isn’t classy, or particularly safe.

Avoid being an annoying drunk by putting your friends first, and choosing your partners wisely. There’s nothing wrong with an alcohol-induced makeout sesh once in a while, but you deserve the best, and you should hold out for top shelf lovers!

Annoying drunk people…

7. Leave their morals in the bottom of a shot glass. They steal, vandalize, and start fights. You don’t want to be the person that isn’t invited to the party because your friends think you are a klepto, and you don’t want to be banned from the bar for cracking pool sticks over your head, or bitch-slapping your peers.

8. Puke. They will puke on the floor of the bar, in cars, in their beds, their roommates beds, and all over themselves. We all have bad nights, drink one too many, and get the spins, but if your friends feel like an invitation to accompany you to a party means signing up to be a hair-holder, your company is going to get old quick.

Avoid being an annoying drunk by knowing your limits, at least to some extent.

If more than one of these annoying drunken traits apply to you, you might want to rethink the boozing. It’s great to unwind and have a good time, but if Jack Daniels turns transforms you from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde, you’re going to alienate your circle of drinking buddies. And you could be the person that the rest of us are pointing and laughing not with, but AT.

Sometimes I like to drink. A lot. And on those occasions I may or may not (okay, always) do stupid things. It is not me, you see; it is the alcohol. In fact, it is not until the morning after when I am chugging Gatorade and trying to get my bed to stop spinning that I even realize exactly what went down. And I feel bad – really, I do. So, I want to take this opportunity to apologize for it all.

To The Bartender: I am sorry that I hopped over the bar and drank beer directly from the tap. And attempted to spray my friends with Tonic Water. And knocked over that giant stack of glasses….

To My Best Friend: I am sorry that I bit your hand when you tried to take my falafel away from me. Yes, I know I said we would share. I am also sorry that I stole your shoe…and drank a beer out of it. And that I peed in your garbage can. Oh, wait. That was your sock drawer? My bad.

To My Friends: I am sorry that I called your girlfriend “Gorilla”…to her face (but I am more sorry that you are dating such a mess). Sorry that I brought that random dude back to the apartment and accidentally took him to your room. I will wash your sheets…and rug. Oh, and your teddy bear.

To The Cab Driver: I am sorry that I didn’t open the window far enough when I was attempting to puke and, therefore, got a lot on the inside of the door. I am also sorry that I only had $2 and 36 cents in pennies to pay you. And I appreciate you letting me give you my Bed Bath and Beyond gift card to cover the rest.

To The Random Person at Dominos: I am sorry that I ate half of your cheesy bread before you came to pick it up. It just looked so lonely on the counter.

To The Dude I Work With: I am sorry that I made out with you at Happy Hour and made you think that I was interested and then laughed at you (and told everyone about it) when you asked if you could come home with me. That was really insensitive.

To My Grandma: I am sorry that my friends and I thought it would be funny to drunk dial you at 3 am to tell you that I just hooked up in a bathroom. I just hope you don’t know what that means.

To The Guy That Lives Below Me: I am sorry that I was in the mood to tap dance when I got home from the bar at 5am. I am also sorry for that loud thump at around 7am; my bed was rocking and I rolled right off.

To That Dude I Met: I am sorry that things didn’t work quite that well. It is really hard to aim/stay focused with 6 vodka/Red Bulls in my system. I am also sorry that I stole that pair of boxers; I couldn’t find my skivvies in the morning and needed something under my dress. P.S. Let me know if you find those…

To That Dude I Met’s Girlfriend: He didn’t tell me about you until the next morning. And that underwear you may find somewhere in his room are mine. Sorry ’bout those.

To My Liver: I am so, so, so sorry.

I hope that this covers everyone… past, present and future.

Anyone wanna hit up happy hour tonight? Let me know!

–Laur

[Photo not courtesy of my private collection, but rather metro.co.uk]

Ugh.

So for this episode, the parents are set to arrive and the ladies have to clean.

Seezinz discovered a toilet clogged with Hotlanta drunk puke – it had been there for days so Black and Seezinz clean the stank. I wanna die just thinking about it yet somehow I feel like this is going to be the highlight of the show.

First in are T2’s parents. I’m surprised T1 didn’t show up, too. Flav has his hair done in those braid horns again.

Next, Sinceer’s dad arrives. He’s wearing a hat – is he hiding his klingon forehead? He asks for a beer and we’re probably going to see where Sinceer gets that personality of hers.

Seezinz parents come in and they start questioning Flav. “Why do you wear a clock?” “What are you intentions?” “What you planning from this moment forward with our daughter?” Uh, do they know that this isn’t for real dating? “How many seasons have you done this?” Well, then you should know. “You don’t need to have sex to find love.” Really, Mama Seezinz? Flav and I disagree.

Flav takes Sinceer, T2 and Co. to go bowling. I hate bowling. T2 is surprisingly good at it and Sinceer feels jealous. Ew, don’t make out with anyone in front of their parents.

Next date is with Seezinz and her family and a solo Black to go mini golfing. I hate mini golfing worse than I hate bowling. Why do I even care about where they go?

Post date, T2’s mom comes at her with the “can you stand on your own” and don’t be friends with anyone or something like that. I was too busy shopping to really care. But I guess that Sinceer is going to use this against her or whatever.

(Should I get that shirt? That’s really my only concern right now).

Flav wins over Seezinz parents somehow – I guess he seemed charming? – but he is also concerned that no one was there for Black. She told him that her mom was advised by her attorney to not go out there and that her grandparents are too old. But Flav doesn’t care because he thinks that she’s hot and he demonstrates his concern by making out with her. Guess whatever work he did on Seezinz’s parents was for naught after that kiss.

At the end of the day, Flav hosts a family dinner. Who’s gonna get wasted? Flav’s mom joins everyone for dinner. And Sinceer’s dad gets wasted and starts acting a fool. Flav must also be drunk – he wants the girls to go around the table and say something nice about everyone else. Sinceer won’t say anything nice about T2 but she waits to plot some kind of weird revenge.

After dinner and some inspirational Mama Flav talk (it was inspiration to the girls on the est, right?), Sinceer tells Flav that T2 is dependent and not strong enough for him. Flav talks to T2 about it and then she goes up to confront she-Worf.

Eliminations: God, this episode is boring. Let’s just cut to it:

T2 goes home and the other three are going to Paris.

Is the next episode the finale? Do I want this shirt instead?

I guess that I should make a prediction, even though I’ve been wrong every time I’ve made one for this show.

I say Black will win it. What say you?

The smell of tequila across the table from me at the restaurant is still engraved into my olfactory memory this morning. Tequila was one of my first liquor loves.

Of course when I was under age and drinking whatever was free to me, I hadn’t the slightest clue of what I actually PREFERRED to drink. However, when I moved to NYC and started to call the shots–literally–tequila was my choice drink.

But just as the rumor has it…tequila can often times lead to trouble. And after finding myself neck deep in a puke-filled toilet’s worth of trouble over and over again with tequila…I finally stopped drinking the stuff.

But last night, it’s stench made me shiver. After all these consecutive days of not drinking…what would have been a more appropriate drink to break my cycle than that instigating drink of the devil; that paradoxical beverage of poison and paradise…?

I stopped myself and munched on my spring rolls. Deep fried anything should, in my opinion, replace alcohol in a diet. (Side note: Can you deep fry a jello shot?)

Yet again, last night, after my evening festivities (and yes, I have adopted a new definition for the word “festive” this week), I made the sober decision to take the train home. As I slipped on the concrete and literally ate sh*t as I tried to cross the road to enter the subway, I laughed at myself as I slid my metrocard through the turnstile. I knew that there was no way in Hell that guy behind me who witnessed the ridiculousness would believe that I was sober. I almost wanted to approach him…

“Hey, um, ha, I just wanted to tell you that when I fell out there before…you know…out there on the street in front of the taxi…um….it wasn’t because I was drunk…“

He would, invariably, interrupt me with laughter as I would force myself to continue with the unnecessary elaboration…

“...really…it was only because I just got these new boots and they have absolutely NO right being sold in NYC because you just can’t walk in them…not because they’re uncomfortable, but because they are slippery….no traction...”

He would walk away from me and I would sit on the train to Astoria, laughing at how pathetic I am.

I didn’t have that conversation, needless to say, but as I could still smell the tequila when the N train surfaced from the tunnels of Manhattan…I did…in fact…audibly laugh at how pathetic I am.

I really can’t wait to drink again.

Unlike freshman year in the dorms, the real world doesn’t provide you with a place filled with hundreds of people just like you looking for new people to drink (and hook up) with. Well, I guess that might happen if you move to Murray Hill in New York City, but for the rest of us that just isn’t a reality.

It seems that most of us make our new real-life friends at work. Which makes sense; we spend so much time at the office (and, oftentimes, need a few drinks afterwards) that it is only natural to get close with the people alongside us. For the most part this is a good thing; there are many times when the only thing motivating you to get to the office is the opportunity to see your buds.

But what happens when things go a bit too far?

Last week I mentioned a friend of mine who explained to me his love for morning sex. Well, that friend also happens to work with me. Actually, I work for him; he’s my boss. Now, this isn’t as creepy as it sounds; he is only 29 and we do hang out socially. But, as I work here longer we get closer and closer the line between personal and professional continues to blur.

At first I didn’t mind that much, but now as we share more and more “after 5” stories, I am beginning to worry about our working relationship. I mean, how can he take me seriously in a business meeting when he saw me puke at the bar? And how can I heed his constructive criticism when all I can think about is the crazy sex he had the night before? Or when I wake up and find him on my couch with my friend visiting from out of town?

I don’t want to stop hanging out with him – mostly because he’s one of the closest friends I have right now! – but I worry that we may make our way down a very awkward road. One that may make working together slightly weird. Or totally impossible.

I want to be taken professionally at my job, but how can I do that when I am partying with the very person who reviews my performance?

And, working 60 hours a week, where else am I going to find friends?!