Key West: FUBAR...

We drank.

We drank some more.

And we kept drinking.

Upon arrival to our awesome house, Terre (after picking us up at the airport at 2:30 in the morning) opened the fridge and showed us the supplies he and Deb had picked up.

I think I said something like, "Holy shit dude!"  The fridge was stockpiled with a case or two of soda, orange and cranberry juice, a couple cases of beer (Bahamian, jamaican, and local brews), lots of limes and other fruits.  It was packed.

Then, I looked at the counter.  Booze galore!  There were at least five or six bottles ranging from standard issue to a Mango Tequila liqueur, which as we found out Gwen LOVED.  And, we also found out that she's a very cute, very giggly drunk.  But that's another story!

And, looking down from the counter, there was a wine rack.  Crap.  Over a case and a half of wine. 

So, after our mouths finally shut after being agape for a few minutes, we headed off to our beds.  And, thanks to Tom's selection during our random drawing for bedrooms, Rae and I got the master suite!  Whoo hoo!

The next morning, I had a beer at about 9:30 or 10.  Then, I had another.  Soon, there were four dead soldiers on the counter and it wasn't even noon.  "This is gonna be easy," I said to myself.  "As long as I can keep going at this pace."

That was the problem.  Monday we went on a full day sailing adventure, and we kept going out to eat.  We did the Duval crawl for my birthday, and it didn't seem like supplies were dwindling much at all.

Terre at least had the bright idea of taking some of the cheaper wines and making sangria.  Hell, we had all the ingredients, and who can drink a full bottle of wine a night on top of all the other booze we were shoving down our throats?  

Making it a little fruitier did help make it possible to drink wine throughout the day and night, thus evening out our wine buzz with our booze buzz with our beer buzz.  

I felt like a drunken bee.

We started out staying up reasonably late with our concoctions, but then again we were filled with energy, hadn't been burned enough in the Key West sun, and felt like we had a lot left to explore on the tiny isle.  As the week wore on, our sleeping patterns changed quite a bit.  Hell, I would get toxed and start passing out before 8:30... I wasn't on my game.

I remember a trip to Mexico that I took with some people from the radio station back in 2001.  We would get up at noon, walk down to the pool and order a couple of buckets of beer while waiting for everyone else to get up.  Then we would pound beer all day long, and all night too.  We would stay up until 4 or 5am, drinking at Sr. Frog's until it closed.  Yeah, it was kind of a blur... but I did it, and did it well!

The only real problem I've ever had was when I didn't know what I was drinking.  Take a Bahamas trip I took with another "friend," Adam.  Actually, he's a good guy who was a little misguided one afternoon when he made mixed drinks with a heavy dose of Bahamian 151... 

We all passed out by about 8 that night EXCEPT for that little prick.  AND, everyone except him also woke up around 4am and headed down to the beach for a chilly but beautiful sunrise.  So, maybe it all works out in the end.

And, really I have nothing against Adam... I just enjoy calling him a prick from time to time to remind him of that trip.

Back to Key West...

I found myself getting drunker quicker than usual.  I also found myself getting tired quicker.  And EVERYONE in the house found out that I was snoring WAY LOUDER than normal.  I guess it was like a friggin' chainsaw.  It sounded like a kodiak bear was mauling the state fair's blue ribbon pig.  It was like a T-Rex was tearing the two-story house off it's foundation (not with its tiny arms though).  And, depending on who you asked, it apparently sounded like everyone was directly in the middle of a supernova just before it turns into a black hole.

It was loud.

I couldn't understand it when I was there, but I did when I got back.  I was getting a really bad cold and just didn't know it yet.  This cold laid me out helpless for 2 days without letting me up.  I had razor blades in my throat.  I had over a bottle of Dayquil and half a bottle of Nyquil.  Yes, it was cherry flavored NyQuil.  I can't stand that green shit.

At least that's what I'm using for an excuse... take it or leave it.

Back to Key West...

The "let's drink earlier" theory proved to be somewhat successful.  Some in the group had to wait until noon.  A few months ago I had stopped wearing a watch.  So I was able to keep my end of the task at hand, which was to try to get rid of as much alcohol as possible before we left.  It seemed like a good plan.

The whole thing came to a head on our final night, when we went on a sunset sail.  We found a boat that cost less, as it was a BYOB cruise, not the normal (somewhat pathetic) franchised, glossy, meat-market booze cruises that seemed geared toward the Mardi Gras, show-me-your-tits type of crowd.  You know, the popular kids from high school realizing that somewhere along the line they messed up their lives and are now looking to find salvation in meaningless sex.  Or even the "hey, I'm on spring break and I've always wanted an STD" cruise.  

Nothing against that if it's your particular brand of vodka.  Just calling it like I see it.

Anyhoo, we bought in to the BYOB sail, and managed to stuff five of the remaining wine bottles into our packs and headed off into the big blue.  Before we left the dock, we popped the first cork.

I poured my second glass as we headed out of the harbor, just as the crew started hoisting the sails.  I somehow managed to dump my full glass of red wine all over the white deck of the ship about a minute later.

"Fuck me running," I thought aloud.  Sailor Jerry and his crew of former ski lift operators (it's true!) were still busy with masts and sails and such, but told me to go to the head for paper towels.  Red in the face, I headed down twice to clean it all up.  I finally took a deep breath, put myself ass end down, and filled up again.

At the end of our second bottle, I was already feeling the effects.  Maybe it was the Dramamine I always take before I go on open water (a trick I learned all too well after going on a ship in Norway).  Maybe it was the oncoming cold or the rolling of the waves.  Maybe it was all the beer, booze and wine I had already drank in that day.  Hell, maybe it was a cumulative effect from the week.  (Actually, if you clicked the link for Dramamine and read the warnings... then I think you already know what it was.)

I felt myself stammering, not able to get my head straight.  I'm sure other passengers thought I was kind of a jerk, or at least a drunk.  I'll confess to both now and say I'm really much funnier when I've only had a drink or two.  After four, really, I think I start to lose all conscious thought and my jokes go to autopilot -- which isn't good as my mind is pretty quick with cut-downs even on a full tank of wine.  After six, I lose clear and understandable speech patterns.  After ten... well, you get the picture.

We managed to suck down all five bottles though, and I managed to get red wine on my new sweatshirt and Rachel's sweater, and her wine red backpack.  Thankfully you can't tell at all on the latter.

I swayed and floated and tripped back to the house where I packed my crap up for the trip back home.  No more wine for me!  We went to bed fairly early that night, in part due to our early rise (4:30am) for our early flight... though I think the booze didn't help matters any.

We ended up polishing off most if not all of the beer and mixers, all but one bottle of gin (still unopened), and left 4 or 5 bottles of wine.  I didn't get a final tally though.  My head and my overworked innards just weren't interested anymore.

I have yet to even think about drinking again since our return.

As my ancestors always said, "Skol!"