Many years ago I was that loud, funny, sometimes entertaining, often annoying drunk at a party. I never drank at home or by myself, only in social situations. People loved me or hated me. My own opinion of myself in that state, fell somewhere in the middle. Often it leaned more to the negative. Being wasted resulted in many hilarious stories. But it also meant I made regrettable choices. Allow me to give you an example.
About fifteen years ago, I was emcee at a wedding for quite an affluent couple, who also happened to be doctors. I'd written a poem likening falling in love to having a heart attack, using the medical terminology; myocardial infarction. My poetic game was strong. I was ready to rock that wedding with my trademark dry humour, wit and showmanship. Two days before the big event, the bride's father had a heart attack and he would remain in Perth whilst everything went ahead, as planned, in Melbourne. I couldn't read the poem now, surely? But everyone, including the bride, assured me it would be well received. I wasn't nervous at all until I walked into the reception venue and realised how huge it was and how many more guests there were. Oh yes, thanks, I'll have a wine. A second? Certainly couldn't hurt. I was six glasses in before I was handed the microphone.
*Cue Robbie Williams singing 'Let Me Entertain You'*
I ignored everything I'd written and just free styled the night. To those in my audience, yeah, MY audience, not the wedding guests of friends I adored, it was a train wreck. To me, it was spoken word gold. By the time I was scheduled to unleash my poetic genius on everyone, I was into double figures with the wine. The guests fell silent in anticipation and it was at this point that the brother of the bride walked over the me and held a mobile phone under my face. On the other end of the line was his father, laying in a hospital bed, recovering from heart surgery. Even in my drunken haze, I wanted to spontaneously combust. I looked at the brother, I looked at the bride, I looked at the phone and I recited that damn poem. Silence. ANOTHER WINE PLEASE, WAITER!
A better person may have skulked into the shadows and remained low key for the rest of the night. But that was not my drunken M.O. I worked that room so hard and despite my horrific state, a few guys were obviously fine with setting their sights exceptionally low and hit on me. Maybe they thought I was a sure thing, who knows? I remember chatting to one guy at the bar, he was a pilot for major airline, smart, funny and hot. I'm terrible at flirting, even when I'm at my best, but what I'm about to tell you is not indicative of my flirting capabilities. I cringe just thinking about it.
I asked him if he wanted to see a trick. He said sure. I picked up my half full glass of merlot, pushed the rim to the lower part of my face and sucked the air out of the glass until the glass of wine stuck to my face without assistance. Then I gently tipped my head back and took a big sip. TA DA! I outstretched my arms in triumph. Several people applauded, including Hot Guy. Then I tried to remove the glass from my face. It wouldn't come off. I pulled the stem harder, then harder. It wouldn't budge. The wine was swishing around my lower face and no matter what I did, the glass was stuck. I braced myself for one almighty tug (shut up) and with every ounce of strength in my body, I pulled the stem of the glass. My fists slammed down onto the bar, with the stem. I could see blood. The bowl of the glass was still stuck to my face, the blood was from a cut on my hand that had hit the end of the broken stem. Suddenly, the bowl of the glass fell from my face, on to the bar and the contents of the glass splashed all over my face and hair. I was drenched in merlot, my hand was bleeding but people were applauding and laughing. Validation!
I hit the dance floor, like Elaine from Seinfeld on meth. I danced, I sang, I did jump splits. More applause, more laughter. I was on fire! What I didn't realise at that point was that performing the splits move, I had ripped the back of my dress, from my knees to my lower back. Yep, my knickers were on display for all to see. A friend grabbed a camera from the table, this was before smartphones and digital cameras, and we headed to the bathroom to take anonymous shots of body parts so that the poor sod who had their film developed would be greeted with the boobs, bums etc of two drunken idiots in amongst their lovely wedding photos.
I left the party with my friends, lived through a nightmare hangover, received a thank you card from the bride addressed to MC Hammered and when I had my photos developed, I discovered my roll of film peppered with shots of body parts, including mine. I was the poor sod.
I rarely drink anymore and when I do, I'm usually tipsy on two glasses and that's more than enough for me. That photo above is from the night before my birthday last September. I was in Sydney with my friend Jayde and after that one glass, I headed to bed and slept like a log. That's how I party hard these days.