It was my first New Year’s Eve in New York City and I was very excited. It really is the place to be and I knew I was in for an night I would never forget.

I had a couple of friends in town and we planned to meet up with some of my other friends at a bar in the East Village. We started drinking at 6 at my place while we were getting ready to go. The three of us had to get showers and then meet my friends at 8. We forgot about dinner in our excitement and hurry to get out the door.

Once we got to the bar we decided to do shots of tequila. I don’t know why we thought this was a good idea but we were having a good time. I noticed the bartender when we went back for more. He was really cute. I saw out of the corner of my eye was watching me dancing with my friends. I decided after my third shot that I should talk to him. So we talked and flirted for a few minutes. Somehow we started making out. I don’t remember how it happened but I do remember it was fun. The next thing I know the least drunk of our group is tapping me on the shoulder.

“Um, what the hell are you doing? I know he is cute but you are trashed and it’s not even 10! Besides, Dana is on the sidewalk puking her guts out.” I just started giggling and she dragged me and my other friends outside to meet the puker. We decided we should head home before anything worse happened. Somehow we miraculously found a cab and headed back to Brooklyn. I was passed out by 10:30. We all slept through the countdown and missed out on Champagne but had massive hangovers anyway the next day.  So much for my exciting New Year’s Eve in New York City!

- Submitted by Drunken Debbie

Image via flickr Anna1128

The blog called Drinking Diaries details an American girl in Paris finding her way around the big city of hefty foods and lots of drinks:

Junior year in Paris: I was bloated from eating too many banana/nutella crepes, lovelorn (see above for bloat, and I didn’t find Frenchmen sexy, with their small, pointy shoes) and I had just gotten a B minus on my paper. I was about to leave Paris to travel around Europe with a good friend, no money and a Euro-rail pass. We celebrated our departure at a dark, narrow bar. I drank red wine. Beer. Lots of it. I got belligerent. In America, I was not the belligerent type, but abroad, I was. At one point, the bartender told me (in French–they finally spoke French to me those last weeks in Paris) to calm down. I took a gulp of beer, swished it around my mouth, puffed out my cheeks, and spat in his face. He told me to get the hell out of his bar (and some other stuff I couldn’t understand). And then I saw it–the glittering disco ball above the bar. I couldn’t resist a parting shot. I jumped up and pretended to spike the disco ball (which I pretended was a volleyball). I never saw what happened to the swinging ball, as I was escorted out of the bar–the Ugly American, on her last night in Paris.

This goes out to a special someone that is sadly leaving us for greener pastures:

It all started out at a new bar that had opened up a few months prior. It was started by a few choice B-list celebrities with the intent of attracting a wide range of people. This included skinny boys with numerous tattoos, which happened to be just my type. One of the bartenders fit this bill. His name was Jimmy and had the body of a rockstar. He made sure every girl in that bar knew it by lifting up his shirt to show off his amazing abs.

I was drawn to him like a moth to the flame. He poured me drink after drink without me knowing what was in them. Before I knew it, I was drunk beyond belief. I danced on the floor with my friends, twirling and flailing my arms around like a doped out hippy. I walked over to Jimmy just as he was pulling up his shirt to show his toned abs to another gaggle of girlies when I grabbed a pen off the counter and proceeded to write on him. I wrote “I <3 Rachel” with my number and then fled out of the bar giggling with my friends.

I got into a cab with two of my friends but didn’t realize how drunk I really was. Before I knew it, I was puking in the cab all over them both. We got to my friend’s apartment and I threw up all over her comforter. I ripped off my clothes and threw them into her tub and ran around her apartment stark naked screaming “I swear I am not drunk!” Not 5 minutes later I was passed out on her bed (the comforter was thrown on the floor still covered in my vomit) still naked and drunk. All of this was retold to me the following day since I didn’t remember a thing.

~submitted by Drunken Debbie