I Dream of Alcoholic Ice Cream

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Well there appears to never be a lack of drunken nights in my life here in Thailand, and last night was no exception to that fact. After enjoying a nap preceding a kebab that my stomach was not ready for, I grabbed a quick cup of coffee and met up with my fellow Global students (globals for short and it is not a disease, we are just special). The plan was to hit up the Amaltery, a lovely venue near our school that boasts ice cream with 5% alcohol content and an “all you can drink” buffet. If you know me at all by this point, it is clear that this is the type of location that frequently draws my attention.

We all walked up the stairs to the Bangkok Sky Train, bought our tickets, and boarded the crowded tram that took us to Chit Lom station. Departing the station, we made our way towards the Amaltery and buckled up for what was sure to be a bumpy ride.

Ok, open bars and I have a very strained, abusive relationship with one another. Very few end without me eventually lunging myself into shrubbery, taking off my pants in public venues, or singing throughout the streets in an off tone pitch. So, I can’t help but become nervous before engaging on such activities.

Entering into the small, one room bar/ice cream shop, we all made our way to the table and prepared to work out. Hey, the liver is a muscle after all. I gazed upon the menu and ordered myself up an old favorite, the black Russian. Rather than enjoying the drink for all it was (and it was good, the bar tender took his time and made fine creations behind his table top canvas), I slugged it back and ordered up two more. After repeating the steps above 4-5 times… done. I know, I know, I black out too much. It’s not something I’m trying to hide, it just seems to happen to me more than the average bear. Sue me.

So there I was, 9am in my huge bed back in the Chateau with a bag of peanuts, a chocolate bar wrapper and an empty bottle of water next to my head. As I turned over, I saw my Ipod and computer on the edge of my bed. Looking down, I saw all my clothing was still on, my shirt and jeans were covered in some sort of dirt and as I turned I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder. I looked and saw a decent sized welt was on my upper right shoulder and it was not feeling good. My sides and head also hurt and fit well with my overall hangover and complete feeling of confusion. Ok, what the fuck happened?

I crawled next door to ask my roommate Sebastian, and immediately regretted the decision. Apparently I had gotten a bit out of hand. Now before I go any further, I just want to provide a story pertaining to the law here in Bangkok. A young woman a few months ago was out with some friends at a bar and proceeded to drink a bit. Following what surely was an innocent evening of fun, she took a bar mat from the pub. She was caught, the cops were called, and he was swiftly arrested… for stealing a fricken bar mat. If that is at all supposed to provide a reference point for the law here, my actions should have led to not only my execution, but the seizure of all my parents assets.

So here is what I was told went down (and ps, Sebastian told me this entire story while wearing a Bangkok security guard hat, clearly acquired the previous night): So we polished off a great number of adult beverages at the bar and closed with a Kamikazee and flaming shots of B-52. The milk curdled before even reaching our lips, apparently I still drank it though. I am a disgusting human being, I know.

After the bar, we crawled across the 8-lane road that is Sukumviht and entered the bowling alley. We grabbed a lane, as I stumbled around babbling phrases incoherently. As a bowler, I happen to be very accomplished, my major accomplishment of this evening: not bowling every ball into the gutter. I finished with a 58.. a 58… I don’t know if you know much about bowling but a no one armed blind man typically bowls a 70. So all that can be said is I did not do well. I was later told most of my shots were taken behind the back and between the legs before traveling about 2 feet and then landing themselves directly in the gutter. Well played. It's no surprise that my friends back in high school used to call me "gutters."

After bowling, things took a turn. Departing the bowling alley, we left a wake of destruction that should have landed us a one-night stay in Bangkok city jail. The hallway to the alley was decorated with cardboard cutouts of a singing Thai woman in a platinum blue dress holding a microphone. I proceeded to make my way towards what I must have believed to be a woman leading me on because I later was presented with an image of me making out with the inanimate object (I really hope I did her the courtesy of leaving out the tongue). Afterwards, I proceeded to punch the cut out in the face causing it to fall to the ground with a booming “thud.” See, this was a love-hate-alcohol induced relationship. These things are not healthy for an injured young fawn such as myself. When my lover arose from the ground, her right arm was broken (as was her heart) and left dangling off of her mangled body.

Since security was onto us at this point, I made a B-Line for the exit, only problem was, the door wasn’t opening. I bashed on the door a while yelling "let me out of here!" with my face pressed up against the glass. Someone else instructed us in the proper direction and we all made a quick exit from the warzone.

Our rampage continued through the movie theatre. We began posing with/punching at the various displays exhibited in the lobby. At one point, I allegedly lifted a 8 foot terminator exhibit off the ground and narrowly escaped certain death from it toppling me over. Time to leave this place.

The streets saw the same sort of debauchery, and things got worse when I decided it was time to bring bush jumping to the Far East. Only problem with bush jumping in an urban environment: there is a certain lack of vegetation to launch my flailing body into. So, I adapted by instead jumping into the first thing that caught a twinkle in my eye. In this instance: a large metal grate above a stairwell. Again, this is all second hand so I hope not to embellish my story here, but I have been told it was quite the site. One minute I am up, glaring down the steel opponent before me, the next, I end up in a dead heap doubled over with a metallic obstacle on top of me. That is more than likely the source of the welt on my shoulder.

Sometimes I wonder if, in these rare instances where I beat the living daylights out of myself, if there is a voice inside me that screams “have you had enough yet, stay down!” However, I always seem to defiantly respond with a loud and defiant “NEVER!”

I arose from my conquered state of confusion and tackled my next obstacle: oasis. It was time to scream the lyrical masterpiece that is “wonderwall” at the top of my lungs (with fantastic accompaniment from my friends mind you) while wielding my instrument of choice: the broom air guitar. If you have the chance, you can catch this symphonic debacle through my videos on facebook (all rights reserved).

I then proceeded to apparently attempt a jump into the back of a pickup truck on the side of the road. Failure. I fell to the ground in another heap and laughed/yelped in agony. What do we do when we fall off the horse? I don't know, I'm not a gymnast Maury (favorite Zoolander quote FYI). On my next attempt I succeeded to vault into the truck bed and emerged with 2 brooms that Adam and I used to sweep the streets. It is a dirty city after all and it must have felt to me as though I owed the community this social service.

That’s pretty much all I have for you. I apparently visited the outdoor market and housed some Pad Thai (spicy yet delicious) before returning to the Chateau. Sebastian tells me he observed me enter the room, make directly for my room, turn on all the lights in my room, the tv, and then fall over barely hanging off the bed.

I hope that the city of Bangkok can one day forgive me for my sins. I never meant to hurt anyone and hope that no innocent people and/or animals were hurt in the filming of my drunken street performance.

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