I tell ya guys, I've been party to some embarrassing shit in my day. Of course, it wasn't always my fault per se. But the vast majority of the time, I have to admit I've got no one else to blame.

Like that time at RJ's.

I suppose I was probably all of 19 years old; the picture of YDFC. I was working my way through college in the kitchen of this burger joint; and most of the other employees were doing the same. So, it made for a pretty fun working environment, and naturally we'd get off work after close and kick back a few beers together. Well, those few beers steadily turned into the kind of raging all-nighters typical of such young folks.
"So-and-So's getting a keg of Saranac tonight. He said they probably won't start until after close though, so by the time we get home and clean up, the party will just have started."
And it was like this for quite a while, a year or so at the least, until people gradually moved on.

So one night after work I head out to RJ's, and we commence the evening's activities. 60 people crammed into a 900 square foot apartment telling dirty jokes over the deafening music, eyeing members of the opposite sex, spilling keg beer on the already forlorn looking carpet, smoking cigarettes and flicking our butts into the neighbor's flower pots. Now, I don't remember exactly how this happened, I just have flash memories of the specifically traumatic moments.

What was that girl's name? Heather? Sarah? Good Lord.

Anyways, so I met this girl at RJ's that night. We were talking- Well, she was talking, and I was drinking. A lot. And I seem to recall that those were exclusive activities: She wasn't drinking at all, nor was I talking. At any rate, this girl lived right in the same complex as RJ, just at the end of his row; and we eventually end up back at her place. Now, she wasn't neccesarily the world's best looking lady, but by the time she'd clubbed me over the head and begun dragging me down the street, I had neither the inhibition nor the eyesight to alert myself that I may be violating my own standards. Funny how that would all change five minutes later.

So there we are on her living room couch, making out like only my sloppily drunken ass can, and it hits me. Dude, what are you doing here? It was like having a lucid dream. The dream keeps going but you begin to realize that maybe something's not kosher. I mean, at this point I just jumped up and bolted out her front door. Incidentally, her roommates were arriving home at that very minute, and I nearly trampled the poor girls in my attempt to break the world record for the hundred meter dash.

Let me tell you, I lit out that motherfucker and I don't think my feet touched the ground all the way back to RJ's. I came flying through the front door, slamming it behind me.
"Dude, (catching my breath) I need to hide," I gasped.
"What!?" RJ's looking a little freaked out, then I notice the bong in his lap. "Cops?" He looks frantically around the room for a place to hide his paraphernalia.
"No man. [That Girl]'s going to come looking for me dude. I had to run away from her place, and I came back here."
RJ stares at me, then burst into uncontrollable laughter. "I told you that chick was crazy man, I can't believe you went back and boned her." More laughter.
"No man, I didn't sleep with her," I pleaded.

From this day forward, regardless of my consistent and factual denial, RJ will insist that I slept with this girl. What an ass. But I digress, this is where it gets weird.

Moments after I came bursting in, there was a knock at RJ's door. Of course, I know exactly who it is, and I'm freaking out. RJ, on the other hand, is five or seven bingers down and he seems somewhat unfazed.
"Dude, that crazy bitch came looking for me. Unreal, what's she want?" My eyes must've been as big as alka-seltzer tablets.
"Man, chill the hell out. I'll just tell her I haven't seen you since you left."
He goes to answer the door, and I run and hide behind the bar, squatting as low as I can holding my knees to my chest.
"Ye-lo." Yep, definitely stoned. He sounds like The Dude for chrissake.
"Is shank here?"
"Nah man. Haven't seen him since you guys left." Stifled laughter from RJ, that son of a bitch.
"I know he's here. Where is he?" This freaks me out, mostly because I can't tell if she's uber-pissed, or uber-horny. Scary place to be.
"I'm telling you," now the laughter isn't so stifled, "I haven't seen him since you guys left. Are you telling me you lost him?" Jesus, he couldn't help himself could he. Pissant.
"Oh yeah? Then why's his jacket on your couch?" My heart stops. Son of a bitch! Son! Of a Bitch! I'm going to die! Or get raped.
Pause. "That's not his jacket, I have one just like it. We got them on a ski trip together." (Never let a stoned guy make up your alibi. Sigh.) "He and I go way back, did you know his mom's a Jew? Yeah, crazy man." Pause. "Look, I'm going to crash, I'll catch you later."

The door shuts and RJ comes back to the living room, picks up his bong, and falls into the couch. Without looking up from his task, he mumbles "Dude, what did you do to that girl man?" More laughter from him, I just stayed huddled under the bar, glowering at him.