Stage 0: Complete Sobriety
You are not drinking. Good for you.

Stage I: Staring at First Drink
You sit there, looking at your drink. You are at a bar with some friends. Perhaps you have a beer, its foam fizzing playfully, cool beads of sweat rolling down the mug, icy amber liquid beckoning you like the nectar of the gods. You think about that first sip, how good it’s gonna taste. You tell your friends that you only want to get buzzed tonight, nothing too serious, just a couple of cold ones then a nice relaxing night of conversation. You aren’t doing what you did last Friday, no sir, tonight you are in control of you. You lift the beverage to your lips and enter…

Stage II: The First Drink
Damn that tasted good. Tonight’s gonna be badass, you tell yourself as the DJ puts on that song you just can’t get enough of. You notice some attractive people of the opposite sex scattered across the room. You’re already a smooth son (or daughter) of a gun, but give you a couple of beers and you are lethal. You are going to get laid tonight, you just know it. You take another sip, then look at your glass. Damn, half of its gone already, how’d that happen? Oh well, you think as you motion the bartender to give you round two, I’m no lightweight, it takes more than a few to get me…

Stage III: Buzzed
Yup. You’re definitely buzzed. You’re sitting at a booth now in a dark corner. You’re having a great time. Everything’s great, everybody’s cool, everything is cool. Another great song is on. The bar is getting louder, so you have to lean over and semi-shout to be heard by your friends. A few empty glasses sit in front of you. That was the last one, you tell yourself. Hey dude, says one of your pals, next round’s on me. No, no, I’m done drinking you say. Pussy, your friend says, what the hell man? It’s only one drink, come on. Alright, you say, your logic is infallible. One more, then that’s it. Your friend goes off to the bar. You make eye contact with a particularly good looking person across the room. The person reciprocates and gives a faint smile before turning back to the conversation they were having. You look back to the bar and see your friend returning with a handful of beers and what looks to be shots. WTF dude, you say, I said one more. Whatever douche, I already bought it, so just take the f*ing shot. Again, his logic is without flaw, so you “take the f*ing shot”.  As the potent concoction whistles down your throat, it occurs to you that you and your friend sound retarded. Shut up, you tell yourself, as you slam the shot glass down. Good thing you got that beer to chase it. You begin to think that you are now, probably, maybe, possibly, hypothetically…

Stage IV: Maybe Drunk
Shit. You got to pee. You don’t want to break the seal, but damn it you got to pee. So you sway over to the bathroom. There’s a line. You have a pleasant conversation with the person standing in front of you, get to a stall, do your business, and sway back to your booth. There’s a shot waiting for you. You don’t even think about it. You knock it back. You are drunk dude, says a friend. I’m not, you say. Dude, you’re drunk, says the friend. I’m not drunk... Ok, you say, maybe just a little drunk. Hell, you think, maybe I am drunk. You ask yourself the question: How did I let this happen? Oh well, says another part of you, enjoy it. So you do. You order another round. You try to get a conversation going with the attractive person who smiled at you. Problem is, this person is the DD tonight for her friends, so she is still in Stage 0. This person is having problems relating to you, see, because you seem to have lost some of your perception of personal space… oh, and you smell like Buttery Nipple. You walk away, dejected. I’m ugly, you think. I’m not cool, you think. Beer loves me, you think. So you have another beer. Now you are officially…

Stage V: Drunk
We’re leaving the bar dude. That’s one of your friends talking. You think. It’s kinda hard to tell because the music is real loud and, well, you’re drunk. This is not a debate anymore. Jury is out, case closed, you are drunk. You want another shot before you leave, but you don’t want to take it by yourself, and you can’t find any of your friends, so you pick a random stranger out from the crowd and offer to buy them a shot. You think they agree, but when you turn around they are gone, so you say fuck it and down both shots. Then you gotta pee. Again. For the sixth (seventh?) time. So you do. Then you stumble outside. Your phone, you should call your friends. So you whip it out and start scrolling down the list. Whoa, you think, I haven’t talked to Kelly in months, I should totally call her. (Problem is, Kelly was not one of your friends at the bar. If you were thinking clearly, you’d realize that Kelly graduated last semester, got married, was pregnant and probably wanted nothing to do with you). You call Kelly. She answers, groggily, asks who it is. You answer. She hangs up. Bitch, you think, and call her back. Two more times and she doesn’t pick up, so you start leaving a long rambling message talking about what a cool cat she was back in the day and that she should ditch that tool she married and come hang out with you and the old crew. Right in the middle of your message, you get a call on the other line. You switch over. Dude, where are you? It’s one of your friends from the bar. Dude, we are waiting out back with a cab, we are going to Rob’s party, we’ve been waiting for ten minutes, are you coming or what? Yes, I’m coming, you say, and stumble to the back. You clamber into the cab. Sup dudes, you say. Just like that you are at the party. It’s in a house. People everywhere. In the backyard is a keg. Someone is yelling, who wants to do a keg stand? You want to a keg stand. One minute, thirty five seconds later you are basking in the glory and adulation. But wait, there’s something else you are feeling now, something from deep within, you find a dark corner near some bushes. You are about to…

Stage VI: Puke
Buttery Nipples, beer, Red Headed Sluts, Jaegger Bombs. They all come out and form something that looks rather like a Picasso on Rob’s green lawn. No time to stare though, because it’s time for a…

Stage VII: Puke Rally
Keg stand. Beer Bong. Shotgun. Jell-o Shot. Flip cup. Another Keg Stand. A reign of terror at the Beer Pong Table. Another Jell-o Shot. A swig from the bottle of Jack from a guy named Jim. A shot of Jim from a guy named Jack. Another Keg Stand. You lose your shirt at one point. You find it. You start flashing from moment to moment, the journeys in between becoming increasingly blurry with Journey playing in the background. You make out with a swamp creature. Finally, one of your friends drags you away. You say, what the hell, and try to punch them. Instead, you fall, hit your head and don’t remember anything until you…

Stage VII: Worship The Porcelain Gods
A moment of clarity. Your eyes are filled with tears. Your arms are slung desperately around Rob’s filthy toilet. Your head hangs over the closed toilet seat, your lips mere centimetres from the unflushed water. Below your lips, the spoils of your Beer Pong and Keg Stand glory mingle and fester with the pee of a dozen or so members of the “if it’s yellow, let it mellow” school of thought. You feel like you are dying. Please, please oh lord, take me now, you think as you reach in vain for the flusher. You close your eyes…

Stage VIII: Your Mouth, The Gobi Dessert
It’s sometime in the middle of the morning. You have no idea where you are. You are still very, very drunk. You are dying of thirst. You scramble around, not really knowing where you are going until by some miracle you find a sink. You attach your lips and chug for a good thirty seconds. Then you pass out, waking up in…

Stage IX: Why does my mouth taste like a monkey shat in it?
The early morning light pours in through the blinds. You are at a friends house, sprawled on a couch in nothing but piss stained underwear. You feel horrible. You look horrible. You smell horrible. You are barely human. Boy golly, wasn’t last night swell? Congratulations, you can now enter…

Stage X: Rehab
You gather up your clothes. You beg a ride home. You lay in the shower for half an hour. You are still drunk. You crawl into bed. You puke three more times. You shut off your cell phone. You are stupid, and you know it. And so does Kelly.