It's My Birthday, I'd Puke If I Want To

Contrary to the fervid birthday celebrations that I've had over the years with merciless onslaughts on all things alcoholic and stunts that questions the very matter of my maturity, I'm actually never big about celebrations when it comes to mine. Who needs one day to celebrate when I can have the impunity to do it everyday.

Every year we stryggle to topple the one before and it's not easy when you've had eventful ones like the pub crawl or the Phuket fiasco that left LB and I stranded on the island. And it's always been about that kaleidescopic marriage of a spectrum of liquor that if you cut us up and put a cash register next to my kidney, we would qualify as a bar.

The one this year was like how any other intemperant night would have unfolded. It was always casual, with subtle implications that it would end with an alcoholic induced amnesia, or a lot of personal time making out with the toilet bowl, or kerb for the lesser humans.

It started with a casual bottle of Belvedere and a teasing bottle of champagne. We already knew that there was going to be ass-kicking Trance that was going to tear up the speakers and infect the dance floors, so it was a half of the equation solved. All we needed to do, was to bring the alcohol up to that Utopian plane that would coax even deaf nuns to dance.

By the time we had finished up the first bottle, the place was starting to pack up. I begin to tap my feet periodically along to the beat of the music. It will be at least 5 more glasses before I will think dancing on the table is a good idea and 10 more to set it on fire.

LB arrived shortly after and introduced a bottle of jager and tequila to the mix. I am secretly delighted at the sight of it. I start dancing so that I will not come in my pants from all the excitment of having a myriad of alcohol on the table. This will be like racial harmony day - if I manage to keep all that alcohol in the stomach through the night.

Somewhere along the line, we lost all inhibitions on conventional mixes. No longer was champagne enough on it's own. This was a birthday, and there was no space for sophistication. No more was jagerbombs toxic enough. This was our birthday, college consumption norms just won't suffice.

Shan: "What are you doing? Why are you pouring vodka into the champagne?"

Me: "Let me introduce you to Liquid Cocaine. One part champagne, one part vodka and one part Red Bull. This is great stuff for amnesia.

And it wasn't just the champagne we were abusing. Jagerbombs, while adequate if this was a party for 7 year olds complete with clowns and balloons, had lost it's respect amongst a company who have seen the better part of their twenties. For this night, it was going to be laced with a generous helping of tequila.

Then came a bottle of whiskey and suddenly, dumping every available alcohol on the table into a glass seemed like the best birthday cake idea I had all year, I could even have straws for candles - and they say clubs don't make condusive environments to grow old in. I proved them wrong.

By the time I had gobbled down half a glass of what would be tequila + vodka + champagne + jager + tequila + Red Bull - tasted almost as if the Devil had taken a piss into my cup, - I realised that the only place I should be, is next to the toilet bowl.

I needed to pee. Real bad.

I started making a beeline for the toilet, half praying that there would not be a queue or I would have to consider peeing into the basin as an option. As I stood over the urinal in the private cubicle, I realised that urinals are challenging to puke into, especially when one is still urinating.

I was not to be defeated. I was going to challenge and debunk the myth about men not being good at multi-tasking. I was going to pee and vomit and the same time, into the urinal. If I was more sober, I would have done all that while singing a song and sending a text message. But for now, the immediate goal is to not spray any of it on to myself.

I've overcome many difficult obstacles in life, like forcing myself to stay awake while driving, maintaining an erection for unattractive women and Chinese listening comprehension tests, but this ranked right up there.

Do you know how hard is it to even stand straight while peeing when you are drunk and now, I had to maintain a steady stream while lowering my head to puke and doing it skillfully enough so that I don't end up puking on my member.

"Aaarrrrrrggghhhh.. urrrggghhhh."

A minute later, I came out of it successful with the pride and self recognition as the one of the best mae pukers to have emerged from humanity. Unfortunately, I also discovered that standing urinals weren't built to be puked in, because the vomitus don't seem to be able to be flushed down. I apparently choked it.

I know this for a fact because the guy that went in after me said,

Guy: "What the fuck?!"

Me: "Yeah, it's nasty. Some fucker made a huge mess."

When we finally left the place, everyone that I knew who were dumb enough to have had taken the tequila was wasted. I know this for a fact because LB, Roti Prata and I were bending over the sink together.

LB: "I need to puke.."

Me: "I'll puke with you!"

LB: "Ugghhh.. ugghh.. Urrrrrhhhhhh."

Me: "Holy mother of crap! Are you okay? You look like you are foaming at your mouth!"

LB: "Urrrggghhhh"

Me: "FUCK! ARE YOU HAVING A SEIZURE OR ARE YOU PUKING?!"

We never learn. Or perhaps we never want to because youth is filled with stupidity and maybe, just maybe if we keep making a fool of ourselves, and abusing our bodies enough. Then we too, will never grow old.

As we get older each year, we cling on to time in an inadvertant need to reflect on life. We need to do this, should have done that, would have loved to have done that. It's an endless justifiication of life. But this year, I had my dream of publishing a book realized, thanks to Poca.

Read. I.Have.A.Book.