Number Four: Buffett Day 2003

Here we are with day two. You'll notice another theme comes to light with today's tale: missing time. Time tends to go missing a lot when you're drinking, and those are the times when bad things happen.

What is Buffett Day, might you be asking?

It's only the single greatest day of the year. Fuck Christmas, fuck March Madness, fuck the Super Bowl. It's the greatest single day of the year.

Why, might you ask? Well, its glory resides in its simplicity. A bunch of people, drinking from noon on, trying to finish a case of beer before midnight. Not to mention it takes place in April, just when Spring brings horseshoes, sandals, outdoor beer pong and Foosball, and an assortment of Springtime glory, all at my old fraternity house, the house that booze built.

So, needless to say, it's fucking awesome.

Still don't believe me? Well, two of the top five stories on this list take place on Buffett Day. Considering I've taken place in six of them (with the seventh coming this month), that should show you the precedent this takes.

This story is about my first Buffett Day, in the Spring of 2003. Mere months before Number Four, which took place about a month and a half afterwards.

Since this was my first one, I felt pressure to take the "Buffett Day Challenge." Twenty-four cold, tasty brew-dogs from noon to midnight.

I know what you're thinking. Two an hour? That's not bad. But let me tell you something my friend, it catches up with you. Quick.

Let's say you're going at a good pace, and 3:00 rolls around, and you get hungry. So you grab some food. Next thing you know, you're a beer behind. Then you go play some volleyball, and you get a beer behind.

Now you're chugging. But in the time it takes you to chug all those beers, you missed another half hour.

If you can finish it before dark you are truly a giant among men. The best I've seen was before 6:30, and the guy spent the whole night passed out on my couch.

He is truly a national treasure.

So this was my first one. And the pressure was on.

It was good times for a few hours. Drank my beers, played some shoes, played some volleyball, and generally horse-assed it up.

It gets darker, and people start getting behind. And the blackout starts enveloping everyone around it.

I've seen pictures from that night. Blurry, blurry pictures of people wearing straw hats, people who have no business wearing straw hats.

The last thing I remember? Don't know.

The first thing I remember? Waking up on the top bunk of my dorm room, thinking I slept through Buffett Day.

As the first wave of vomit exploded out of me, down to my trash can six feet below on the floor, I remembered that I didn't miss it. Not even close. Luckily, the second thing I didn't miss was the trash can.

I threw myself off the top bunk, and grabbed the trash can, walking down the hall, puking my guts out into the trashcan as I walked.

I had finished puking by the time I got to the bathroom at the end of the hall, so I took the trashbag filled with puke, and threw it away, despite the many signs that told me only to put paper trash in the trash cans.

Later that day, I went into my small fridge to grab a bottle of water, and a surprise awaited me.
It was a bottle of Captain Morgan's Silver rum, a product I didn't even know existed.

Apparently, I was walking back to campus with a few people, when I spied a car parked along the road with an open passenger window, and this treasure awaiting me inside.

I stole it, and insisted to my companions that we not take another step until we all took deep drinks from this glorious bottle of life.

Apparently we didn't finish it, because there was enough for a few drinks. I hope to holy hell that it wasn't full when I found it, but deep down, a part of me knows that it was full.

Bonus Honorable Mention

I've had my share of blackout drunk moments at the fraternity house, and I'll share several of them with you here, since this one was a little short.

The second time I went to a party at the fraternity I eventually joined, it was at a party called Hop, Skip and Go Naked. It was named after the punch served there, called HopSkip. This delectable brew is made with beer, vodka, and lemonade mix.

Needless to say, it will catch up to you. I found myself on the lawn, puking all over myself, until someone threw me into the DD's car. Apparently I passed someone in my hall, while I was walking to campus, and I gave him a shaky thumbs up, not bad for someone who was covered in puke. It was the first time I had ever puked because of drinking.

The night I became a pledge, I blacked out, and had to get a ride home in my own car. Apparently I was screaming out the window at people on campus, and when I was trying to climb into my bunkbed, I completely demolished my bookshelf, and woke up, and had to clean mountains of books off of my laptop so I could write a paper before going to class.

A month or two into pledging, October of 2002, we had our homecoming festivities. Thursday night rolled around, and I don't remember a single thing except puking in a trash can and waking up at the house.

I later found out that I had become a little lecherous with one of our alumni's fiancees, in addition to other things.

In September of 2008, I went down to Va. Tech to see a football game. I spent all Saturday drinking, and ended up playing poker at a local watering hole. I don't remember how I did, I only remember playing with a 12-year-old girl and her dad, and I'm pretty sure she sharked me.

I was shitfaced but I thought I remembered most of the evening. Then I was talking to a friend of mine who is from Richmond, and he said "We should chill sometime."

"Sure man, anytime, you still in Richmond?" I said.

"Uhh, no, I'm living in D.C. now. Remember talking about it?"

I didn't even remember seeing him in Blacksburg.

The second-to-last time I was in Blacksburg (the latest being the beer-pong tourney), I also went to see a football game, to see Virginia Tech play Virginia for a shot to go to the ACC Title game. We won, the game was at noon, so I was plenty drunk when it was still daylight.

I remember going to a bar (the same bar will be featured in a story later this week), and meeting some alumni, one of whom was there with his wife.

I don't remember leaving the bar, but sure enough, I'm assured I made an ass out of myself around this guy's wife.

I woke up on a couch, soaking wet, and freezing cold. I ran to my car, and drove to the friends house where I was staying.

Then I had to get up at 5 a.m., to drive home to make it to the Redskins-Giants game, and tailgate and drink more there.

That is a brief rundown of my drunkest adventures in Blacksburg, not counting of course, the ones that are yet to come.