The Story of our Drunken Night in Maine, told through pictures.

The night started off like all other debacles. We had a hotel room in Portland ME. We were primed up and ready to drink. Hilarity ensued. This is our story through the pictures I found on my camera after.

What your witnessing above is the first and last sober picture of us. Unfortunately it was only Scott and Shawn, my pretty mug was left out. We were at a bar called 3 Dollar Deweys and this is where I knew we would love the shit out of Portland. The bartender served me a drink with an orange slice, and I casually said I do not need the orange next time. He then took orange with his hands, yelled “FUCK THIS ORANGE!!” and threw it off the wall. It stuck! We all spent the next few minutes laughing as the orange slugged it’s way down the wall to the bottom.

Portland is fucking awesome. If you live in NE you have probably been to Boston to drink. Boston sucks, bouncers they’re are so uptight and ready to toss you out at the first sign of trouble. Portland is the ANTI-Boston, where anything is and everything is OK. We spent the next few hours hopping from packed bar, to even more packed bar. I was high-fiving every bouncer, security guard, and bartender. Try that in Boston.(Side story: After the Celtics won the Championship in 2007, I was at Faneuil Hall in the riots. The Boston police had to clear the streets in full riot gear with the 3 foot wood clubs in hand. Long story short I was drunk and tried to high-five one, he smacked me with his club.)

This one bar had a lot of cups… Ya things started getting hazy. I remember it was a college Kid bar and EVERY guy wore a baseball hat. Typical of rural kids who went away to U-Maine. We decided to adventure further and walk along the coast.

On the walk Scott took some pictures (below) of The Hoff, and a pink duck. At this point who fucking knows how loaded we were. I bet the duck did.

We hit almost every bar in the area. Shawn climbed some street signs and the bars got more sketchy as the night when on. We still loved every second. We felt invincible. We settled in at some ghetto bar where we were practically the only white people. Shawn danced his ass off while Scotty and I got shitty.

I drank so much that the picture below was taken right before I took a shot of Jager and shot it back up. I never throw up, so that speaks mountains on how much we’ve had to drink by then. Another reason I love Portland. No one even cared I had just spewed on the bar. The Bartender STILL FUCKING SERVED ME AFTER!!!

Now were toast. Shawn and I are piss drunk, Scotts blacked out. There is always trouble when Scott blacks out. Trouble, hilarity, and awesomeness. but mostly just trouble. Keep reading it gets WAY better.

Scott was trying to tell me something. Or make out with me. Either way he was way to close. He then decided to dance with Shawn on a statue, or art piece, fuck if I know what it was. What I do know is that picture came out awesome.

This is where things go very wrong. Scott started getting uncooperative and Shawn and I were far to drunk to question it. Below is map of downtown Portland. Thanks to GPS on my Blackberry and Google Latitude I was able to create an approximate route on which we traveled. I’m not sorry if it looks half assed, I didn’t feel like putting effort into it. If it bothers you you can eat a bag of dicks.

The Pink was our hotel, and the red line represents our drunken path through the bars which Google placed with letters. The green line is what happened next. We fallowed Scotty back to our hotel. What we didn’t know was that Scotty was just wandering aimlessly. The Blue Square was a hockey rink. The Cumberland County Civic Center.

The picture above was taken from google. The reason this building is interesting is because Scotty walked around it trying every door as if it would be open at 2 or 3 AM (estimate). He walked up those stairs to the right and it just so happened one of the doors was unlocked. We were so drunk we thought nothing of it. We walked in to find no one was there and the doors to the ice were WIDE OPEN. Again we were so drunk that no one even thought twice about going out there. I can remember thinking “Fuck we have to cross this ice to get to the Hotel, that sucks.” Seriously… Who the fuck would think that? Shawn thought differently. As soon as he saw the ice he full sprinted and slid across like Bruce Springsteen at the Super Bowl halftime show.

We fucked around on the ice like school girls laughing and sliding for what seemed like hours. It was most likely 2-3 minutes. We finally caught the attention of the cleaning crew in the seats who yelled at us to “get the fuck out of there!”
We kindly flipped them off and crossed to the other side, LATERALLY. Here we went out the exit the zamboni uses and slipped outside just to the left of where the truck is parked in the pic below.

I wish I could say that was the only dumb thing that happened. If you notice the map, we left the rink and headed east. While Shawn and I walked on the sidewalk, Scott thought it would be fun to walk on the grass. We heard Scott Yell, then heard nothing. Upon turning around we noticed Scott was no where to be found. We investigated like inebriated Sherlock Holmes’s. It turns out the grass was soaked. It also had a 60 Degree slope on the other side that created a slip and slide for drunks. We carefully made our way down because although he was trying, Scotty could not stand long enough to traverse the drunk fun slide. Shawn made it half way down before I lost my footing and slid both into him first, then into Scott and his mud puddle. We spent the next 45 minutes chasing Scott and dragging him back to the hotel. That path is represented by the brown line. Keep reading, there’s more.

Shawn and I slept. Scott stole my bathing suit and decided to go for a swim at 4am. The pool was closed so he figured the sauna room might be nice. He fell asleep! He woke up several hours later sweating bullets when the cleaner came in. Parched and confused he tried to go back to the room. Turns out the asshole forgot to take a key. He claims he banged on the door, but Shawn and I were out cold. He had to go to the lobby in a bathing suit and prove he was in fact the person who rented the room. I wish I could have seen that. Served him right if you ask me.

We all woke up the next day hung over as shit and covered in mud. The best part was that Scotty had no change of cloths and had to check out with the same lady downstairs he got the key from. Instead of a bathing suit this time he wore his mud soaked clothing. I FUCKING LOVE PORTLAND!

This story is 100% true. And clearly we had A FEW TOO MANY.

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