Yes that is a picture of me with a lampshade on my head, doing the shimmy. I will not be posting the names of my cohorts in these wanton ways, but for clarification, will identify them by an initial of their names.
It was one of my college years at UC Santa Cruz, where I was probably majoring in nothing at the time, or perhaps I was still trying to decide between Psychology, Sociology, Anthropology, Archeology, Physics, Linguistics, or Math. Or maybe I had already broken my parents' hearts and declared Theater Arts as my major... At any rate, I decided to visit my friend "D" at Humbolt State. After a REALLY Looooooong drive, by myself, where I almost ran out of gas and nearly hit a buck crossing the desolate highway, I managed to arrive alive and in one piece. Oh, and needing a drink.
I must take a moment to mention that UCSC and Humbolt are known for a certain weed that is rolled and smoked. However I was never into it, so I was happy sitting and watching people take a bong hit, then run the stairs while holding their breath. And I did love to screw around with people who were high, asking such greatly amusing questions as, "Don't your teeth itch?" and "What do your eyeballs say?" I know, what a horrible bitch I was...
We were drinking Root Beer Schnapps on ice and is was going down far too quickly on an empty stomach, so we headed to one of D's friends and the store (likely a 7-11). For some ungodly reason I thought Fritos would settle my stomach and soak up some of the alcohol. I ate an entire bag. Then "D", and her friend / boyfriend "M", or maybe it was "P" thought a cinnamon milkshake would be the ticket. Let me assure you that it was not. Placing ice cream, milk, and cinnamon on top of alcohol, fritos and stomach acid was a very bad idea. Very bad indeed. I ended up passing out in D's room, and she and her roommate "S" placed me on my stomach with a garbage can nearby. I vomited into that can for what seemed like days, but was really several hours. I'm not quite sure if or how "D" or "S" slept. I seem to recall "S" being particularly nice about cleaning up, while "D" was clearly in the "You made the mess, you clean it up" mood. Hungover and feeling like death on a stick, I made my way back to Santa Cruz. I actually think I didn't have another drink with "D" until we were both well out of college. She probably still either holds that evening against me, or laughs her ass off when she thinks of it!