Last night I went on an epic adventure that could rival Alice's experiences in Wonderland. At least that's what I was told this morning. Too bad I can't remember it. If I had to guess I would have to say that this was most likely due to the fact that while Alice was transported to her fantasy land by falling through a rabbit hole, I was transported to mine by falling through a bottle of Zelko into a box of wine (they call me Mr. Classy).

That's right, I'm talking about yet another college phenomenon: the Black Out. For those of you who have never woken up on the floor of your living room with your shoes still on (and the inevitable penis drawn on your forehead by your oh-so-mature housemates), I shall do my best to try and impart to you what it's like.

According to a Duke University study:

Blacking out is commonly confused with passing out . It cannot be overemphasized that these two conditions are mutually exclusive. That is, by definition, at any given time, you cannot have one if you have the other. A blackout is a period of amnesia during which the person is actively engaged in behaviors (e.g., walking, talking) but the brain is unable to form new memories for the events, leaving the person unable to recall the events once they are no longer intoxicated.

I have a friend who goes to the University of Michigan and took a class about drugs and alcohol. It turns out that only about 10% of the population is prone to Blacking Out (Did you hear that Mom & Dad? You can stop giving me grief about not being in the Top 10% of my graduating class—I'm in the Top 10% of the population!). In short, passing out is for children and freshman. Blacking Out, on the other hand, is one of three signs that mark a true champion (the other two are the natural ability to Puke-&-Rally, and a successful pulling-off of the "Goat").

Reader's Note: Blacking out should also not be confused with the alleged phenomenon of Browning Out, which isn't real, but is oft used as an excuse upon waking up next to a less than attractive person ie: "It doesn't coun't! I was so drunk Browned Out!" Haha. Right. It's okay, big people need love too!

At best, with a Black Out, you will have flashes of images—snippets of recollection—the next day, but they will most likely be out of order and be missing crucial pieces that would allow them to tell a coherent story (if you have more than snippets, then you are a Brown Out impostor). So now that we are in agreeance on what exactly constitutes Blacking Out, here's a first hand account of what these next morning flashes might look like, using my own time in Wonderland last night as an example:

Flash: My fraternal Grand-Little pouring me shots "to the family tree!" at the pre-game.
Flash: Pouring myself a KG & Rally (That's bourbon and Coke for you people with real money).
Flash: Preparing to take a beer pong shot. Both teams have one cup left.
Flash: Berating the current V.P. of my fraternity for doing things I wouldn't have done as V.P.
Flash: High fiving a group of people after an impressive 43 second Wine-Slap.
Flash: Zipset and I in his girlfriend's sorority house kitchen with him eating bagels.
Flash: Climbing over tables at Shanghai Cafe to eat my friend's entire General Tso's.

That's it. That's where the flashes end. See what I mean about missing a few key details? The morning after a Black Out, you usually spend the first ten minutes taking stock of all of your wordly possessions. Wallet? Check. Watch? Check. Driver's License? Check. Credit Card?...Credit Card?...Credit Card? Son of a bitch! Once you take stock, it's time to play Sherlock Holmes and piece back together the events of the evening from context clues.

This can be a very detailed process indeed, depending on where you were the night before and the state you find yourself in upon waking up. If you wake up in your own bed with all your possessions intact, the detective process might only involve making a phone call to your friend for more info (opening your phone after a Black Out there is always at least one random phone call that you don't remember making and won't be able to explain—Why do I have an outgoing call to my High School at 3:22am?!). If you wake up in Seat 12E on an airplane on your way to Morrocco with nothing but a post note that says "Cock-fight. Morrocco. 10pm," on it might take a little more work to piece back together. If you wake up next to a hairy, sweaty, black man who has his arm draped over you, you're on your own; I suggest closing your eyes tight, and hoping it's just a dream in a dream.

One time I woke up and couldn't find my sneakers. I checked my closet, under my bed, the living room; everywhere. No sneakers. It wasn't until I ran into my good friend, former Ocho resident, and current gangster rap enthusiast, Shappy, that I learned where they were. Apparently I had come home the night before at 1a.m. sans sneakers. Upon Shap's questioning as to the reason for my lack of footwear, I stated (read: slurred) that one of the bars here wasn't letting people in with sneakers on in an attempt to be classy (which, given the fact that we are in College Park, is an oxymoron in and of itself), so I looked the bouncer in the eye, said "Fine," and took my shoes off. He didn't let me in. I left the line. And my sneakers. Good thing I have a job.


-Adam