It was my first ever alcohol-induced black-out. I'll never forget it. Except for the black-out itself, which, well, I'll never remember.

It was my last day of work at Ernst & Young. My coworkers took me out to celebrate, NYC-style, with excessive amounts of shots, beer, and more shots. We spent a good three hours at the neighborhood bar liquoring up. And I quickly reached my limit.

I would call myself a fairly smart drinker. I'm aware of my limit and generally know to slow down. Sure, I've been sick plenty of times in public. Those guys at St. Marks Ale House probably never want to see my face again after I decorated the jukebox with my pasta dinner.

So I called it a night when I reached my limit with my coworkers. By this time, they were pretty well liquored up too. We all said our last goodbyes, then I headed out.

This is when Jayne, one of my coworkers, convinced me to join her and her friends for another party in the city. I was ready to head home, but I think she said something like, "there will be a lot of really cute girls there" that finally turned me.

She ordered the cab over to Apple, a bar near NYU. This was strange. I didn't know her to be a person who hung out in this neighborhood. That's where my college friends and I hang out.

"You hang out at Apple?" I asked her.

"Sure," she nodded. I was in no state to question, so I just nodded back and tried to still the spinning in my head.

Then we arrived, walked through the doors, and over to a large table in the back.

"SURPRISE!!!!"

I jumped backwards. Seated at this table were a bunch of my college friends. They all cheered and shouted. My eyes popped out of my head and everything spun around even faster.

Jane, one of my college friends, had apparently organized this with Jayne, one of my coworkers. I guess that means you should never trust a girl whose name rhymes with rain, regardless of its spelling.

I took a seat and proceeded to fill up with even more alcohol. The first was a shot of Three Wise Men. That's Johnny Walker, Jim Bean, and Jack Daniels. The second was a shot of Four Horsemen. That's Jagermeister, Goldschlager, Rumplemintz, and Barcardi 151. Evil, evil drinks.

The next thing I remember, I'm sitting in my college buddy Eric's bathroom, apparently taking a dump in his toilet. I blinked and looked around. The first rays of sunlight were coming through the window. My head was pounding like a jackhammer. And I had a hangover the size of Sammo Hung.

I finish my, er, duties, then walk out of the bathroom. In the bedroom are a few of the guys from last night, all passed out on the floor. I apparently was in a sleeping bag.

Still disoriented and totally confused, I found my digital camera by my sleeping bag and picked it up. Then I started going through each shot, one by one.

I saw pictures of my coworkers and pictures of my college friends at Apple. Then I saw a picture of me doing a Tequila shot with two girls. I don't remember that. Then I saw a picture of my friends and I in another bar. I don't remember that either!

The rest of the pictures were the same. Me in unfamiliar locations, but always with a different shot in my hands. How much did I fucking drink last night? I wondered.

It was a surprise that I didn't puke my brains out. Usually, when I surpass my limit, my dinner is coming out the wrong end of my digestive tract. But this time, I didn't. That's probably why my memories are all gone; my body had to dump something from my body—either my dinner or my memories.

Blacking out is frightening. I don't like being in a situation where I'm not in control of myself. Well, except for alcoholic drunkenness. But blacking out and not remembering the entire night felt different.

And what a way to celebrate my last day in NYC! I fucking blacked out! Woo hoo! Thanks Jayne and Jane, for the memories (or lack thereof)!

. . .

Have you ever blacked out after drinking too much?