Happy birthday son!

I came home from college during spring break.  It was March of 1990.  On the last day of the break...my father fashioned a wonderful plan.  Not being able to celebrate my 21st birthday with me, my father took me to some of his drinking haunts.  This was a fantastic idea.  Bonding time with daddy AND THE BONUS...His wife was out of town.  There was no way for us to get into trouble!  YES! 
We had one or two beers at two or three places.  I only remember one of them.  It was dark and filled with folks in their 50's and 60's.  Just where a college kid wants to be.  At least I was with my dad.  It was the middle of the day and I (rookie) was getting buzzed.  I came up with the wonderful idea of going home, asking one of our neighbors to go out drinking later in the evening.  The plan was set in motion.  Until then drink more, watch tv, drink more, nap and shower.

We met the neigbor (my fathers age) and his son and his son's friend.  We proceeded to get our drunk on.  Pitcher after pitcher of beer came.  My father and his friend kept the table loaded with pitchers of beer.  The two fathers thought it would be funny to not let the kids glasses empty.  So as they couldn't count how many they've had.  INGENIOUS, I SAY!

At one point, I thought I should get my father back with this little trick.  When he wasn't looking, I gently and rather drunkenly, reached across the table...grasped for the handle of the pitcher...missed...knocked the full pitcher of beer in my fathers lap.  It was at this point that my father moved as quickly as I have ever seen.  Lightning quick.  Up out of the chair, pants completly soaked.  (which is actually fantastic for driving home in the event you get pulled over...that way they can't smell the beer on your breath...because the smell of beer coming from your crotchial area would overwhelm your breath...and anything else...WE WERE GENIOUSES, I SAY!!!)
After about three hours of drinking, we all decided it would be good drive home.  (the drinking and driving laws were not enforced back then...unless you were OBVIOUSLY intoxicated).  We all said our drunken goodbyes.  "I love you, man!" was yelled across the parking lot.  My father reached in to his pants pocket and grabbed a handful of keys.  "Wanna drive?" he asked.
"PHFFFFFF...no way dude.  I'm pie eyed.  I'm not drivin'" was my retort.  He shrugged and we got in the car.  The cool thing about my dad's 1986 gold colored Pontiac Grand Am was that the dashboard was digital.  Which means that when looking at the speedometer, it reads as a number.  (Lets say 50 for example)
We left the bar and hit the freeway.  We had about 15 miles of freeway to negotiate before getting home.  After about, idunno, 5 miles, I looked over at my dad.  His arms were straight...no bend in his elbows as he whiteknuckled the steering wheel.  I looked at his face.  He was concentrating as hard as I have ever seen him concentrate.  Wanting to help him, I offered up "hey dad, you're only going 50 miles an hour..."
"THAT'S ALL THE FASTER I CAN SEE!!!!!" he quickly and angrily returned.
I shut up, buckled up and hung on.
Aaaaannnnnd....we made it home.  No problem dude!

The next part of the story is exactly how I remember it.  We made ramen. 
I don't know how much more stuff happened...but I distinctly remember making ramen.

The next morning my alarm went off.  I had to get packed and showered.  My girlfriend was coming to pick me up in two hours.  She was driving us back to school.
I remember how much my head hurt.  It was awful.  One of the worst hangovers I've ever had.  I sat up in bed.  Feet touched the ground.  Sat in bed for about 5 minutes rubbing my eyes and head, trying to feel better.  It was dark in my room.  The light switch was across the room by the door.  I stood up took three steps and "squish" and a horrible smell.  Couple more steps and turn on the light.  "Fuck...I puked?"
The carpet was not more than a couple of months old.  My step mom would yell at my dad if she found out.  I went down and grabbed a dustpan, gargage can and two or three towels.  Twenty minutes the puke and it's horrible stench were gone.
Out of the room, towels in the washer, garbage can and dustpan cleaned.  Now, into my dad's room to wake his sorry ass up.  Nothing...he wasn't there.  Upstairs, I could hear the tv.  Down the hallway to the stairs.  When I passed the kitchen I saw the mother of all messes.  Ramen wrappers, pots and pans in the sink.  Plates, silverware and napkins on the table.  Full cans of beer on the table as well.  Spices all over the countertop and floor.  Not the spice containers...I mean the actual spice.  "That fuckin sucks" I blathered.  I remember demanding we put nutmeg in our ramen. The mess was going to take forever to clean. 
Pressing on to find my father, I left the shithole of a kitchen.  Down the remainder of the hallway to the stairs.  As I looked up the stairs, on the stairs, in this order, were shoes, coat,shirt and pants.  When I got to the top of the stairs I found my father, passed out on the couch, with socks and underwear on the floor between me and him.   (No puke on the floor tho)
"Hey, pop, get up" I barked.  He groggily looked around.  First at me, then the tv, then the table with a couple of beer cans and lastly toward the bathroom.  He tossed back the blanket he was under and stood up.  Stark, raving naked he was.  He quickly realized this and jumped back to the couch and put the blanket around himself and glared at me with furrowed brows.
"I didn't do that to you!  What the fuck!"  I exclaimed.  He was looking at me as if I had raped him.
He reached for his underwear and sprang for the bathroom.