-Each year, there are a handful of occasions where I know ahead of time that I’m going to get drunker than usual.  These bloodbaths typically include my birthday and New Year’s Eve, as well as a few wild cards such as weddings, Yankees playoff games, and any instances of daytime drinking.  Before these events, it has become a tradition of mine to write the acronym “DBD” in black Sharpie on the back of my left hand.  This is meant to remind me during moments of severe inebriation not to say or do anything stupid.  In a sense, though, DBD is more than just a personal admonition – it’s a universal caveat for all those who believe that your twentysomething years should be a cherished time.  A time spent finding yourself.  Drunk.  And in the beds of strangers.  So the next time you go on a celebratory bender or just need to blow off some steam at an open bar, remember these words: “Don’t Be Dumb.”

-Sometimes, you just can’t help being dumb.  At my friend Christina’s wedding a few weeks ago, she had a clambake in lieu of a traditional rehearsal dinner.  Oysters and lobsters as far as the eye could see.  Unfortunately, I’m allergic to shellfish.  A dozen glasses of Pinot on an empty stomach later, Chris asked me to make a toast.  I grabbed the mic and, about halfway through, accidentally dropped an F-bomb on the crowd.  Little did I realize in my state of drunken euphoria that wedding speeches are actually not supposed to make babies cry and guests walk out.

-Sometimes, barriers are put in place ahead of time to prevent dumbness.  Chief among them is the policy of many resorts and hotels to keep the pool closed from dusk until about 8am.  I can’t tell you how many times while on vacation I’ve returned from a club with a bunch of people (or just one girl) and vainly attempted – while fully-clothed and shitblasted – to get in to the pool area and engage in what surely would have resulted in aquatic disaster.  The last time this occurred was my buddy Brian’s bachelor party in Vegas, and I responded by taking my dumbness elsewhere.  Stymied at the pool gate, I promptly turned around, stumbled to the roulette wheel in the casino, threw my cell phone down, and loudly announced I was betting it on red.  That’s when Triplet #1 turned to me and said, “Karo, you’re standing at a blackjack table.”

-Of course, I’m not the only dumb one.  For example, there’s Triplet #2, who once blacked out on the hallway floor right in front of his apartment.  When I asked him the next morning if he’d lost his keys or been locked out, he simply shrugged bewilderedly and said, “No.”  Or my buddy Claudio, who had a few too many Captain and Cokes and referred to the girl he was dating for only a few weeks as his girlfriend – right in front of her.  Claud didn’t remember what happened and she never said anything about it, so he just never brought it up ever again.  And then there’s Ex-Girlfriend, the girl I dated seriously for a year and a half until last summer.  A few months ago, she got slamhammered, then texted me to ask if I looked at other girls when we dated since her current boyfriend has a wandering eye.  Which would have been fine had her drunken text message not been the first time she ever mentioned to me she had a new boyfriend in the first place.