Until recently, I’d always prided myself on being one of those people who never did anything remarkably stupid while drunk. I’d wake up the morning after a party, grab a cup of black coffee, and laugh at the new and hilarious ways my friends had managed to humiliate themselves the night before.
I was really fucking smug about it.
I would sit there and listen to their stories, thinking:
Little did I know that the tables were about to turn. In a big way. No they weren’t just going to turn, they were going to fucking shatter into a million little splinters and stab me right in the dignity.
The realization came to me after a party one night which ended with me racing through the underground tunnels at my school pretending to be an airplane. I called one of my friends, referred to as Elektra in one of my previous posts, but for today we’ll just call her The Face That Launched A Thousand Ships, and she came down to find me running through the tunnels with my arms spread wide going: “VROOOOOOOOM!”
That’s not even the noise that an airplane makes. Jesus.
She tried to get me home, but I was not having it.
And that was only the beginning.
Since that night, I’ve developed such embarrassing drunken habits that I’d make the whitest of the White Girl Wasteds jealous. Not to mention the entire cast of Jersey Shore:
WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?
For one thing, I’ve started doing this thing where I try to suck on whoever’s face is nearest like some weird sea slug that just doesn’t understand social boundaries. Once I had a few drinks in me, I’d run around the party like a rabid dog in heat, basically screaming:
No one is safe.
Some of my friends would come up to me the next day and quietly pull me aside, saying: “Hey, man, this is kind of awkward, but at that party last night, you tried to make out with me… and with my boyfriend…”
YES. I KNOW I DID. I WAS THERE. I GRABBED YOUR FACE A BIT AND HARASSED YOU AND YOUR SEX-MATE. BUT YOU KNOW WHAT?
I was on a Vodka Cloud of Love and I wanted to share my emotions with everyone because internalizing your feelings is bad for your heart.
AND I HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS.
So I’ve been trying to kick that lil’ habit to avoid the inevitable awkwardness that it brings about, but I guess that while I was doing that, I failed to notice another little tendency creeping into my behaviour.
I’m a photo ruiner. I ruin people’s photos.
Let me explain.
This morning I woke up in a Bed of Pain feeling like my stomach was going to capsize and my head was going to explode. I didn’t really remember anything about last night, only that I almost made it to midnight before several of my friends had to put me to bed. I’m like a little kid that desperately wants to stay up until 12 on New Year’s Eve but can never make it, no matter how hard she tries.
Anyways, later in the day, photos began to be posted on Facebook. And that is when I realized.
I am an embarrassment to the human race and an example for you all of everything you should avoid becoming.
So you see, I run around and make everyone’s night significantly less attractive using skills I picked up from watching Rosie O’Donnell as a kid.
Let’s look at another one, shall we?
Now, let’s take a second here. Note the weird, drooling mouth, the half-shut eyes, and, oh yeah, the vodka cooler shoved down my dress.
Why would I take a picture of this? Why would I put the vodka cooler in that strange location? That’s not where it’s supposed to go. I know this. Every part of me knows this. And yet, we have this photo.
And it wasn’t even my camera.
Sometimes I wonder how I even have friends.
One of my them tried to tell me that I enhanced photos, rather than ruin them. For anonymity’s sake, we’ll call her a total fucking liar.
This is not enhancement:
This is total and utter destruction.
I am the Godzilla of group photos.
I stomp around in a drunken daze and destroy everyone’s chance at finding a fun new profile pic.
I am a destroyer of social media success.
However, while writing this blog, I came to the conclusion that the reason for my change from a peaceful little tipsy gnome to a tornado of drunken destructiveness is:
Damn you, university. With your (sometimes) free alcohol, and lack of rules.
No, you know what? F*** you.
F*** you, university.
Now, beware children (if there are any children reading this blog, which I hope there aren’t, since I could easily be a pedophile lying in wait (except I’m not) but back to the point in these parentheses, you should maybe ask your parents before signing up for a blog website, because that just seems like common sense), a higher education is not all fun and games. It can lead to social humiliation, regret, and remorse.
So much remorse.
But on the flip side, university’s also the time in your life when making a fool of yourself is somewhat socially acceptable.
So if you’re like the Old Me, and are scared of embarrassing yourself, stop it. Stop it right now.
You don’t learn anything by playing it safe. You learn by going a little bit crazy and getting a little bit silly. Otherwise, how else will you learn to laugh at yourself?
I’m not saying that you need to get drunk all the time and pass out on the bathroom floor in some frat house. You just need to stop caring what other people think so much. It’s a hard thing to do, but it’s so worth it. Because when you stop caring what other people think, you can actually start becoming yourself.
In the wise words of a class-A drunk, Chelsea Handler: