It’s four in the morning and I have no idea where I am. First of all, my bed is not lofted, so this
is clearly not my room, second of all, there is also someone in this bed. God fucking damn it. Well at least my clothes are on. No herpes today! But seriously, how the fuck did I get
here?
This is of course May Day night, sophomore year of college. I remember none of this night after I left my
room. I have no recollection of getting
to the green or how the fuck I ended up in a different dorm, certainly one that
I’d never even been in during my first two years at WAC.
The art of escaping this room and its occupant was made that much more
difficult by the fact that I was A) still drunk, B) had to climb over someone
to get down the ladder and C) There was a drunk bar preventing me from
leaving. Now, the drunk bar in theory is
a great idea. It prevents drunk people
from falling out of bed. Too bad it also
prevents drunk walk of shamers from leaving said bed undetected. Because it is way too complicated to climb
over said bar but it is also just as risky to lift it up. Because I was still drunk this would probably
end with me accidentally dropping it on this girls head, and I preferred not
to wake her up and I wanted to escape with no one knowing I was ever there,
her included.
This problem was not helped by the fact that I had never been in that
room before and I had no idea where the fuck my glasses were. I would be ok with leaving my keys or my hat,
but I can’t leave my glasses. Damned my
fucking blindness. I decided I was going to
lift the bar, this was made more difficult by the fact that I was on the wall
side of the bed so I also had to climb over a body. I pretended it was some Indiana Jones
adventure, except then I got over excited and of course, dropped the beam of
wood. Well, now she was awake and it was
getting way more awkward because I really just need to leave. I’m not one for sleepovers, especially if I wake
up sober. It’s just not my thing.
Well I woke her up, so I did what I always do which was to behave like
any other normal person would behave: make a grab for my shit, say a hasty “gotta
go” and run from the room. Now, I don’t
count this as a walk of shame considering I A) thankfully did not sleep with her
and B) it was four in the morning so no one was around to see me do it. In fact, if I played it cool, I just looked
like one of the last party people standing, making the long eight minute walk
back to Chester. And what a long cold
fucking walk that was.
This is one of the only few times I woke up not aware of where I
was. The other couple times ended with
me waking up in an apartment across the street from Sam’s over the restaurant
now called the Lemon Leaf, but since those were purely platonic sleeping arrangements,
they don’t count as shameful. Though
once when walking up Wash Ave at 7 a.m. in my sweatpants someone honked at me followed
by the “thumbs up” salute. Oh how wrong
you were, assuming driving.
Here’s my thing about drinking: I either have one or two drinks not
even getting my tipsy or I am wasted. I
don’t have a middle ground. There is no
happily buzzed for me. I don’t do
moderation, I go shitfaced or I stay at home and watch movies. Though sometimes I am shitfaced and also watching
movies. Senior year I convinced my roommates
to turn “The Sound of Music” into a drinking game, yes I am ashamed of
myself. No, not really.
Freshman year I got so drunk during the pregame that it just turned
into straight gaming and I had to be deposited on the fourth floor of Minta
with someone who I had only just become friends with second semester. I woke up with my sternum aching and bruised
from leaning over the toilet all night, I also think at one point I fell asleep
in the stall against the door, or possibly lying around the ground, I don’t
recall much. Well, that’s what you get
for banging back 13 shots in 20 minutes.
In retrospect I probably should have been taken to the hospital, but
whatever. I can say that I didn’t wake
up with a hangover which I’m super proud of.
This blog has no point except to recall awesome or shameful nights of
drinking. Like once I got super drunk
and made out with some girl outside of the Ihouse in front of public safety,
which obviously I was told about later because that also is an event that I
cannot seem to recall with much clarity.
I believe that night I was the victim of two shots of everclear and then
a mixed drink, also with everclear.
I have a knack for drunk dialing people. I just have to, it’s at the point where I try
to sober hide my phone but then I get super anxious and have to call
someone. The usual victim of this
endeavor is my friend, Flash. Flash is
ten years older than me and is basically my big sister. Flash never answers her phone because she’s
off partying herself, so I used to leave her three to five minute long
drunk rants. These were usually about
the fact that I A) could not find any lesbians B) found some lesbians but they
were weird or C) made out with a straight girl, I’m the king. I stopped calling Flash the older I got in
college, as I grew some shame and got more embarrassed by the fact that my
drunk alter ego was some crazy drunk sad lesbian. She would also save them and replay them for
me when I returned home on holidays.
Some of them I remember, but the ones I don’t remember leaving were by
far the most embarrassing. She also like
to play them for her friend who I did not know.
This is probably for the best, because if I did know them, I would feel the
need to write a long winded apology citing that I only turned into a crazy horny
lesbian when I was shitfaced. When I am
sober I am way too shy to talk to a girl.
Another very large problem I have is I tend to lose my friends. See, my school was small so I’d go out with
my usual drinking gang and then find some people I knew from class who would
otherwise have no interaction with my core group of drinking pals and I would
wander off with them. I would then find
myself in a random Western Shore house, knowing no one inside and forgetting
where I had left everyone. Besides this
losing people problem, I also tend to do ridiculous things when I see people I’ve
hooked up with but wish to avoid them at all costs. This need to avoid people once had me hiding
in a closet in someone’s room for literally thirty minutes. And no, the irony was not lost on me at the
time.
There are more tales of infamy and bad decisions. I’m just either too lazy to write them now,
or I just don’t remember them. I’m sure
drunk stories will pop up from time to time.
One of the most epic being my first drunk night of college, which will
be saved for a later date, yet to be disclosed, since it was one of my more
embarrassing moments so I might actually have to be drunk to write it.
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