Of The Drunken Twin Connection

Drunk Twins

I’m going to make a grand assumption and believe that everyone knows about the Twin Connection. I mean, a generation who grew up watching Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen movies, at the very least, should understand that twins are able to sense when the other is in trouble, their stomach hurts, pissed off, keeping a secret, overtly happy, has a new love interest, and so forth. It’s a miraculous skill that can only be developed in the womb.

I’m not a twin – but I know some twins.

My dear friends Britney and Dawn recently turned 21, so I along with my friend Alleschea took them out for their 21-run. Basically, a bar hopping experience where they are expected, in fact, it’s a demand that they get so shitfaced they won’t be able to function properly for three days. We decked them out in adorable birthday hats, sashes, shot glass necklaces, and bracelets – they looked fantastic, though, their shy personalities initially made them want to take all their decorations off. That simply wasn’t an option, if they wanted free drinks, they were going to wear the hats – end of story.

So they wore the hats.

I must say, I was very impressed. As a light-weight if I have three drinks, odds are I’m not going to be able to function. But bar after bar, drink after drink – they seemed fine. Alleschea and I were highly disappointed, “We’re failing!” we ranted.

Until, the eighth drink.

From that point on I watched in bewilderment as the twins went through the various phases of drunkenness in unison. It was a miraculous sight. That eighth shot brought them to stage one, denial. They were fine, hardly feeling it, don’t see what the big fuss is all about. Sure they barely sense their own drunkenness, but from an outside perspective, their mannerisms all pointed to intoxicated.

After the ninth drink, they lost their filters. Suddenly, homophobic and racists slurs were being spun out of their mouth like they lived deep within the Bible belt. An outsider would have assumed the worst of them, defiantly never would have guessed the Britney herself is Bi, as their mouths continued to offend all who did not know them. Alleschea and I laughed, almost stunned by this sudden switch in behavior.

Their final drink, number eleven, sent them straight for the bathroom.

I felt like I was in a scene from a nineties teen movie. Britney throwing up in one stall, as Dawn throws up in the other. The bathroom smelled terrible, I could hardly tolerate the odor of vomit floating around the room. After awhile the spewing stopped (at the same time), and Dawn kicked her foot out of the stall. Poor girl, she missed the toilet, her shoe and calf were covered in regurgitated beverages. I was sympathetic, but not about to help clean up.

Eventually they were both ready to exit the stalls. They locked eyes on each other, and immediately Dawn collapsed on the floor, like a child pouting in timeout. Britney ran back into the stall and spent several minutes failing to throw up. I left them like that, unable to handle the stench.

I found Alleschea who had been watching the fries we ordered this whole time.

“I can’t deal with that smell anymore. Dawn’s fallen on the floor and Britney’s still in the stall,” I said.

“I know, it’s terrible. I’ll go check on them,” she said.

She was gone for all of three minutes when she came out and told me, “We’re being kicked out, someone complained.”

I grabbed the fries (but left the basket – I have manners), and we shuffled them out the door. Originally the plan was to escort our drunken twins to the car, quickly it became apparent that they wouldn’t be able to handle a ten minute car drive as walking sent Britney in the wrong direction. That girl is a drifter, I’ve never seen someone veer to the left so intensely when trying to walk in a straight line, it was like trying to control a distracted puppy. Dawn was just fumbling around and much easier to manage. So we led them to the dock by the river.

On the boardwalk they collapsed on the ground once more, and said what every belligerently drunk person says, “How did I get so drunk?” Um, I’m going to go with eleven drinks including a double long island that you had – but hey, I’m just guessing. Eventually they stood up and leaned over the edge toward the river.

I got to offer tips I never thought I would teach somebody – how to make yourself throw up in a, “there’s too much alcohol in my system,” situation.

“Just go back a centimeter,” I said. Of course, the booze ridden twins were initially confused. “If you want to make yourself throw up the alcohol, where ever your finger is hovering to make you dry heave – go back a centimeter.” It worked like a charm, and finally we were able to take them back to the car.

And so concludes my fifth 21 run (I have five more to go). The drunken twin connection is a thing, and if you ever get the chance to witness it – prepare to be stunned with amazement.

Of Unwanted Stories

Friends TV Show

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I love being told stories. I’m a book-on-tape junkie. If you’ve already told me an awesome story, I’ll happily listen to it another 500 times. I prefer to laugh, but I appreciate a well told tear-jerker or coming-of-age tale. But honestly, there’s one story that I never want to hear – sadly, I’m told it quite often. And that is the ever-unfortunately-classic, check out how much I drank last night, saga. 

I can see it in their eyes – a dull longing. They want to brag, about what they can’t quite remember, but boy do they ever want to tell me about it. And do I ever not want to listen. Cause you see, I don’t care. There’s not much more that I can say, I simply couldn’t care less about how much you drank last night.

But I downed 12 shots of tequila, 2 long islands, and … – yeah, I still don’t care. Belligerency is not cool, it’s annoying … and sloppy.

It’s not interesting to me how much liqueur they drank. It’s even less interesting that they can’t remember everything that happened. Frankly, that’s not even a story. A good story needs something interesting like characters, plot, controversy, etc. And any story, at minimum, requires some sort of action.

Now if they went on an impromptu adventure, found themselves hitch-hiking with a fellow named Hank, and ended up having to sell blood in order to afford a bus ticket home – that would be a good story regardless of sobriety. Hell, it’d be more interesting if the entire story was a detailed account of how they made a PB&J for lunch.

If someone’s going to brag about their alcohol intake then they better have something more to back it up. Did they meet someone? Dance? Ask a police officer for a piggyback ride? Hijack a kayak? Fall asleep? Get in a fight? – Did anything else happen that I should be interested in hearing about? If the answer is no, don’t tell me the damn story. It’s not a story. It’s a list which was intended for bragging rights.

I don’t care.

Of a Light-Weight’s Night Out

It is no surprise that I’m a mega light-weight when it comes to consuming alcoholic beverages. I mean, just look at me …

Me on a Painter Scaffolding

… I’m a skinny chick who has a very small appetite ninety percent of the time.

On a typical night out I need not bring more than $15 (unless there’s cover – tip to future/current club goers ALWAYS try to avoid paying cover, if possible). $15 will pay for two shots and two drinks if the drinks are cheap. One drink and a shot if the bars a bit more spendy.

I’m almost always the first one who is pleasantly drunk, two drinks or shots, and I’m good to go. I’m a happy drunk – very giggly, bubbly, and will probably (nay will!) want to dance and/or talk about sex at some point in the evening. I’m told I’m a cute drunk, of course, being me I can’t confirm this without bias, I’ll just trust my buddies and their statements about my behavior.

I feel sorry for non-light-weights. They have to spend much more money than I do to reach the same level of happy.

Often I get teased about how much of a light-weight I am, they laugh because one or two beverages will be all I drink for the night. They complain that I can’t “keep up”. And then thank me for being the sober one at the end of the night. Funny how the tune changes when I’m now the one that can get the gang home.

Think of it this way. If I were to order four or five sodas at dinner most people would be shocked or appalled. For that’s a lot of soda. It’s a lot of drinks in general.

Unless you’re buying rounds of shots, three or four cocktails is a lot of cocktails. Just based off amount of liquid ingested alone.

If I REALLY wanted to I could drink more, but I don’t enjoy getting past the happy giddy stage of alcohol consumption. I don’t like stumbling down stairs. I don’t like feeling nauseous. I don’t like having no control over my body. I don’t like not being able to think properly. I don’t like being too drunk. I don’t like waking up and thinking why did I do that? I don’t function well when I drink more than my normal, unlike some people I know. I don’t like going to bed drunk. I don’t like forcing my friends to play mother and take care of me. And I DO like being sober (or close too) when I go home. Unfortunately, I do sometimes cross into the less fun drunk zone.

So ya see, I’m a light-weight through and through, and I’m just fine with that. I like my friends, and I like me. I don’t need to drink more to improve my self-esteem or confidence, not even to make the evening more enjoyable.

I can start the party completely sober, don’t believe me? If you’re out and about in Bellingham and the club is hopping, look for a curly brown-haired girl in a dress (most likely accompanied by a curly blond-haired girl in a mini skirt or skinny jeans). We’ll be there!

Of Sex on the Dance Floor

Couple at a night club

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Contrary to popular belief, the dance floor is not a place for love-making. Now, I’m aware that most people who go out at night on the weekends are either actively or unconsciously hoping to meet that special someone. Someone amazing and attractive, ideally someone wealthy, heading somewhere in life, and/or an outstanding dancer. Does this mean that you should throw your lower bits at them in order to gain attention? Negative, keep that to yourself.

Thankfully (for the most part) people are semi-subtle about their desires, or at the very least not perverse, and remain respectful to other human beings.

Then there’s those that make me want to gag.

Because I always end up at straight clubs I’m literally there to dance, drink, and be merry – I don’t plan or even try to meet ladies, not that I wouldn’t like to, it’s just not really much of an option unless I want to go out alone or drive to Seattle. So when I see the girls walk in with their tight TIGHT mini skirts, five-inch heels, and drinking their blue drinks I can’t help but think (and usually say) a whore’s arrived. Shallow and judgmental? probably. Natural and reasonable response? I think so. These are the desperate ladies trying to use their sexuality to attract men in the way that women are drawn to shiny objects.

Last Saturday I was out with Erin, we were starting the party – as usual. When I looked up I saw a girl in high heels and a purple mini dress that was riding up past crotch level and her dress was starting to slide down. She was grinding on a guy who was rubbing her nipples over her dress. She seemed to take no notice on how fucking creepy that was. Eventually she got pulled away by someone and the nipple rubbing guy looked PISSED and sat down staring at the dancing people. I swear he was glaring at the dance floor from that moment until I left for a different club. I was honestly fearful of what he was capable of.

It’s normal to see a groping couple on the floor, a slutty desperate drunk chick walking around, and an aggressive male trying to get some ass – but not to that extent.

So I repeat, please save your sexy-time for your bedroom – or at least the bathroom stall.

Boo You Whore

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Of How I Met Your Mother – Drinking Game

 

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Barney Game:

  • Legendary
  • Wait for it
  • Suit up
  • High 5/fist bump
  • Awesome
  • Gets slapped
  • Claims Ted as best friend
  • Blog reference

Ted Game:

  • Have you met Ted?
  • Yellow umbrella
  • Red cowboy boots
  • Fixing hair
  • Mother reference
  • Overtly romantic
  • Defends Marshal as best friend
  • Pretentious comment
  • Corrects people

Lily Game:

  • Kindergarten reference
  • Manipulation
  • Wig
  • Spills a secret
  • Painting
  • Shopping
  • Lily pad
  • Obviously horny

Marshal Game:

  • Slap reference
  • Superstition/mythical creatures
  • Lawyered/Law school
  • Marshmallow
  • Minnesota reference
  • Claims Ted as best friend
  • Sings
  • Environment talk
  • With food

Robin Game:

  • Robin Sparkles
  • But um …/Literally
  • Canada reference
  • Awkward news telecast
  • Hates kids
  • Someone comments on how hot she is
  • Guns
  • Cigarettes
  • Dogs

Everyone:

  • In bar
  • Flashback within flashback
  • Costume change
  • Successful hook up
  • Taxi
  • Ranjit
  • Bro
  • Star Wars reference
  • Chewing while talking

I’m unsatisfied with what I’ve found online for HIMYM drinking games so I made up my own.

Play by character, play with all characters, play everyone, compete one character vs. another with a friend.

Drink responsibly.