Of Drunken Ramblings

Cocktails with Lainie!

Cocktails with Lainie!

So I haven’t done straight shots in – my guess is two years. But tonight, less than an hour ago, my roommate Lainie and I decided, “LET’S HAVE COCKTAILS!!!”. Followed quickly by me stating, “Hey, wanna just take a shot? I haven’t drank straight liquor since those half-naked make-out party days.” So we poured two shots of orange vodka (because we have a shit ton of it), and our night went from Lainie reading and me playing the piano, to us dancing around the house and making pasta.

There’s a reason I don’t do shots. It’s fucking disgusting. Makes my whole body shiver when the alcohol passes through my system. Lainie just hates lime, which baffles me. 

So now I’m legitimately drunk, for the first time since I chugged my friends whiskey drink that I couldn’t taste and assumed was rum. And my guess is, shortly after I make the mistake of posting this – I’ll be even drunker. But hey, I’m in my house, wearing plaid pants, listening to cliché club music. So what’s the harm? None I say, so let the drunken adventures begin.

Perhaps we’ll go for an adventure and Pocahontas around the river bend behind our house, or maybe we’ll stay inside and keep drinking/dancing around our living room – occasionally attempting a fancy hula hoop trick. Regardless, I doubt I’ll be taking straight shots again anytime soon. With the exception of in the next ten minutes, for Lainie and I just discussed taking another shot …

Though I must admit, it’s quite effective. And I developed a new appreciation for #hashtags.

PS – not missing my college days of attempting to write a paper in such a state of mind. Although – they were pretty damn impressive.

Of Spotting the Drunk Banana

Banana Costume

Click image to view source.

I can’t say I love Halloween. I never have, even as a child I thought it was immensely overrated: trick or treating took way too long, the candy was disappointing, and it was intensely cold. I’d rather stay home.

As I got older I really wanted to like Halloween, I did. I threw a party in high school. I wore a slutty costume my sophomore year of college and went clubbing. I drove all the way to Seattle to party on Capital Hill. For all these adventures I was moderately amused, but I’ve never felt the excitement that people around me seemed to indulge in. Course, I’m usually 95% sober – that might be part of the problem.

But every year as I hang around my buddies, and watch them drink in their Halloween bliss, I keep up my search for the Drunk Banana.

Almost every Halloween I stumble across a Drunk Banana. A belligerent male stumbling around the streets, tripping over his tongue, with the tip of the banana suit beginning to sag. That Banana is one shot away from passing out behind a dumpster and snuggling against a mound of trash. Regardless of his, not-so-classy, demeanor he’s entertaining. I hail Satan for bringing me the Drunk Banana and all the people watching joy that he provides.

This year I missed the Drunk Banana. He slipped passed my vision as I ditched the mainstream Halloween realm of cocktails and techno music to embark on the underground Blues Dancing scene that owns my soul. I made the better choice, trust me, for once Halloween didn’t completely suck.

But I missed my version of the Great Pumpkin. Maybe next year.

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 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 “You Too!”

Zach Galifinakis

I couldn't find a picture that demonstrated the You Too verbal phenomena. So I went with this picture looking at linguistics in a funny way. (click image to view source)

My busy work/school schedule has been making my life sleepless and chaotic. And my apologizes for any typos or blaring grammar mistakes as it is 2AM and I am still drunk as I write this.

Today at work the same verbal phenomenon that occurs every shift … of course occurred.

That being the infamous “You too!” phrase.

At least 70% of the customers that come through my line will have this conversation:

Me: There are your tickets, receipts on the bottom, enjoy your movie. *fake smile and enthusiasm*

Customer: You too *obvious uncaring eyes*

Me: *Polite smile and nod*

I don’t have an answer for why we always respond this way. Maybe it’s that need to be polite at all times. It’s involuntary, and we all do it, I am just as guilty as others when it comes to abusing the You Too phrase. Associate tells me to have a nice day – you too. Friend says drive safe as I leave – you too. The waitress tells me too enjoy my meal – you too.  I’m too sleepy and not sober enough to think of other examples but I know they exist. Maybe someday I’ll take the time to edit this and add in the others. Anyone who is amused or intrigued by this verbal phenomena should check out Brian Regan’s stand up “You Too and Stuff.” – he’s one of my favorite comedians.

It seems to me that the You Too phrase falls into the realm of asking, “How’s it going?” Usually this occurs while passing someone on the street. Thus any answer to that question other than “good” or “fine” is startling and bizarre.

The reality is I rarely watch movies, I don’t have time, and there’s very few that I want to watch even though I get in for free. And honestly I’m more of a TV person. Also, most the time when I say “fine” my day is either absolute shit or completely awesome.

Regardless, I’ll continue to smile or say “fine” in these frequent and recurring social situation.