I dunno what it is about wine. A lot of my friends love it. And I mean, good wine, where they can say 2005 was a great year and red wine has tannins and (unpronounceable noise) is a GREAT white (haha! wine joke!). I don't know the appeal. I can tolerate some whites and berry wines, but really, the only wine I enjoy is the cheap shitty wines or white Zin. Otherwise, please sir may I have another screwdriver?
However, I have to admit, when I can keep wine down it is a pleasant buzz. All warm and upper-classy. I had a lot remaining of this one bottle of (unpronounceable noise) and was wondering what to do with it when a friend called me up with an invite to see a late-night Tron. It was Saturday night. Of COURSE I would immediately go on Google and look up Tron drinking games.
The remaining wine filled up my water bottle almost perfectly. I think that's what they're calling 'Fate' nowadays.
I wish I could say it was my first time sneaking wine into a movie theater so that I could play a drinking game to it, but it's not. I corrupted my Boyface with a couple of full water bottles to a showing of Burlesque (drink whenever you see high heels, or match drinks with the actors, and when they mention Patron by name), plus a few other indiscretions. It's just what I do when I've heard the movie is kinda shit. There are always ways to have fun.
Rules for Tron drinking game:
-Drink whenever you see someone's disc, or when someone throws a disc.
-Drink when you hears the words 'Tron,' 'user,' 'program,' 'the Grid,' or 'the maker.'
-Drink when a program is destroyed.
My wine was gone halfway into the movie and I got pleasantly buzzed, all warm and happy. Afterward, I didn't want to go inside, knowing my warm was too warm at the moment. And I'm feeling classy.
I know drinking wine out of a water bottle shouldn't give you immediate rights to feel high-and-mighty, but it does, and I just have to accept those responsibilities. I chilled outside in the parking lot a bit, texting friends and smoking a clove as I waited for my flush to die down.
I know I've mentioned before the huge amounts of judgy people that reside in my complex. I look up at one point and notice a woman there, judging me. She obviously hasn't gotten the memo that I'm tottering around smoking cloves while drunk on good wine, thus making me better than her. I stare back, raising an eyebrow elegantly as I regard her with the same judgy stare she's leveling at me.
In that moment, I know what to do. I can feel my response coming, and I shift my hips just a little.
It's a small one, but audible. She blinks, and I can see the realization cross her mind that even farting, I am way classier than she. She seems to become aware of her own disheveled state and the fact that she's wearing pajamas. It's almost sad, watching the self-pity set into her features as she shakes her head and hurries off. I stand there smugly, finishing my clove in peace.