what ABOUT drinking?

So lots of partying and clubbing... that's what Thanksgiving is all about! For my birthday weekend, one of us got kicked out of the club for wearing shorts (which was lame, because the club wasn't THAT gucci) and when I finally got out, I made friends with random guys who offered me weed and checked out my boobs. Then last weekend was gay clubbing and I once again made friends with random (gay) guys who distinctly did not check out my boobs but did accidentally make me drop a cigarette down my shirt. And then offer me nachos while stealing drags as we ate tacos. I ordered in Spanish and pretty much made the guy's night.

This is what happens when I either don't have adult supervision OR my adult supervision is meekly standing by while I wander off to hang out with people who look interesting. Or they're just not paying attention while I go to the next table to hang out with THAT group because I grabbed the wrong chair (see: tacos).

In any case, I might have a problem, because I was linked to this: What About Drinking? And at the end, the guy says, "What do you think? What about drinking?"

My first thought? "Turn this video into a drinking game!"

It's okay if I have a problem because I'm adorable.

Back to the grindstone!

hullo, my name is Drunkie McSparkles

Oh gosh but it was an awesome weekend. Who loves Halloween? This bitch loves Halloween.

I ended up in the gay district of the gayest city in this nation, known for the gay and the awesome, and I was STILL the most glittery person there. YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW. I was the fairyest fairy ever. Just to give you some sort of guestimate:



That flash picked up about a quarter of the glitz that was on my body. The wings were kind of a bitch to move around with in the club but it all worked out in the end with no permanent damage to anybody. I was with a few friends, who were dressed as a Musketeer, a Goth, and a Double Rainbow. We tasted that rainbow. IT WAS DELICIOUS.



I kind of dressed up as the alcohol fairy. No, that's not my real hair; I have several wigs. I know you love it. Here's a better shot of it:



I don't even want to mention how many drinks I had, but I was definitely the Alcohol Fairy. I made a few friends and loved on random strangers and tipped ridiculously at the bars because costumes cloud my judgment. I threw up with my friend in the bushes as a bonding moment and woke up in a bathtub at one point. My own bathtub, no worries. I did smoke outside and my friend who has previously threatened me with extreme bodily harm if I ever smoked did not bodily harm me.

The entire point of this post was to really say that I'm going to miss this. Objectively I'm way more mature and responsible than this. I do know my alcohol limit. I do know how to dress appropriately in public and how to party conservatively with close friends and maybe a game of Pictionary. But I'm 22, goddammit. Being dumb and drunk with my ass EVERYWHERE, that is something that I CAN do right now, and for some reason it gives me a thrill because I can do it and not look like a tool. Heavy drinking is not alcoholism, it's being young. When I get older and attempt to do the same, I will look dicriculous and people will ridicule me. Or that's what I fear.

So I'm living it up while I still have the right, nay, the EXPECTATION to be irresponsible.

Plus I look awesome after a night of you hard drinking:

stop looking at me with that tone of voice!

Man, sometimes I hate the apartment complex I'm in. The individuals are predominantly older, with families, respectable jobs, things to get up for in the morning. AND THEY ALL JUDGE ME.

I mean, come on, group of Indian moms. A girl coming out of her car at 9 am with clubbing clothes on (this face, brought to you by yesterday's makeup!) might just be coming home after crashing at a friend's because the DD got 'slizzard,' as it were. No need to stand there with critical expressions. I thought women were supposed to just KNOW when a bitch got laid, which is NEVER my life.

This morning, when I was in my PJ's (a very large shirt, and if my roommate's lucky, panties), eating brownies straight out of the pan while waiting for my garlic noodles (thank you PF Changs!) to heat up, what do I see when I look up? A middle-aged man standing there, looking into the window.

JUDGING ME.

...or jerking it. I'm not entirely sure. The angle was a little off. Hey, that could be in SOMEONE'S bucket.

Later, when wearing PJ's again (plus bottoms, this time) and going to do my laundry with my hair messy and my shirt that used to fit me when I was in the 8th grade?

Old mother lady standing there, folding clothes.

JUDGED.

Seriously, guys. My life is not as exciting/lame as you think it is. Stop it with the eyes and the staring. Just live vicariously through what you think is going down and leave me out of it.

I'd swear I'm not a lush but I'd be lying

Painkillers don't work on me, not really. I ripped up (not totally off) a good portion of a toenail a week ago and have been hobbling around on it for a while, which really impeded dancing.

See where there is a conflict of interest?

And I still have to defend my ramen against my cat. I don't think 'ramen' is a good food preference for a cat. My cat likes everything, and I keep feeding him stuff for my own sick amusement. So far the only thing he DOESN'T like is Pepsi. I'm pretty sure that's not right. If there was a union for cats, he'd be kicked out of it.

And now it sounds like I only have ramen and Pepsi for sustenance. Oh no, it was my birthday, I have a shitton of free food to nom. Also more booze. A friend got me a bottle of rum for my birthday because SHE KNOWS ME. LIKE, KNOWS MY SOUL. And then people kept buying me drinks. I love my friends because they're enablers, purr.

God, every time I update this thing I'm drinking, smoking, or clubbing. My life is not the life of a rebel sans cause. I do shit like pay storage rent and get dental checkups and jump into my pants with both legs at the same time like everybody else. But clubbing is still amazingly fun, and if you can afford it, go for it.

I'm sorry, back to clubbing. We went to a club in the city and danced it up to top 40's and hiphop, although they repeated songs just like last year, goddamn go on iTunes and download some shit, people, you have three hours and there are more songs than that. I got good and tipsy, and at my high point my friend said something to me and I licked another friend on the mouth. I think that's what was pressing on my mind the whole night, not that I did something so odd and snag a friend and lick her on the mouth, but because now she won't think I'm a good kisser. Which I don't think you can judge with a drunk person anyway. Which was my logic at that time, and now, I'm like "Dude, I don't want to get in that friend's pants anyway, why am I worried she's judging my non-kissing?" and I think that maybe she'll tell prospective hotties that I'm a bad kisser, but she's still a friend even though I licked her mouth, so probably she'll just tell them I can lick my own nipples or something completely ridiculous.

I totally didn't throw up out of a car this year and it was fun even with Creepy Korean telling me to chug my drink and not taking "no," "no," "fuck no," "get the fuck away, asshole," "I will rip out that greasy rag you call a soul, wrap it around your dismembered kittenish testicles, set it on fire, and shove it down your throat if you don't back the fuck off" for an answer. Actually, a stranger came to my rescue, which was nice. I like it when guys feel chivalrous, it always means helping me or buying me things. I know how to change my own tire inside and out but I've never had to.

Yes, so, happy birthday to me. I'm cold, but I have a leftover bottle of rum to finish, and if that doesn't work to warm me up, I can just set fire to my alcohol-soaked liver. The flames will be beautiful.

I dance like I'm having a seizure, but less sexily

Last night I went dancing, specifically dressing up to go ballroom dancing. Which was like the nightmare where I'm continuously fucking up in front of an audience, and people are laughing and pointing, but this was WAY more boring. The moral of the story is, I can learn to samba, but the moment the instructor makes me be her follower and all my mostly-okay BS is exposed, and she has to stop the lesson to make me less of a fuckup but it doesn't work, then I'm dejected and sulk in a corner. I tried to be a good sport and I grinned and had a decent time, but no way was I letting all those old people touch me. Especially when I was so bad, and they were so good.

Someone in our group was like "lol this isn't your scene" and I was like "lol no, my scene is more like UNTZ UNTZ UNTZ" and somehow we ended up clubbing for reals. After they got 'tired' of it, I'm really freakin' hoping it wasn't because of me. I didn't want to be a buzzkill; I was just the only person there who had never taken ballroom dancing. I have rhythm and everything, I swear. I could have faked it but no way.

Anyway, we went downtown and found ourselves in a club where everybody else except the bartender was distinctly Not White. I like hip hop, and I can dance (fuck the title of this post, my hips don't lie), but the fact that we were there was the most entertaining thing ever apparently. I could practically hear whispers of 'This is better than BET!' floating around* as we hit the dance floor. But we were totally hot (I can say this cuz I have low self-esteem but I know good dancing and at least everybody else in my group was hot, and my bff and I ground so hard I'm halfway certain I'm preggers now by that girl). It's just that everybody was watching us and I'm pretty sure some were laughing (in impressed joy, probably). We were also in ballroom dancing clothes vs. clubbing clothes. We kinda cleared the floor. I didn't realize this until my heart started hurting (I skipped my heart meds last night and now expect to go through some fun withdrawal today) and we sat out, and then it was packed again. Oh maaaaaaan. Like Awkward turtle had millions of Awkward babies. (The rest of the night was less uncomfortable/fun and more boring. We went to another bar but bounced to go get Mexican food. A good decision on our part, indeed.)

So there are the unspoken rules of the club, usually limited to 'don't leave your drink on the bar' and 'have a signal for when a creeper is grinding into your ass so you can be rescued.' That's the basic shit, stuff you go over with newfies to clubs so they're not raped at any point. But there are a few rules that I've only learned through experience:

1. Get the hell out of a club before the lights come on. There's two reasons for that: one, you miss the mass of drunk that escapes at that point. Always nice to leave a few minutes early and not have to run bitches over to get out of the area. Two: you do not want to see the floor. You might be fooled into thinking it was clean when the only light was flashing from a strobe twenty feet overhead, but then the lights come on and you see the mass of empty cups, used condoms, and hypodermic needles. And then you automatically get every VD ever for just looking at it. And cancer. You also get cancer.

2. Not only do you not put your drink down, if your club is Sketchville, don't ever let it out of your sight. If you're a girl, take advantage of the fact that you look cute and helpless if you hold it two inches from your boobs with hunched shoulders. Because if you take that drink and just hold it out two feet in front of you, into a crowd of dancing people, it could come back with no less than seven different types of tranquilizers, rape drugs, and E/heroin combo's. Trust me, in good rave clubs you can OD by just inhaling deeply. Your alchie does not leave your immediate sight for longer than a blink.

3. You might laugh at the girls for going off to the bathrooms in groups, but if one of you has to go to the bathroom, you ALL GO. Unless the club is small, there must be a mass to the bathroom. Otherwise one of your party will pass out in a stall and get raped and end up stripping in a really horrible stripclub so her kid can go to school so don't do it.

4. Don't go in with white shoes. They will come out all sorts of fun colors. And stuff will splash on your feet. Unless you have an open wound and it was a cup of pure AIDS suck it up, it will wash off. If you don't want your shoes dirty, don't wear them around throngs of inebriated people. Although you do need shoes; see tip #1.

5. Tip the goddamn bartenders. Even if you get water. They work with your drunk ass for a living. And, if you're generous, you get lots more alchie in your next drink and sometimes you get free drinks. Especially if you yell at the top of your lungs about how cute the bartender is, which works even with gay ones, something I learned by drunken accident.

6. Don't bitch about people wanting to dance with you. Yeah, it's annoying when creepers rub up against you. But you came to a public place to dance, where people dance with everybody else. You probably dressed up. Your dancing is most likely sexy. Everything in your body language says you're here to get nookie. Trust me, I understand, I wouldn't go to a club for sex just like I wouldn't go to the AIDS clinic to share needles. But at the same time, these boobs were made to be showed off. Just politely decline, no need to get nasty or bite anybody's face off. Your friends will laugh with you later about creepers but silently they'll be calling you a douche canoe for the unnecessary reaction. Plus, if you pick fights with drunks, it doesn't matter how much of a girl you are. Shit could go down.

That's it for now. My experience is now your experience. You're welcome.




*if you were offended by that, might just spare yourself the trouble and never come here again.