Wine drunk: the classiest of the drunks.

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.

WINE 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.

Pbbfffft.

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.

Point: me.

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:

Do I have to have a sexuality? Can't I just be sexual?

So in all honestly, when I spewed this word vomit onto my keyboard I was kinda emo about being stood up for a date that might've made me question my sexuality but I wasn't in danger so I just deleted that shit and I want to replace it with this:

When it comes down to it, after so many drinks, gender is just a number.

Elbow-deep in chestal cavity

Dude, way too many strange guys have been seeing my boobs while I've been sober. Something's not right here.

MAYBE IT'S THE PART WHERE I HAVE TO BE SOBER.

I can't have alcohol or caffeine or smoke for a full day before my surgery, to avoid risk of heart palpitations.

I SAY WORK AROUND THEM, THIS LADY WANTS A SODA GODDAMN.

But seriously, it's becoming commonplace for a dude to lift my shirt without even asking my name beforehand nowadays. Sure, he's sticking electrodes to my skin and staring at a machine instead of my cute new bra, but I still want a drink before I flash the guy like it's Mardi Gras and he is the man with the beads to need.

And then tomorrow not only will my surgeon be rummaging around my breasticles, they'll have a visiting doctor, and the two of them together can stare pensively at nipples.

I need black duct-tape to censor myself. TONIGHT.

Edit: DONE. MY NIPPLES WILL BE PRESERVED FROM VIEW FOR THE NEXT GENERATION.

...ew. The next generation does NOT need to look at my nipples.

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 am Bad People

If having the sudden urge to smoke while swinging on your old elementary school campus makes you a bad person, I don't even want to know how to be a good person. Because seriously, swinging is awesome. Random urges to smoke are awesome. Combine the two?

Totes amazeballs.

My smoking habit, though, isn't really a smoking habit. I don't think you can call it a habit if I bought a pack in September, and here it is November, and I have 13 left. I bought it because it was literally the last day I could legally buy cloves in the US and because I had been jonesing for smoking. I had never smoked before in my life, but I was seriously dreaming about it, I wanted it so bad.

See: addictive personality. I can get addicted to something without any of the prerequisites, like... trying it.

Occasionally now, I have an urge to hold something between my fingers and suck on it (obligatory blowjob joke here) and for a bit I have been wanting to go embrace my inner child but not in a pedophilic way because ew. Swings, though. Yes.

I live around the corner from my old elementary school, so it's 10:30 at night and I'm like "whatever, any kids up to see me smoking are delinquents anyway, and it's not like I'd share my damn cloves when they're illegal to buy here" so I go and yonder hence. It's a nice night out and--

Holy shit fence. There is a huge, fatty fence around my school. Wtshit, childhood? Oh well... it's a fire hazard to lock the thing totally down, so I wander around the perimeter and bam, open door. Score one for me.

I'm walking both through the school and down memory lane, outside the buildings (It's an outdoor campus), being all happy and practically prancing and I vaguely see movement. Yes, my night vision sucks harder than the really old Godzilla movies, although those are hilarious to watch when you've had a few drinks in you. I can't remember which movie it was, but Godzilla totally blows Mothra. I was there, I saw it.

Anyway. Movement. Like an idiot, I decide to Scooby up and investigate. Sort of, I mainly just continue to head towards the swings when

WHITE STRIPE FREAKING OUT HOLY SHIT IS THAT A SKUNK

I gtfo'd harder than I have ever gtfo'd in my life. It is on campus and chilling outside a building and about thirty feet away and then it's running and I'm running and to condense all my terror into a few words, I did not get sprayed but it TOTALLY exacerbated my condition.

I sang my way back out of campus because skunks do run away if they know you're coming, it's not like they WANT to ruin your life (they totally do). It was a pretty simple song, mostly comprised of "I am totally haaaaarmlessssss" and "please do not spray me in the faaaaace." My idyllic urge to swing had been squashed. But the pack of nicotine and cloves in my pocket still sang. (It wasn't as good as my song.)

So I hung out in the street to the side of the school, smoked, turned on a few porch lights with the power of making people concerned, and probably TOTALLY freaked out neighborhood watch. I mean, kid in black hoodie wandering outside your house? Sketchy, but... GO BACK TO BED, OLD PEOPLE WITH SUPER-HEARING. I DO NOT WANT TO STEAL YOUR SHIT. And just FYI, fuck littering, I totally didn't throw away my butt. See? I'm a good person. I don't litter or give kids cigs or smoke around other people. (Just outside of elementary schools.)

In any case, that was WAY more terror than a trip to a playground really needed. Which is probably why I should quit my horribly unhealthy smoking 'habit.'