I'm not sick, but I'm not well
I have come to the conclusion that rum and I are no longer friends.
We had our ups and our downs, our ins and our outs, and a few scraps along the way. But nothing, nothing like Thursday night. (Yes, two nights ago. It was so intense that I couldn't even talk about it yesterday.)
I hate blogs that say "Oh my god I was so drunk last night that i don't even remember what i did or who i did it to! OMG!!!" That was funny, um, in first year. No, I'm a bit more urbane than that. Not that urbane, in that I continue to wake up the morning after in a state of stunned disbelief, but I don't go around announcing it to the world that yes, I was hammered, and yes, I was out of control, and no, I don't remember talking/dancing/buying you drinks/high fiving/hitting on your girlfriend/standing awkwardly at the bar/etc.
I have never associated Christmas with alcohol. No association whatsoever. My family would have a glass of wine -- usually a watered-down glass, and never more than one glass -- with Christmas dinner. After that, the bottle of Baby Duck would go back in the cupboard behind the pots and pans until next year. No one got drunk. No one did anything they regretted. No one felt anything more than sleepy, especially with the overdose of turkey that went along with the wine.
And then I started hitting Christmas parties. Actually, the pre-parties are usually much, much better than the parties themselves. (The exception, of course, being this year, when all parties suck.) Christmas parties then led to New Year's parties. All of which are still new to me.
Up until New Year's 1999, I didn't go out at all on New Year's Eve. Why bother? I didn't drink, my friends were all trashed somewhere swanky where they had to buy tickets to get in, and I was usually working.
New Year's has gone downhill from there. I mean, I've gone to bigger parties, house parties, swanky balls, pool rooms, wandering downtown at the last minute, got drunk, got kicked out of some places, made an utter fool of myself to a large crowd of people I barely knew, and ended up passing out in someone's bathtub, but nothing really says in my mind "Yeah, that was fun." It was more just going through the motions, doing what I have gathered from other people what a good time is, and what I should be doing instead of what I'd like to be doing. So what does that say about me?
The usual. I wish I knew what I was doing. Ninety percent of the time, I'm just doing what people assume someone like me should be doing. Which leads me back to my antagonism with rum. Myself and Ryan were having a grand ol' time, watching free cable and inhaling free popcorn at the Wave. Great times all around. Shooting the shit, talking about what we want to do with the rest of our lives. The Henderson twins showed up after some student union shindig, and the rest of the place fills up with people I don't know. Then, out of nowhere, Melissa shows up. The Henderson twins leave, and come, and go, and come again, and split up, and dance, and leave, and so on and so forth. Melissa starts acting like the shoulder devil she usually is. All hell breaks loose afterwards. I end up staggering home, freezing, have made an ass of myself, as per usual. The reason, of course, being a) the rum, b) the thought that I should have been doing that, and c) no reason not to. Bah well. I'm alive now, and that's about it.
We had our ups and our downs, our ins and our outs, and a few scraps along the way. But nothing, nothing like Thursday night. (Yes, two nights ago. It was so intense that I couldn't even talk about it yesterday.)
I hate blogs that say "Oh my god I was so drunk last night that i don't even remember what i did or who i did it to! OMG!!!" That was funny, um, in first year. No, I'm a bit more urbane than that. Not that urbane, in that I continue to wake up the morning after in a state of stunned disbelief, but I don't go around announcing it to the world that yes, I was hammered, and yes, I was out of control, and no, I don't remember talking/dancing/buying you drinks/high fiving/hitting on your girlfriend/standing awkwardly at the bar/etc.
I have never associated Christmas with alcohol. No association whatsoever. My family would have a glass of wine -- usually a watered-down glass, and never more than one glass -- with Christmas dinner. After that, the bottle of Baby Duck would go back in the cupboard behind the pots and pans until next year. No one got drunk. No one did anything they regretted. No one felt anything more than sleepy, especially with the overdose of turkey that went along with the wine.
And then I started hitting Christmas parties. Actually, the pre-parties are usually much, much better than the parties themselves. (The exception, of course, being this year, when all parties suck.) Christmas parties then led to New Year's parties. All of which are still new to me.
Up until New Year's 1999, I didn't go out at all on New Year's Eve. Why bother? I didn't drink, my friends were all trashed somewhere swanky where they had to buy tickets to get in, and I was usually working.
New Year's has gone downhill from there. I mean, I've gone to bigger parties, house parties, swanky balls, pool rooms, wandering downtown at the last minute, got drunk, got kicked out of some places, made an utter fool of myself to a large crowd of people I barely knew, and ended up passing out in someone's bathtub, but nothing really says in my mind "Yeah, that was fun." It was more just going through the motions, doing what I have gathered from other people what a good time is, and what I should be doing instead of what I'd like to be doing. So what does that say about me?
The usual. I wish I knew what I was doing. Ninety percent of the time, I'm just doing what people assume someone like me should be doing. Which leads me back to my antagonism with rum. Myself and Ryan were having a grand ol' time, watching free cable and inhaling free popcorn at the Wave. Great times all around. Shooting the shit, talking about what we want to do with the rest of our lives. The Henderson twins showed up after some student union shindig, and the rest of the place fills up with people I don't know. Then, out of nowhere, Melissa shows up. The Henderson twins leave, and come, and go, and come again, and split up, and dance, and leave, and so on and so forth. Melissa starts acting like the shoulder devil she usually is. All hell breaks loose afterwards. I end up staggering home, freezing, have made an ass of myself, as per usual. The reason, of course, being a) the rum, b) the thought that I should have been doing that, and c) no reason not to. Bah well. I'm alive now, and that's about it.
posted by joelg at 1:54 PM
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