Shit-Faced in the South

On Thursday morning I woke up dressed in my pajamas, lying in bed with my hotel roommate and with a very painful headache. Besides it being around six o'clock in the morning, on the surface this sounds like a particularly normal wake up scenario. The only problem was I had no idea how I got there, how long I had been there, or how I managed to get into my current outfit. Slightly confused and definitely sick to my stomach, all I could think of what to do was to visit the bathroom and then back to bed. A few hours later I awoke to my partner's cell phone alarm.

9:30 am: Let me think for a second exactly why I feel like shit. Oh right, alcohol. Oh yeah, party. Oh shit, I forgot I forgot to eat dinner. Oops. I then very slowly remind myself of the events leading up to this moment. My first ever debutante party in South Carolina.

5:02 pm: Let's start at the end of our early bird dinner. The food was delicious and I honestly wish I could have eaten more, but alas, it was time for the check. Just waiting for the server to pick up the card.

5:10 pm: Still waiting.

5:18 pm: Still waiting.

5:24 pm. Still waiting. Where the fuck is she? I mean, seriously? You're seriously still- OK, there you are. Jesus Christ, where the fuck did you go?

5:43 pm: The hotel is nice. We have kitchen, a living room and two bedrooms with bathrooms. It's two to a bed and I think of saying we could switch halfway through the night, but then decide to keep that thought to myself. Jokester turns into Creeper real fast.

6:04 pm: The party starts at 6:30 so we arrive early to support our girl and get a tour of the house. It's decorated beautifully and the food looks delicious. There's even a cute shy-looking boy playing piano. I quickly decide he the type of cute shy-looking boy that serial killers and rapists are made of and that I will not be lingering by the piano at all. Or at least not alone.

6:30-7:30 pm: The first hour of the event is the receiving line. This is basically a meet and greet for our girl of honor. Excuse me, young lady of honor. There's a lot of old people, and I mean A LOT. They are all very Southern and I feel very far away from anything familiar. Probably best to have a drink. Bartender! White wine, please!

7:58 pm: After I grab my signature* drink, us girls head upstairs to freshen up. After a few sips of my drink I realized it is the strongest vodka cranberry I have ever had. I also realize my dress is the same color and pattern as the couch. I found that to be amazing and we quickly captured the moment on film, which required me to lie down and become one with the couch.

8:40 pm: I get another glass of wine and make a terrible mistake. Since I already had a white I figure I'll try the red. Sure! Why not? This question will be answered later. With my new full glass I decide it's time to eat dinner: cheese and crackers, carrots and ranch, a quail leg and a roll.

9:09 pm: After I finish my red wine and have my friends tell me my teeth are looking reddish, I decide to grab another white wine. Usually I think I would have grabbed another vodka cranberry, but since the cranberry was in short supply I figured wine might be a smarter idea*.

9:29 pm: While sitting out on the front porch (front porch, South, get it?) I realize the party's about to end. I get my friend who's standing to grab me another glass of wine because honestly if I could stand, could I make it to the bar? I slam the rest of my glass to make way for more.

9:30 pm: The party's over. The photographer commences taking family photos, group shots and funny candid's. I know this because I was in some pictures and didn't even know it 'til they were developed! Yah!

9:39-10:07 pm: A group gathers near the library and the debutante's grandparents gush over their granddaughter (as they should). I hang on to my tallest friend and listen and sip. My friend next to me whispers something about a slow clap and I repeat the words "slow clap" only awkwardly and much louder, while clapping slowly.

10:08-11:15 pm: Everyone helps clean up the house and carefully place things in the cars. I help out and stumble to the car. I talk it up with the deb's parents and grandparents. I know I'm drunk, but still think I'm charming. I'm sure everyone just found me annoying and creepy. Hopefully endearing too*. I also decide it's a great idea to chat with the kitchen staff. Yea, I'm that girl, now.

11:16-11:35 pm: Ahh, the drive back to the hotel was a total blur. I had my empty wine glass and a plastic bag to throw up in and I was sound as a pound.

11:44 pm: Throw up in the hotel bathroom.

11:48 pm: More vomiting.

11:53 pm: Puke into a trash can while sitting on the bed.

12:00 am: Asleep by midnight. Beautiful!

Needless to say, I spent the next day drinking water (gross!), slowly eating macaroni and cheese and focusing on feeling good instead of how I really felt. As pathetic as my story is I had a great time. I don't know if the South and I agree too well, but I'm pretty sure getting shit-faced and puking everywhere is a Southern tradition and even if I can't be a debutante, I'm glad I could be a part of that.

*And by this I of course mean according to Dictionary.com the sixth meaning of the word signature, which states: "any unique, distinguishing aspect, feature, or mark". And although my drink order was neither unique or distinguishing, or for that matter an aspect, feature or mark, is it what I always order. Usually.

*Having an actual idea at this point is a bit of a stretch. And by a bit, I mean at this point in the story I probably would have thought the stage production of Footloose was a good idea (and we all know it wasn't). Having any sort of "idea" being "smarter" is also absolute bullshit.

*But probably not.

We're Gonna Do Just What We Wanna Do

Apparently November is the worst month of my life. All the papers, all the projects, all the fucking group presentations. The only reason I wish I went to big school is so I could avoid working in useful little groups with five other confused idiots that happen to schedule their class the same time as me. It makes no fucking sense. It never works out for everyone. Inevitably, someone is caught with their pants down.
As the semester is winding down and the weather gets colder it seems things get more sensitive and are somehow easier to break. It rains when you don't want it to, wine glasses fall and shatter, Volkswagen's refuse to start, computers crash and people die. Relationships become strange and hard to deal with. It's the most wonderful time of the year to drink rapidly, drive quickly (and foolishly), feel impulsively and move so fast you don't have time to think. You stop and realize that where you're running is far from where you were. Fuck, I have no idea which is the better of the two.
It sounds stupid (because it is), but life is so fucking annoying it hurts. No one is alike, no one understands each other, there is no common ground. Everyone has their own thing going on and no one will get you. I hate it when I'm feelin' a new song like crazy. It makes my day every time I hear it. I sing like there's no fucking tomorrow or I cry like I just got hit with a baseball bat. But no matter how much I love this song (movie, person, fill in the blank, people) no one else in the world understands. My friend always used to make me "listen to the lyrics" of different songs she loved. I always felt bad, because to me, the songs just sounded gay or just whatever. It never meant the same to me. And it's not about things like music or movies, it's just life. And that's how we live it. We try our best and usually still end up making mistakes. We think learn from them, and when we see someone else "going through the same thing" we gladly offer up our shitty advice , so that they can fuck it up just as bad (or hopefully worse) as we did. You'll never understand where I'm coming from until you've been there. And if you think you have been, you're wrong. Haven't you been paying attention?! There's no way for you to figure out what's going on unless you ask me. And even then, who's to say I'm not going to come up with some clever lie and deliver it to you like some fucking pro under oath. And you'll really never know if you never ask.