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.
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.
posted by girl. at 1:20 AM
2 Comments:
I know where the story lies...
what does that mean??
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