We’ve all seen him. “That guy” at the bar. Who you admire in such a way that you’d either like to BE him or be INSIDE of him. Either way it’s thrilling. That guy that seems to hold it all together after 13 shots of sour jacks and 4 or 5 regrettable decisions later. That guy that somehow gets MORE charming the more alcohol is pumped through his body. (It should be noted that this ‘guy’ can be gender neutral, don’t get your panties in a knot). We call these people seasoned drinkers, the ones that can stay up with the big boys, the ones we somewhat admire, but mostly just loathe.
And then there’s you. Yes you, you savage. YOU who, after 2 glasses of wine succumbs to purple stained lips, close talking and slightly inappropriate personal space invasion toward that one coworker who hasn’t seen you next-level drunk quite yet. This is the coworker who you’ve decided that y’know, you’re “there now” to be hugging/aggressively high five-ing over the shared joy of Bugles and dipping french fries into your frosty. Your volume starts to increase, and that one old guy trying to listen to the wretched excuse for live music tells you to learn to use your inside voice in front of the new guy you’re seeing. The new guy you’re desperately trying to ensure doesn’t become aware of your inner crazy, just yet.
Fast forward: You’ve ingested four of your choice beverages. (Cause we both know you’ll shit mix, don’t fucking lie to me) You’ve officially spilled all over that white shirt you swore you’d never wear out, more than once too. You start to question if your articulating properly. This is conveniently around the same time that you tell pointless stories just to hear the sound of your own voice. The thought of piercing your tongue rolls through your head cause you’re pretty sure you can’t feel it. Your skin is blotchy cause, lets face it, you’re the whitest person known to man you’re practically translucent. You might even dance to that terrible Poison song, who knows. It’s at this point you’re feeling pretty much on top of the world. Have you read that article in The New Yorker? You bet your ass you have. Do you have a stance on our position with the Middle East? Fuck YEAH! Do you have the ability to talk out of your ass for hours on end, regardless if anyone is listening? Most certainly. You’re now ready to agree to all those terrible suggestions that one friend has, who also seems to have an endless reservoir of energy and drunken ability. And fortunately for you, this is also the part you acknowledge that it’s all downhill from here.
Woah look at you go! You made it through 8 drinks without going completely cross eyed! Be sure to at least once yell at your new boyfriend for attempting to tell you how to live your life. And make sure you not-so-subtly suggest that he doesn’t even know you. This is the part of the evening where you’re blind to all consequences of your poor decision making and your behavior plateaus in that region of shitty, crass and obnoxious. Prepare yourself for your new spouse to more than once question all of his life decisions in deciding to be a part of your life. Don’t forget to also accuse him of liking your mutual friend more than you, and in a last ditch effort for attention, make sure to accuse him that he’s only with you because you are the last single person in the town you both live in. Oh. And most importantly, make sure to do ALL of this on an empty stomach so that you feel like you’re in a tornado the second you close your eyes.
Don’t forget the most important part! Be sure to aggressively come onto your spouse in the worst possible way. This can include: mouth breathing your nacho/sangria/almost throw up combination breath onto his face while you’re attempting bedroom eyes, a very, very amateur lap dance that ends up with one or both of your knees in his balls OR dirty talking your way into a complete and utter shut down by your very, very disgusted partner. (If you really want to put the cherry on the cake, here’s where you get a complex about him not being attracted to you, be sure to use your best whining voice.)
The final step in your effort to be the worst person possible, fall asleep on the floor, face down with your jacket half off, cause we both know you gave up due to it’s enormous difficulty. Drag your shitty self to the bed the second you neck dislocates from being on the hard ass floor. Make sure you put a good amount of distance between you and your disappointed partner. Most importantly, wake up the next morning feeling like the Sahara desert has migrated into your mouth, moan profusely about how your head feels like an over-inflated balloon and very slowly, start to recall all the events of the previous evening. This is where you roll into a ball with 18 gallons of water, determined to never do it again. (But we both know you will.)