Monday, 18 June 2012

My 19th Birthday - Scar included.

This post is kinda like a PSA warning of the dangers of taking friends out to get shitfaced during an emotional time in their lives.
Every year, millions of women in Canada become drunken hot messes. Known as the "", being a drunken hot mess can strike when you least expect it, although others around you can see it happening from a mile away. It can affect your friends, acquaintances, that chick that slept with your ex, and even you. All it takes is one too many drinks to get from this... this.

Early detection is key to preventing this debilitating situation. If you feel like crying while drinking, DO NOT attempt to drink your sorrows away. Remember, early detection is key to preventing embarassing Facebook photo albums and bruises you don't remember recieving. This message is brought to you as a public service from crazywithasideofvanilla.
Now that you've been warned, let me speak of my own personal experience that led me to create this message. 

Now a proud member.

It was my 19th birthday, the one where all non-Quebec Canadians celebrate their ability to drink both endlessly and out in the open (but not in the streets. Adult or no, you will get arrested for drinking in the street.) My lovely friend Lawyer offered her house to pre-drink, as it was fairly close to the bars downtown (10 blocks), and so wouldn't cost as much money to get a cab down.

Everything was going fantastic: pre-drinking was fun, the bars were awesome, music was wonderful. It could have been the best birthday ever.

But then it was time to go home. Lawyer, having consumed large amounts of alcohol (especially for her 5'4, 100 pound frame), was feeling a little feisty. While walking away from the clubs to get a better chance at grabbing a cab, I realized that out of our final little group of five that were supposed to share the cab fare, we were now four (Ben, Minnie, Me, and Andrew). 

Lawyer was casually walking down a neighbourhood street, with her heels in her hands. Now, when I mean walking down the street, I mean litterally. She was in the middle of the road, weaving down the center line.
Me: Oh my God. We need to get Lawyer. She's going to get run down. Or contract Hepatitis from an errant crack needle.
Ben: Nah. She's fine. She'll just walk home.
Me: But she's really upset about her boy troubles, and she drank a lot...
Looking back, I see Lawyer, laying in the middle of the road, starfish-style.
Ben: ...She'll be fine.
A whole bunch more happened, so I'll just summarize it using bulletpoints.
  • We ended up following Lawyer, her yelling into the night that "BOYS SUCK!", me pleading for her to take a cab, Ben trailing behind giving drunken Minnie a piggyback, followed by Andrew, probably regretting ever going steady with me.
    • To this day, I am still amazed that no one called the cops on Lawyer. She sounded like she was either getting murdered or going through some sort of psychosis.
  • Lawyer grabbed me while stumbling around, creating a giant bleeding gash which resulted in a large scar across the top of my wrist that has thankfully shrunk enormously.
Ok, the scar looks nonexistant in this photo. But I swear it was huge before. Also, I really
 do have child-sized hands. I have friends that won't hold hands with me because they
feel like pedophiles when they do.
  • Giving up on a cab, we (i.e., I) decided to just follow her home, assuring that she would not get raped, run over, or arrested.
  • I convinced Andrew to give a piggyback to Lawyer, who was refusing to put her shoes back on.
    • After five minutes, Lawyer decided that she "DIDN'T NEED HELP FROM ANY MAN!" and refused all piggybacks.
  • Lawyer sat on many doorsteps, crying.
    • Friends don't let friends cry on stranger's doorsteps. I removed her.
  • Tired of this shit, Minnie just walked to her boyfriend's place for the night, leaving me with a drunken hot mess, and two men who didn't understand women.
  • Two hours later, we finally (finally) got to Lawyer's home.
  • She offered to let us stay the night. 
    • We kindly, but firmly, refused and found somewhere else to stay.
Andrew the Pug.
Andrew only drank two beers during the pre-drinking and didn't touch anything else the entire night, so by that point he was completely sober. Which means he was probably sober during the entire walk. Which makes me feel sorry for him.
We were only dating for four months at that time. I have no idea why he didn't leave me the next day.
Has anyone else sustained injuries or bad memories from drunken friends? Please tell me I'm not the only one.

1 comment:

  1. Oh lord, do I have stories!

    The one that's foremost in my mind: my boyfriend's co-worker (named Ben) has a wee bit of a drinking problem. We had all traveled up to Delaware for a work conference mid-December about 7 years ago. We did some pre-drinking at the hotel, which, for Ben, was the start of an all-out binge. Fast forward 3 hours later, we're all gathering in the lobby of this very upscale hotel, when Ben stumbles out of the elevator, and round-house kicks (karate-style) the 30-foot posh Christmas tree in the hotel lobby. Me, being the only one somewhat near Ben, wound up catching the tree with my bare hands, getting cuts and scrapes from the needles and bark, as well as nearly breaking my back trying to hold up a tree of that size. Thankfully my boyfriend came running the help... because it could have descended into a death-by-Xmas-tree story.


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