Badges of Honor - a mini-rant...
I guess I should preface this by saying that I went out last night for my work BFF's b-day. And, frankly, with the week I had thanks to the multiple late-night school budget-related meetings I attended, I was not in the mood. I tried...really I did. But the place was loud, making conversation all but impossible, and his friends really had no interest in meeting me and/or dancing with me.
So I suppose I "sulked" the night away in the corner, drinking a beer, trying desperately to get into it...I mean...it was a freakin' 80s club, I shoulda been in heaven! But every song I normally like just made me want to cry (because when I'm over-tired I get ridiculously, obnoxiously emotional). And the few times I tried to participate I was excluded from the group. I can't blame them - none of them know me at all. But it still kinda sucked.
(Amusing side note - a 21 year old boy DID try to hit on me...and made me smile when he approximated my age at 24. He was genuinely shocked at my old lady status of 30. LOL)
The night ended when I decided to leave and found my work BFF curled up in a fetal position on the ground outside, refusing the water several of his friends were offering him. That was it. I was done before that...but now I was DONE.
Thus I was inspired to write this mini-rant about my feelings on excessive drinking. It has little to do with last night (which was merely the straw that broke the camel's back)...I assure you, it's been a long time coming...
Badges of Honor
My claim to fame is splitting a bottle and a half of Johnny Walker Black with my friend’s father. In fact, we polished off one bottle and wanted more, but I was too drunk to drive. So I WALKED to the liquor store, bought more, walked back, and continued drinking.
Shortly thereafter I was puking on their front porch. That’s when my (former) friends and one of their girlfriends decided to go out to dinner. My one friend took all my stuff, put it in my car, and told me that I couldn’t stay there…he abandoned me on his porch in the middle of January with no coat, possibly no shoes (honestly, I don’t remember if I had any on at that point) with strict instructions not to bother his mother. Even though I could barely stand, and was clearly in no condition to operate a motor vehicle.
That is my badge of honor.
That’s the story I tell when everyone is sharing drinking stories…because it’s the only one I have. Other than the time when I drank 7 bottles of beer (I only remember 3 of them) over the course of an hour or two, and ended up outside puking in the grass. But that one’s pretty damn boring and not nearly as impressive.
Honestly - I’m not a big drinker. And it makes me sad that everyone is so preoccupied with how much (or how often) they drink. I hate myself a little every time I tell that story, because it’s not something to be proud of. It’s pathetic. Yet every time I tell it, I somehow gain a little respect - mostly from guys who are impressed by the quantity and quality of my drink of choice…I’m not one of those girls who order fruity drinks with fake umbrellas. I drink the real shit. Straight.
I always thought people would grow out of this stage…that they’d eventually realize that regularly drinking heavily and puking/passing out/blacking out is not a particularly wise pastime. Or, at least, it wouldn’t be as fun as it used to be. But the older I get, the more I realize that this is just the way the majority of the world works. The real world is like high school - there are cliques, there are parties, there are bullies. And I find myself in the same position I was in a little over 10 years ago.
The outcast. The freak. The ghost.
Maybe I’m a hypocrite...I do drink. I’ll go out for happy hour on Fridays with my school posse, enjoy beer with my pizza on Saturday nights, and sometimes have a glass of wine after a stressful day of dealing with teenagers. But I don’t drink to excess, and never to have a good time. I have a GREAT time without the assistance of alcohol…I’ve been to New Year’s Eve parties and not touched a drop and had a fabulous time. I’ve had fun at weddings and dinners and…my God, even fucking happy hour. All without imbibing a drop of booze.
I’m not saying that one shouldn’t drink…I just admitted that I do. I just think it’s so sad that people in general think they have to be drunk to have a good time. It…depresses me. It makes me wonder about mankind in general, that we have this need to partake in this kind of behavior in order to make ourselves happy.
I pity those who are unable to enjoy life without it.
And I know that sets me apart from the rest…but I’ve never been one to go along with the crowd, as my nearest, dearest friends know all too well. Hopefully that’s one of the reasons they like me.
But at this point I’m sick of the stories, the badges of honor displayed proudly on people’s chests, as if starting a fist fight with a stranger or having to be carried home is something we should admire. Something we should aspire to. For my part I’d much rather be alone in my apartment, reading or writing or dancing around my living room blasting music through my hot pink and white fur headphones.
Let people be impressed with my professional accomplishments, my talents, my strength, my staunch independence and tenacious will. Let those things be my badges of honor, measure me by them. Not by how many shots I can take.
And if you don’t care about those kinds of things, then I don’t have the time or energy to waste on you. Just go back to your drink and leave me the fuck alone.
So I suppose I "sulked" the night away in the corner, drinking a beer, trying desperately to get into it...I mean...it was a freakin' 80s club, I shoulda been in heaven! But every song I normally like just made me want to cry (because when I'm over-tired I get ridiculously, obnoxiously emotional). And the few times I tried to participate I was excluded from the group. I can't blame them - none of them know me at all. But it still kinda sucked.
(Amusing side note - a 21 year old boy DID try to hit on me...and made me smile when he approximated my age at 24. He was genuinely shocked at my old lady status of 30. LOL)
The night ended when I decided to leave and found my work BFF curled up in a fetal position on the ground outside, refusing the water several of his friends were offering him. That was it. I was done before that...but now I was DONE.
Thus I was inspired to write this mini-rant about my feelings on excessive drinking. It has little to do with last night (which was merely the straw that broke the camel's back)...I assure you, it's been a long time coming...
Badges of Honor
My claim to fame is splitting a bottle and a half of Johnny Walker Black with my friend’s father. In fact, we polished off one bottle and wanted more, but I was too drunk to drive. So I WALKED to the liquor store, bought more, walked back, and continued drinking.
Shortly thereafter I was puking on their front porch. That’s when my (former) friends and one of their girlfriends decided to go out to dinner. My one friend took all my stuff, put it in my car, and told me that I couldn’t stay there…he abandoned me on his porch in the middle of January with no coat, possibly no shoes (honestly, I don’t remember if I had any on at that point) with strict instructions not to bother his mother. Even though I could barely stand, and was clearly in no condition to operate a motor vehicle.
That is my badge of honor.
That’s the story I tell when everyone is sharing drinking stories…because it’s the only one I have. Other than the time when I drank 7 bottles of beer (I only remember 3 of them) over the course of an hour or two, and ended up outside puking in the grass. But that one’s pretty damn boring and not nearly as impressive.
Honestly - I’m not a big drinker. And it makes me sad that everyone is so preoccupied with how much (or how often) they drink. I hate myself a little every time I tell that story, because it’s not something to be proud of. It’s pathetic. Yet every time I tell it, I somehow gain a little respect - mostly from guys who are impressed by the quantity and quality of my drink of choice…I’m not one of those girls who order fruity drinks with fake umbrellas. I drink the real shit. Straight.
I always thought people would grow out of this stage…that they’d eventually realize that regularly drinking heavily and puking/passing out/blacking out is not a particularly wise pastime. Or, at least, it wouldn’t be as fun as it used to be. But the older I get, the more I realize that this is just the way the majority of the world works. The real world is like high school - there are cliques, there are parties, there are bullies. And I find myself in the same position I was in a little over 10 years ago.
The outcast. The freak. The ghost.
Maybe I’m a hypocrite...I do drink. I’ll go out for happy hour on Fridays with my school posse, enjoy beer with my pizza on Saturday nights, and sometimes have a glass of wine after a stressful day of dealing with teenagers. But I don’t drink to excess, and never to have a good time. I have a GREAT time without the assistance of alcohol…I’ve been to New Year’s Eve parties and not touched a drop and had a fabulous time. I’ve had fun at weddings and dinners and…my God, even fucking happy hour. All without imbibing a drop of booze.
I’m not saying that one shouldn’t drink…I just admitted that I do. I just think it’s so sad that people in general think they have to be drunk to have a good time. It…depresses me. It makes me wonder about mankind in general, that we have this need to partake in this kind of behavior in order to make ourselves happy.
I pity those who are unable to enjoy life without it.
And I know that sets me apart from the rest…but I’ve never been one to go along with the crowd, as my nearest, dearest friends know all too well. Hopefully that’s one of the reasons they like me.
But at this point I’m sick of the stories, the badges of honor displayed proudly on people’s chests, as if starting a fist fight with a stranger or having to be carried home is something we should admire. Something we should aspire to. For my part I’d much rather be alone in my apartment, reading or writing or dancing around my living room blasting music through my hot pink and white fur headphones.
Let people be impressed with my professional accomplishments, my talents, my strength, my staunch independence and tenacious will. Let those things be my badges of honor, measure me by them. Not by how many shots I can take.
And if you don’t care about those kinds of things, then I don’t have the time or energy to waste on you. Just go back to your drink and leave me the fuck alone.