My life is kind of shitty because I don't have a boyfriend or really any prospects. I'm completely stressed about which major I am, how I'm going to survive these last four weeks of classes, and trying to find a professor who knows my name let alone is willing to write me a letter of recommendation for study abroad.
But at least I'm an alcoholic. See, walking out of my stats class on Tuesday, something quite disturbing happened. I thought I heard my name but wasn't sure. I turned around but didn't think I saw anyone I knew. I kept walking away but I heard it again. I turned around, scanning the faces of the students behind me. No one was looking at me. I didn't recognize anyone.
Confused, I was about to walk away when this guy in Bermuda shorts and a baseball cap leaning against the wall looks up at me. This is is the definition of a frat boy if I ever saw one. He's wearing a striped tank and has that sort of douchey look like he is wasting his time by even looking at you. To my horrified surprise, he says my name.
"Have we met?"
He kind of looks away. He's either embarrassed or deeply annoyed. Probably the latter considering I go to a private university in the O.C.
"Yeah. We've met. I'm A-"
Shit. I rack my brain so hard that I'm positive he can see the little wheels spinning in my head and little beads of sweet forming on my forehead.
"Oh....uh....", is all I say until my friend comes out of the class behind me and saves me.
"Yeah! You met him this week. At the Hawaii house."
Horrified but pretending to be nonchalant, "Oh. Haha. Next time I meet you I'll try to be less drunk!" ....God....(by the way, I shouted that last line. Classy....)
Anyway, I was pretty freaked out that I had been Carlos'd (the term we use for when we meet someone drunk and then can't remember them sober. It derives from the time when one of our friends was approached by a Carlos who he had met and spoke Spanish with the night before. Drunk BiTcHeZ). But after a few hours, I started to actually be kind of proud when I told the story. Yeah, it's not the classiest thing to happen, but it just goes to show how far I've come since last year.
See, in high school I was a bit of a loser. Not bottom feeder status but I wasn't exactly invited to any parties. And I definitely didn't drink. Or date. Basically, I studied and my friends and I would sit in the car in empty parking lots late at night talking about our lives and everything that "would definitely, definitely, for sure" change in college. We wanted to experience a life of partying and going crazy and being stupid and rebellious because, well, that's what really reserved people want deep inside.
And if nothing else, I've started coming out of my shell and stopped being such a tight ass like I was in high school. As someone who constantly stresses about every little thing, it's been a big deal for me to let loose and actually just do things for the excitement and adventure of it all. Now, I drink, I party, I dabble in drugs. I drrrty dance with da boyz and I accept the fact that all of the horrible mistakes I may make now are necessary experiences if I want to learn and grow as a person. What's that saying?
But at least I'm an alcoholic. See, walking out of my stats class on Tuesday, something quite disturbing happened. I thought I heard my name but wasn't sure. I turned around but didn't think I saw anyone I knew. I kept walking away but I heard it again. I turned around, scanning the faces of the students behind me. No one was looking at me. I didn't recognize anyone.
Confused, I was about to walk away when this guy in Bermuda shorts and a baseball cap leaning against the wall looks up at me. This is is the definition of a frat boy if I ever saw one. He's wearing a striped tank and has that sort of douchey look like he is wasting his time by even looking at you. To my horrified surprise, he says my name.
"Have we met?"
He kind of looks away. He's either embarrassed or deeply annoyed. Probably the latter considering I go to a private university in the O.C.
"Yeah. We've met. I'm A-"
Shit. I rack my brain so hard that I'm positive he can see the little wheels spinning in my head and little beads of sweet forming on my forehead.
"Oh....uh....", is all I say until my friend comes out of the class behind me and saves me.
"Yeah! You met him this week. At the Hawaii house."
Horrified but pretending to be nonchalant, "Oh. Haha. Next time I meet you I'll try to be less drunk!" ....God....(by the way, I shouted that last line. Classy....)
Anyway, I was pretty freaked out that I had been Carlos'd (the term we use for when we meet someone drunk and then can't remember them sober. It derives from the time when one of our friends was approached by a Carlos who he had met and spoke Spanish with the night before. Drunk BiTcHeZ). But after a few hours, I started to actually be kind of proud when I told the story. Yeah, it's not the classiest thing to happen, but it just goes to show how far I've come since last year.
See, in high school I was a bit of a loser. Not bottom feeder status but I wasn't exactly invited to any parties. And I definitely didn't drink. Or date. Basically, I studied and my friends and I would sit in the car in empty parking lots late at night talking about our lives and everything that "would definitely, definitely, for sure" change in college. We wanted to experience a life of partying and going crazy and being stupid and rebellious because, well, that's what really reserved people want deep inside.
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| Me in high school (I just did frog dissections every day of my life and had no fun) |
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| Me now (taken by my friend. I'm dRuNkYYyyyy) |
You learn from experience and you get experience by making mistakes.
Or something. But it's so true. And it took being Carlos'd to realize it.
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