ihavebeenfloated

I can’t believe I’m drinking again. I don’t remember what I did Monday night, but I was probably drinking, which means that for a week straight now I’ve been intoxicated to some amount. It’s kind of funny that it took eight months into my twenty-first year to finally get to this point. I should have been at this point a week after my birthday. Going to take a break, I think, as my memory of this entire week is shot and I blame the alcohol.

I drank nearly a whole tallboy of 211 the other night and ended up shaving my head. Bald. With a razor. Here’s an interesting picture of it that is really scary.

I like it a lot.

Tonight, Saturday, I went out with Mike, Verne, Danny, and Juan. We couldn’t figure out what to do and I was working with Kristie (who was with her own group of friends) on trying to find something for all of us to do. The five of us were standing outside smoking cigarettes when two girls rolled up in an SUV and asked us if we knew where a certain street was. We said we kind of knew but couldn’t quite give them directions, and I suggested we could take them to the party if they took us to the party. We didn’t push it hard enough and they ended up driving away with a vague idea of where the party was.

While we knew pretty much exactly where the party was. So I told everyone to get their shit and we piled into my car and drove to where this party was supposed to be. After about ten minutes of standing on the street trying to isolate where the party sounds were coming from we walked over to the party. Some guy outside the house asked Juan if we knew some guy in the party and Juan, smartly, said, “Yeah we know a few people here,” and the guy said, “Well this is my party,” and seemed cool with us. We walked up the driveway and this big guy, a bouncer, tried to stop us and got all mean looking but the guy we ran into told him we were cool and he let us in. Way awesome.

(Get ready for a major tense change.)

We walk into the backyard of the house and it’s literally jam packed with people, and no-one any of us would ever even want to know in our most desperate moments of social withdrawal. There was a guy with a air tank passing out balloons of, well, what other compressed gas would someone be handing out in balloons at a party like this? Hip hop music was blasting and some people were dancing but mostly everyone was crammed in next to someone else who was in some various state of intoxication via some sort of illicit or at least illicit-via-age substance.

We left. It was not our scene. We’re a bunch of old farts who just drink liquor and get stupid and angry, not dumb ass kids who hop around happy on NOS with a bunch of scantily clad jail bait hanging all over us. Oh yeah. We’re old. Only in Whittier could being twenty-one make us feel like a bunch of old fucks.

Kristie and I were still empty handed. It was the same situation on both sides. Kristie and I are indecisive people, I’m better about it than she is but we are both indecisive by nature. Apparently it was up to us to decide on what each of our group of friends would do, so finally I said to her, “Shit, well, it’s funny that everyone leaves it to us—the most indecisive of the group—to decide what to do, so what do you say we just say fuck it, bring our two groups together, get some beer, and make something happen?” And she agreed.

So off we went. Mike, Danny, and I made a beer run. I got myself a tallboy of 211 and everyone else got a good amount of whatever and then we drank. It was about one in the morning when we started drinking. I don’t know when or how quickly I finished my tallboy but I remember that halfway through it I was already drunker—perhaps twice as drunk—than I had been the night before when I had nearly finished my tallboy before I was too drunk to continue. I don’t know if it was lack of food throughout the day or because I followed the advice from this one 211 review and grabbed a can from the back of the shelf, but needless to say I actually finished the tallboy and I was so fucking wasted I really couldn’t stand up anymore.

Danny got to drive my Prius to Molcasalsa—as he was pretty much the only sober one out of our group—and I worked my way sloppily through some nachos. The night pretty much ended there, nothing else notable happened and I ended up back at home and it’s been five hours since I started drinking and I’m still pretty toasted, though I can walk straight which is nice. I’m a little gaseous (burping) but I don’t have a headache and overall I don’t feel too bad. Not tired enough to sleep yet, though I feel really bloody tired.

All in all it was a fantastic night. Everyone seemed to like my head even though I know, and everyone else knows, that I look like a cancer patient or a holocaust survivor. I had a good time. I don’t really want to get this drunk again but it’s nice to know I don’t have a killer headache or an awful hangover (famous last words). If I get this drunk again, I’d like to be home, it’d just be more comfortable. Also I’d rather not have such a weird look going on because I am way too self-conscious like this.

Blah blah blah. That’s a lot of writing for feeling pretty out of it.