I have wanted to write about this particular life experience for quite some time now, however I have constantly battled with myself over how “under 18” friendly I wanted to be. I know that adolescents read my blog and I can’t make them stop that just by switching to word press. Finally, I have made up my mind, and despite my better judgement, I am going to tell the story of the first time I was ever drunk.
Throughout high school, I was very adamantly against drinking, smoking, people using drugs or just having fun in general. I had high expectations for my high school career. I was going to be everyone’s role model, the perfect example of a well rounded honors student involved in multiple extra curricular activities, and to be honest, I would say I succeeded. I made it four years of high school without taking a drink of alcohol and encouraged my friends to do the same. In fact, my junior year of high school, it suddenly became the cool thing (by cool I mean hipster) to be “straight edge”. Not like the gang. Straight edge kids prided themselves on not putting anything in their bodies that altered their mood or state of mind. We were high on life… and our own egos.
It was the day before my college orientation and my friend Jacey was giving me one of her usual pep-talks.
“You need to get back on the horse.” She told me referencing my recent break up from my high school boyfriend and lack of a true blow out to celebrate my independence. “You’re coming to the surprise party tonight, and we’re making some memories that we won’t remember tomorrow.”
“That sounds like a lot of work… can’t we just watch The Nanny on Nick at Nite?”
“No! You’re coming out and you’re going to look HOT!”
Jacey is one of my oldest friends. We met our sophomore year of high school in a film class where I made a music video to “Sabatoge” by The Beastie Boys and she was one of three girls in leisure suits, curly wigs and mustaches. It was love at first sight. Jacey and I have a great relationship. When she’s feeling down, I’m always ready to help her back up, and when I’m feeling down, she’s always there to encourage me… into a short skirt and heels.
I told my mom that a few of us girls were going to be spending the night at Jacey’s house since it was our last night in town before all going off to our own colleges but instead drove 20 miles to a friend of a friend’s house to learn the art of partying: college level. Though I am very pleased with my choice to refrain from substances during high school, I did miss out on one basic lesson that most of my friends learned their freshman year of high school, not college: if you have never had alcohol before, a very small amount is going to make you pretty fucked up.
After an hour of being at the party, I had taken a few shots, had a beer and was working on my first cup of vodka/ punch. I had heard from friends that when you first drink, it hits you pretty hard, so I was surprised when I was still feeling sober as a judge after drinking what I felt was quite a bit. When I finished my first cup of vodka/ punch, I quickly moved on to cup number two… and a few shots of malibu.
I felt on top of the world. I was completely under the impression that alcohol didn’t effect me and I would be the composed one at this shit show. Then this happened.
That is Jacey standing over our friend Kiley in her “second outfit of the night”. It was the next morning when I was looking through my photos that I realized this was the exact moment that I became too intoxicated.
After Jacey had changed into what she felt was an appropriate outfit for beer pong, we returned to the party and I worked my way through a game of kings cup, but instead of drinking beer, I was drinking the vodka/ punch. I drank three cups in this one sitting at which point I gave my camera to my friend Kiley and presumed to get more drunk.
It was at this point that Jacey and Kiley decided to put me to bed.
The task of putting me to bed was a job that took multiple people and took place for over an hour. Shortly after this photo was taken, Jacey threw me over her shoulder, and she and Kiley drug me to a back room of the house and threw me onto a bean bag chair. Once I was settled into what felt like the best fucking bean bag chair known to mankind, Jacey took off my shoes. This was the last I would see of my shoes.
Almost immediately after being thrown onto the bean bag chair and having my shoes jacked, some guy came in and said they needed to put me in the room next door because… I don’t have a clue why.
The next thing I know, I was in a chair with Jacey on the floor in front of me with her hands up my dress.
“The fuck, Jacey! Why are you in my dress?”
“You don’t want to sleep in tights. I’m taking them off.”
She was right, I wouldn’t have wanted to sleep in tights, but she didn’t know that for sure and for all I knew she was trying to cop a feel on an unsuspecting drunk college girl. My best friend was virtually molesting me and I was in no position to tell her that, “the tights would be fine, please put more distance between you and my pikachu.” Jacey succeeded in removing my tights, but with my sudden leg freedom I realized that my cell phone was dead.
I demanded a moment of silence for my cell phone, after which Jacey plugged in my phone (big mistake) and went to open the door. The house we were staying at was kind of old and inhabited by boys, and consequently the door was extremely difficult to open and would become stuck almost all the time. The next string of images that is in my head involves Jacey wandering around the room trying to figure out how to get out of this room and back to alcohol, while Kiley was on the phone with her mom slurring through her reasoning for needing to be able to stay out.
“No, Mom, I ama not druznk, I jus wanna see Jacey before she sleeves!”
Before I could figure out why Kiley was talking about sleeves and why Jacey was now climbing out the window, the owner of the bedroom opened the door and I was left to my own devices… AKA my cell phone. I didn’t think I drunk dialed people, however I was wrong and I apparently do so in a british accent. Half of the people I went to high school with woke up to a ten minute voice message of me rambling about my night and whatever thoughts happened to be on my drunk mind. I remember being cut off by the voicemail more than three times and continuing to talk for another five minutes after my phone hung up.
The morning after a night of heavy drinking is never a beautiful picture. Especially when you wake up in a place you didn’t fall asleep, spooning someone you didn’t fall asleep with. Luckily for me the other person was Jacey and we were in a closet. Somehow I now had a pillow and a blanket and was the small spoon of what can only be described as true friendship. I sat up in the closet and looked at my phone. It read 7:27 AM and I needed to be at college orientation in 33 minutes. I quickly gathered up my belongings minus my shoes and my tights which were never recovered. I ran out to my car bare foot in a short t-shirt dress and drove to my house where I immediately threw up. I spent the next day and a half in a misery that can only be compared to reading Shakespeare and was left with a permanent reminder of my night of drinking in my student ID card where I am very obviously hungover in the photo.
I knew that this was a normal college experience and left it at that. I didn’t begin partying heavily and throwing my life away after getting drunk once, so thanks for lying to me 9 years ago D.A.R.E. I mostly forgot about the night until months later when I saw a picture of my friend with the guy whose house we partied at on Facebook. I commented on the photo saying, “Hey! I passed out in his roommate’s closet this summer.” Almost immediately he responded, “Yeah, with no pants.”
I responded the only way that I knew how. With the truth: “I wasn’t wearing pants that night.”
This just goes to show that after four years of being a good girl and the ultimate role model, it only takes one night of partying to make me forever known as the girl who passed out in that guy’s closet, spooning her best friend, without any pants.