Finals are kicking my ass, and I'm pretty sure I'm being stalked by a certain bottle of bourbon. Basil Hayden to be exact. It's a sneaky bastard of a bottle, too.
So while I go delve into a semester's worth of civil procedure, I'll leave you with a story I wrote for a class a few months back.
The Effects of Binge Drinking on Puritanism
So while I go delve into a semester's worth of civil procedure, I'll leave you with a story I wrote for a class a few months back.
The Effects of Binge Drinking on Puritanism
SPOILERS! (Click to view)
I awoke in a painfully bright white room with all sorts of tubes and wires attached to me. Wires extended from my fingers, and tubes protruded from my veins. A short, overweight, middle-aged woman was coming toward me with a scowl and a needle. She was wearing bright pink, ill-fitting scrubs with what I assumed to be her credentials embroidered on her chest. She had mousy brown hair and a look that directly implied that she drove a station wagon emblazoned with bumper stickers advocating cat ownership and spent many a night crying into her Haagan Daaz. She seemed like exactly the type that those late night commercials advertising a plethora of easy men and women available by phone were targeting. Of course, I could have been wrong. Im sure, somewhere deep, deep, down inside of that wretched creature was a good person At least on Tuesdays, anyway.
Always one for inquisition at inappropriate times, I demanded, What the fuck are you doing?
Unfazed by my apparent concern, or the fact that I had awakened to a setting not unlike a scene out of the movie Hostel, the woman replied, You need to watch your language! As she spoke, she never lost a step. She kept waddling toward me at a steady gait, needle in hand.
The woman was within striking distance. I could actually count the hairs on her voluptuous chin. I responded, slightly more peeved this time, And you need to watch your fucking needles! Now then, what the fuck are you doing? The woman called me delusional and walked away. I couldnt tell if that was an official diagnosis or an insult. It was all the same thing as far as I was concerned.
I sat in that bright white room for about an hour trying to figure out what exactly was going on. Occasionally, a timid person would poke their head into the room to have a look at the strange being they had heard so much about before yanking their head back out of the room in sheer terror. I watched the slowly dripping IV, straining to figure out just what I had gotten myself into. I remembered being at a bar. The bartender had been buying me and my friends drinks all night. I remembered chasing a few shots of flaming Bacardi 151 with beer. I vomited in the toilet of the mens room not long after. After that, everything got blurry. I remembered going to my car, because sleeping on the floor of the mens room would be terribly unbecoming. Thats where the wildebeest of a nurse came in.
The gap of time between the bar and the hospital was a complete mystery. I was running through a litany of crimes that I was surely about to be charged with--weapons possession for my brass knuckle-handled pocketbook, drug paraphernalia for my insulin syringes, DUI for being within 30 yards of my keys when I passed out; the list went on. I was convinced that I would not be escaping this matter without a DUI. That pesky intent to drive clause was a pain in the ass. Seriously, if Im passed out in the back seat of my car, where exactly is the intent? Wouldnt the intent have curled up and gone to sleep right next to me?
A doctor--and that term is meant in the most liberal of ways--stopped in the room to ask me some questions. Did I know what day it was, did I know my name, who was the president, etc. Apparently, when I had first been dropped off by the ambulance I had been insisting that the year was 2004. Evidently, I was very fond of 2004, and spent quite some time telling uninterested doctors and nurses just how great 2004 was. I cant figure out why I was so impressed with 2004. Last I checked, 2004 was a terrible year!
I had gotten fired not ten hours earlier. When I heard the news that I was being let go for wanting to quit, I decided to celebrate. Its not every day that people are so kind to oblige your wishes. I picked up two of my close friends, Christina and Nikki, and we went out to a bar in Media, Pennsylvania, to see a band play. Christina and Nikki were my friends solely because nothing would shock them. Flaming shots? Fine! Fist fights? Fantastic! Those two were the perfect pair to celebrate my unemployment with!
We had more in common than that. The first time I met Christina, she tried to fight me. She decided that I had slept with her friends husband either walking to, or walking from the liquor store. Why she felt I had such superhero skills was beyond me. She was petite, but fought like a pit bull. Her style was sloppy, but she was ever persistent. Christina and I had become friends shortly after I accidently slept with her fiance. Accidently may not be the best word, but its the word I like the most for that whole mess. Its not that I was a bad person. It was just that my moral compass was about as functional as Christopher Reeves legs. We came to the consensus that this was a problem that had nothing to do with me. After all, I wasnt the one who had cheated on her. She told me, Lifes a garden. Dig it. We had been inseparable since.
I met Nikki through Christina. In fact, the first time I spoke with Nikki was at a sex toy party. It was like a tupperware party, only with vibrators. She was much like Christina--tiny and scrappy. Christina and Nikki had grown up together. Nikki and I grew closer through keeping Christina out of trouble. Usually we took turns. Some people designated drivers. We designated babysitters for Christina.
I ended up being thrown out of the hospital sometime just after I started ripping the wires and tubes off my body. Conveniently, the hospital staff had already begun drawing up my discharge papers as soon as I had dropped the first F-bomb. Thats right. I got thrown out of a hospital for using foul language. This stirred up a whole new flurry of colorful words. I demanded to know what academic institution had given such an incompetent doctor a degree. Something may have been mentioned about his ability to even say the word university being an indictment against the entire institution.
Thankfully, Christina and Nikki were in the dingy waiting room of the hospital. They too were being removed for using foul language. Apparently, Christina, in her drunken haze, had decided to explain to the receptionist in just how many ways she was going to curb the shit out of the man if he did not allow her back to see me. Nikki, normally the one to keep Christinas behavior in check, was too busy laughing to keep Christina from her near-riot. I was so happy to see them. Throughout my stay in the medieval torture cell of an emergency room, I had no idea where my friends were, where I was, or how I was going to get back to my car.
Outside the hospital, the weather had grown crisp. None of us were dressed appropriately to be wandering through Media at four in the morning. As the only one with a working cell phone, it was up to me to find someway out of that Deliverance-town. As my cell phone began to die, I swore I could hear banjoes off in the distance.
Da da dee dee, dee dee, deeeeee.
As we waited for Christinas sister--the only person willing to pick us up at that hour of the morning, Nikki told me she had made out with some boy in exchange for a ride to the hospital. I had been laughing at the kid all night. The poor thing looked like a white Urkel dressed up as John Gotti Jr. His skin was a grayish pale. He wore oversized glasses that made his tiny stature seem even more miniscule. The gold chain around his neck just made the whole thing that much funnier. I got the feeling that he really may very well have thought he was some part of gangsta with that silly chain. He spent the evening following Nikki around like a small puppy. Leave it to Nikki to attract the winners and then be too nice to figure out how to shake them.
Thankfully, Christina and I didnt have that problem. Christina liked to tell potential suitors to go away. I liked to delve deeper. I liked to see if I could figure out just what would sting the most. An appropriately placed Hows your relationship with your father? was priceless. When that failed, I had no problem throwing a few punches. Its not that I liked to fight so much as I really believed that a girl should never have to say the word no more than once. Besides, what man would ever report a little girl for striking him with an open palm? Granted, I had studied Krav Maga for years and was able to inflict great damage with the heel of my palm, but that was beside the point. I was confident that the ego of the average man was far greater than any pain I could inflict, in spite of my best intentions.
As I sat in the cramped backseat of Christinas sisters bright yellow, two-door Hyundai coupe, I had to laugh. I had wanted distraction that night, and offhand, Id say I was successful. Christina and Nikki knew me well enough to expect some kind of mischief while we were out. I had the best friends a girl could ask for. Not only had they paid my bar tab, Nikki had made out with one the most disgusting boys I have ever seen, and Christina had tried to fight both the police officer that found and the receptionist at the hospital. For what must have been the first time ever, I felt blessed to be squashed between two drunks in the back of a coupe.
Always one for inquisition at inappropriate times, I demanded, What the fuck are you doing?
Unfazed by my apparent concern, or the fact that I had awakened to a setting not unlike a scene out of the movie Hostel, the woman replied, You need to watch your language! As she spoke, she never lost a step. She kept waddling toward me at a steady gait, needle in hand.
The woman was within striking distance. I could actually count the hairs on her voluptuous chin. I responded, slightly more peeved this time, And you need to watch your fucking needles! Now then, what the fuck are you doing? The woman called me delusional and walked away. I couldnt tell if that was an official diagnosis or an insult. It was all the same thing as far as I was concerned.
I sat in that bright white room for about an hour trying to figure out what exactly was going on. Occasionally, a timid person would poke their head into the room to have a look at the strange being they had heard so much about before yanking their head back out of the room in sheer terror. I watched the slowly dripping IV, straining to figure out just what I had gotten myself into. I remembered being at a bar. The bartender had been buying me and my friends drinks all night. I remembered chasing a few shots of flaming Bacardi 151 with beer. I vomited in the toilet of the mens room not long after. After that, everything got blurry. I remembered going to my car, because sleeping on the floor of the mens room would be terribly unbecoming. Thats where the wildebeest of a nurse came in.
The gap of time between the bar and the hospital was a complete mystery. I was running through a litany of crimes that I was surely about to be charged with--weapons possession for my brass knuckle-handled pocketbook, drug paraphernalia for my insulin syringes, DUI for being within 30 yards of my keys when I passed out; the list went on. I was convinced that I would not be escaping this matter without a DUI. That pesky intent to drive clause was a pain in the ass. Seriously, if Im passed out in the back seat of my car, where exactly is the intent? Wouldnt the intent have curled up and gone to sleep right next to me?
A doctor--and that term is meant in the most liberal of ways--stopped in the room to ask me some questions. Did I know what day it was, did I know my name, who was the president, etc. Apparently, when I had first been dropped off by the ambulance I had been insisting that the year was 2004. Evidently, I was very fond of 2004, and spent quite some time telling uninterested doctors and nurses just how great 2004 was. I cant figure out why I was so impressed with 2004. Last I checked, 2004 was a terrible year!
I had gotten fired not ten hours earlier. When I heard the news that I was being let go for wanting to quit, I decided to celebrate. Its not every day that people are so kind to oblige your wishes. I picked up two of my close friends, Christina and Nikki, and we went out to a bar in Media, Pennsylvania, to see a band play. Christina and Nikki were my friends solely because nothing would shock them. Flaming shots? Fine! Fist fights? Fantastic! Those two were the perfect pair to celebrate my unemployment with!
We had more in common than that. The first time I met Christina, she tried to fight me. She decided that I had slept with her friends husband either walking to, or walking from the liquor store. Why she felt I had such superhero skills was beyond me. She was petite, but fought like a pit bull. Her style was sloppy, but she was ever persistent. Christina and I had become friends shortly after I accidently slept with her fiance. Accidently may not be the best word, but its the word I like the most for that whole mess. Its not that I was a bad person. It was just that my moral compass was about as functional as Christopher Reeves legs. We came to the consensus that this was a problem that had nothing to do with me. After all, I wasnt the one who had cheated on her. She told me, Lifes a garden. Dig it. We had been inseparable since.
I met Nikki through Christina. In fact, the first time I spoke with Nikki was at a sex toy party. It was like a tupperware party, only with vibrators. She was much like Christina--tiny and scrappy. Christina and Nikki had grown up together. Nikki and I grew closer through keeping Christina out of trouble. Usually we took turns. Some people designated drivers. We designated babysitters for Christina.
I ended up being thrown out of the hospital sometime just after I started ripping the wires and tubes off my body. Conveniently, the hospital staff had already begun drawing up my discharge papers as soon as I had dropped the first F-bomb. Thats right. I got thrown out of a hospital for using foul language. This stirred up a whole new flurry of colorful words. I demanded to know what academic institution had given such an incompetent doctor a degree. Something may have been mentioned about his ability to even say the word university being an indictment against the entire institution.
Thankfully, Christina and Nikki were in the dingy waiting room of the hospital. They too were being removed for using foul language. Apparently, Christina, in her drunken haze, had decided to explain to the receptionist in just how many ways she was going to curb the shit out of the man if he did not allow her back to see me. Nikki, normally the one to keep Christinas behavior in check, was too busy laughing to keep Christina from her near-riot. I was so happy to see them. Throughout my stay in the medieval torture cell of an emergency room, I had no idea where my friends were, where I was, or how I was going to get back to my car.
Outside the hospital, the weather had grown crisp. None of us were dressed appropriately to be wandering through Media at four in the morning. As the only one with a working cell phone, it was up to me to find someway out of that Deliverance-town. As my cell phone began to die, I swore I could hear banjoes off in the distance.
Da da dee dee, dee dee, deeeeee.
As we waited for Christinas sister--the only person willing to pick us up at that hour of the morning, Nikki told me she had made out with some boy in exchange for a ride to the hospital. I had been laughing at the kid all night. The poor thing looked like a white Urkel dressed up as John Gotti Jr. His skin was a grayish pale. He wore oversized glasses that made his tiny stature seem even more miniscule. The gold chain around his neck just made the whole thing that much funnier. I got the feeling that he really may very well have thought he was some part of gangsta with that silly chain. He spent the evening following Nikki around like a small puppy. Leave it to Nikki to attract the winners and then be too nice to figure out how to shake them.
Thankfully, Christina and I didnt have that problem. Christina liked to tell potential suitors to go away. I liked to delve deeper. I liked to see if I could figure out just what would sting the most. An appropriately placed Hows your relationship with your father? was priceless. When that failed, I had no problem throwing a few punches. Its not that I liked to fight so much as I really believed that a girl should never have to say the word no more than once. Besides, what man would ever report a little girl for striking him with an open palm? Granted, I had studied Krav Maga for years and was able to inflict great damage with the heel of my palm, but that was beside the point. I was confident that the ego of the average man was far greater than any pain I could inflict, in spite of my best intentions.
As I sat in the cramped backseat of Christinas sisters bright yellow, two-door Hyundai coupe, I had to laugh. I had wanted distraction that night, and offhand, Id say I was successful. Christina and Nikki knew me well enough to expect some kind of mischief while we were out. I had the best friends a girl could ask for. Not only had they paid my bar tab, Nikki had made out with one the most disgusting boys I have ever seen, and Christina had tried to fight both the police officer that found and the receptionist at the hospital. For what must have been the first time ever, I felt blessed to be squashed between two drunks in the back of a coupe.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
midknight235:
Hey, you probably don't remember me but we met at a SGNY party.
midknight235:
Been good. Dealing with a lot of work stuff at the moment. It's good to see by your post that you are grabbing life by the nads and enjoying yourself.