Responsibly Irresponsible

Let me say that in my mind, I love the way my voice sounds after a night out. Some strange combination of alcohol, cigarettes and shouting have a magical effect on my vocal chords, making me sound mysterious and sexy, possibly capable of pulling off a French accent. In reality, I sound like a dude.

A typical night out for me consists of the following: insisting I’m not going to drink very much. Blatantly staring at people I find even mildly interesting or attractive. Badgering those around me to drink more. Staring at myself in the mirror in the bathroom trying to gauge how drunk I am vs. how drunk I look. Giving in to my craving for cigarettes and inevitably having nonsense conversations with whoever else is smoking. Leaping up on to taller people and/or lifting up short people. Disappearing into the bathroom for questionable periods of time to either give myself or someone else a pep talk or abuse my phone. Peacing out by myself if I decide I am done and want to go home. Eating cereal (original mini wheats) in my bed while debating whether or not to drunk dial anyone. Passing out.

And DANCING! When I am not engaging in any of the above activities, I am dancing. Dancing in a dark room in a crowd of people, with music so loud you can’t talk to anyone is one of my very favorite things to do. In all honesty, it reminds me of my old church days. Not that I was drunk at church...or overly sweaty...But it reminds me of worship, with the emotional swell of music almost overwhelming you, a chorus of voices unified and lifted up, connecting with something that is beyond you. When a certain song comes on, whether it’s one of my favorites (Daft Punk, One More Time) or something I’ve never heard before, there’s a special kind of sound. I can feel it just as much as I can hear it, and I close my eyes (to the dismay of many people who are in my general vicinity) and dance. I know I look crazy, and I do feel bad when I hair whip an unsuspecting bystander in the face, but it feels so freeing, so cathartic to just move. Not to worry about what I look like or who is looking at me. In those moments, I feel that connection to an energy that is beyond my physical body, and I have peace.

Of course, sometimes I just like to shake it like a Polaroid picture, to see how many boys (or girls) whose interest I can capture for a minute or two.

For most of my party-going years I have not quite grasped the term ‘moderation’ and I’ve often blacked out, fallen down stairs, ingested questionable substances, broken glasses and projectile vomited, among other things. But I’m finally getting the hang of Frittany (my shitfaced alter ego) and I have to say, she’s a lot of fun. With the weekend approaching and a few plans in the works, I’m sure I’ll have some interesting stories to relate. Keep fit and have fun!

I'll also be posting some of my weekly favorites on Fridays, so stay tuned for random shit.