Pacific Index

Issue date: 10/4/07 Section: Opinion

Public intoxication is quite an embarrassing situation. But for some reason playing games with mass quantities of Jagerbombs, Bacardi and cokes, Tanqueray and tonics and beer, a lot of cheap beer, ends up being something I undeniably look forward to participate in at the end of a long week.

A couple weeks ago, I was in a chemically inconvenienced state of mind when I sleepwalked to my friend's bedroom closet, fell into his clothes and knocked the doors off their sliding tracks. This woke him and his girlfriend up and she proceeded to help me up as I proclaimed, "I wanna be outta the box!" I then ran out of the room, stopping for a quick second to run into a wall.

I began to argue with myself and decided that, I in fact, I wanted to be in the box. She brought me to the bathroom and shoved me in as I said sighfully, "yeahhhhh."

I have no recollection of this. But I remembered in class earlier that day, ironically, I was introduced to Plato's Allegory of the Cave. I guess I wanted to stay a prisoner of war in my own cave. Real mature.

Instead our Manic Mondays, Tipsy Tuesdays, Whynot Wednesdays, Thirsty

Thursdays, 'Finally' Fridays and the weekends are filled with bogus games to see who can get drunk the fastest and for what purpose? To vomit, get men's genitalia written on their faces, fight, break a nose, sprain an ankle or rip jeans while dancing on a table. Great battle stories.

I wonder if alcoholics get Post Traumatic Stress Disorder? Parties are like war zones: loud rap music with their bass down low and booming like grenades. I mean we all are old enough for the draft, but we aren't old enough to legally drink alcohol.

We all have a piece of green or tan camouflage on our belts, shoes, headbands, purses, boxers. Enemies walk through the area of operations unannounced. Spies from the other trenches scope out the competition. But until I head over to Middle East, I really shouldn't have an opinion on it.

Instead, I will spend the majority of my Cinco de Mayos, weddings, baptisms, Saturdays, Valentine's Days and graduations partaking in alcohol consumption. This summer, I was too hung over for my nephew's baptism rehearsal. I wore ripped jeans and black eyeliner smudged under my eyes as I stood on the alter trying not to let anyone smell my breath. I'm going to be a wicked good Godmother.

I feel like I can speak for a select few of dumbass college students for saying that we aren't responsible, and we don't care if we are making fools of ourselves. I got an minor in possession citation last year. I didn't run or cry, but I did flirt with the cop.

Continued...

Page 1 of 2 next >

Article Tools