Tag Archives: alcohol

Sobriety: The first test

Being sober while living on a university campus isn’t easy. It’s been just under a week since my humiliating Saturday night triggered the decision to not drink anymore, and last night was our end of exams final bar night for the year. My first challenge.

Physically, not drinking was an extraordinary improvement. There was none of the nausea or sticky mouth taste, and best of all, I didn’t need to pee every five minutes. I didn’t feel bloated or out of control. It was wonderful. I was able to keep my emotions in check which I can’t do when drunk.
The real challenge was dealing with the social side of things i.e. the fact that everyone else around me was drinking and drinking heavily. This wasn’t an ordinary night out- this was the last big uni party of the year, the last hurrah before everyone moved out of college the next day. Exams were over and our noise curfew had been lifted, emotions were running high and everyone was looking to see out the year with a bang. Imagine being the only person not drinking in an atmosphere like that. I’m lucky I have such good friends, but it was a bizarre experience to watch everyone else dissolve into bubbling, out of control versions of themselves, trying to speak to them like normal and realising you couldn’t.

The party itself turned out to be everything I hate. Loud, crowded, and full of creeps. Two of my friends had been drinking for a solid six hours before we even left our dorm to head to the bar. I wasn’t in a great mood, due to one of my ‘friends’ acting like a massive creep and two friends of a friend who I somewhat dislike tagging along. Drunk people aren’t that fun to be around, especially when you can’t hear each other and you’re being knocked into on all sides by people hooking up or trying to cop a feel.

Which leads me to the point of the night that made me realise how happy I was to be sober and more to the point, to realise how absolutely fucking over the whole event I was. I’ve been felt up before, in clubs, on crowded dance floors, and always been so completely off my face wasted that I either didn’t care or, and I cringe and hate myself as I admit this, but even liked it. Last night I was dancing with my friend, as as we pushed through the crowd to get off the dance floor to go to the bar, some guy who I do not know, who does not know me, who I’ve never seen before and will never see again, took it upon himself to have a feel of my cunt and my ass. I was wearing a pretty short skirt and am still thanking my lucky stars that he didn’t manage to get his hand up underneath, but never in my life have I ever felt so utterly disgusted and violated.
And I was horrified by the realisation that if I had been drunk when it happened, I wouldn’t have felt that way. I probably wouldn’t have felt anything, just accepted it. Or worse, been pleased by the attention! But it isn’t attention at all. It has nothing at all to do with me. That guy didn’t see me as a human being, just a thing to be touched for his own amusement. Ugh. I feel gross just thinking about it. You may accuse me of over reacting, but everything about that moment felt so completely wrong and pervasive.

And please understand that it’s not even the fact that he touched me that I’m so horrified by. I’m more horrified by the fact that drunk me wouldn’t have cared, whilst sober me was 100% aware of how completely wrong it felt.

At the time, part of me wished I had been drunk so I wouldn’t have cared. Ignorance is bliss, as they say. But I’m glad now, in hindsight. That overwhelming realisation of how wrong it was and how bad I felt proved one thing at least: my self worth is more valuable then any drink could ever be. That same self-worth goes out the window when I’m drunk, and that’s not good. I’m not a more relaxed, less inhibited person when I’m drunk. I’m a mess who can’t feel good about herself who considers perversion as affection, as approval and affirmation that acting slutty and stupid is what I need to do in order to be valued.

It’s a hard lesson to truly appreciate and come to terms with, but a valuable one. And it’s affirmed further my resolve to no longer be a person who drinks. I’m absolutely not saying that this applies to everyone. I know plenty of intense drinkers who can shrug it off without a hangover and keep themselves composed when under the influence, but I am not one of those people. I’m not built like that. I never was and never will be. I tried to be, because especially living where I am, at the age that I am at, it makes life a lot easier. But it just isn’t right for me, and that’s that.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Blonde slut

So I’m holding down the fort this week and naturally, have been sampling the spirits in my parents liquor cupboard. 

I mean literally sampling, not “sampling” as in GLUGLUGLUGWOOOOOOO but literally sip-ew-gross-put-it-back.

And I’m up to trying out the schnapps.

Now see, I’m a bit weird in that I quite enjoy alcoholic beverages that involve milk. Don’t judge me. But seriously, Baileys is probably my favourite alcoholic drink, and my favourite cocktail is a pina colada. 

So here I am, googling what to do with this schnapps, when I come one recipe that involves mixing schnapps with milk over ice with vanilla.

Yum! My brain says. What is this tasty sounding beverage called?

And with that, let us refer to the title of this blog post.


Hi guys! Sorry its been a while. I’ve been busy. That is, my life has been boring and I have nothing to talk about. 

But still, I miss spilling out the contents of my brain on the internet for all to see and yawn at, so expect updates soon.

Cia lovelies! 

Tagged , , , , , , , ,

Merry christmas mother fu-

Merry Christmas guys! Did you really think I’d neglect you on this joyful occasion? What kind of horrid bitch would I be to deny you of my vaguely tipsy ramblings?

I stress vaguely tipsy. I’ve only had two ciders and some baileys. And that was over the course of four hours, so there.

I would hardly call that recreational drinking.

This year, christmas didn’t feel like christmas until the actual day had come. I guess every other year up until now there’s been the end of school to signify the start of the festivities. But not this year. But all the same, I had a lovely time. My family came to my parents place and we had fun.

My mum forced me out of bed at 9am. It was painful. Once upon a time, I would have been bounding around the house at 3am trying to convince the household to get up and join in. Now, it’s a struggle to be conscious before noon, let alone dressed and helping mum cook lunch. My relative apathy towards such things as Christmas is a bad habit I picked up during my horrible angsty teens. Maybe part of growing up needs to be knowing when it’s okay to feel childish and excited, and granting yourself permission to cut loose instead of trying to seem cool.

My seven year old cousin proved himself to be a real creep in the making. I sense a slight freudian slip going on, but all the same he did back off a little after we had words about whether or not it was appropriate to be glueing stickers to the front of my shirt, where much of the boob area can be located.

Moving on.

Presents wise, I got lots of stuff for uni. But the real meaning of christmas isn’t the presents. It’s how much food and drink you stuff down and how many naps you take.

At the moment my heavy meals to nap ratio is sitting at 3:2.

As tradition demands, around ten o’clock we got the guitars out and played a bit of music, very successfully freaking out the teenage sons of a friend of my parents who were in town for christmas and aren’t used to spontaneous family sing-a-longs.

I weighed myself in the morning and again before bed, and over the course of one day, I’ve managed to gain two whole kilos through simple laziness and foodly indulgence. I call that a success.

I played two games of monopoly and was thoughroughly thrashed.

In non christmassy updates, two out of three friends are still not speaking to me, and the third had no choice (we were invited to the same xmas party two days ago), but it was awkward as hell. I have reached the point where I don’t really care. It’s just not worth stressing about.

There are only 36 days to go until freedom.

Merry Christmas all!

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

The end

Last night sucked.

I went out with some old school friends for christmas drinks. Well, that was the plan.

Here’s what happened instead.

I got a text in the morning from Sally, telling me she’d pick me up between five and half past six. Which is an hour and a half’s potential waiting time, but whatever. I got ready and was good to go by six o’clock.

At eight o’clock she showed up. The response to my text message around seven fifteen asking if she was okay (I thought she must have crashed on the way over or something) was met with the usual mocking jibe about me being a control freak.

So in other words, the night was off to a great start!

I have to work tonight, so while I was happy to have a few drinks, I didn’t really want to get that drunk. So of course, the six of us settled down around the table and it was decided by Sally and one of her uni friends that we were going to play a drinking game. Sally mixed the drinks, which I later found out were about fifty-fifty vodka and soft drink.

To make an unpleasant story short, I lost the game.

Hammered off my face something terrible, the events of the night began their course.

The three major fuck ups were 1) someone dared me to walk down the street, minus shirt and bra. And I did it. 2) My highly conservative, slightly homophobic, very christian female friend Elise kissed me. I’ve never really thought that much about what my first kiss would be like, but I didn’t really want it to be like that. It was kind of extremely weird, and I won’t be doing it again in a hurry.
And number 3) I accidentally told Sally the truth that had been on my mind for a while. Well, the drunken, sloppy, poorly edited version of the truth. And she didn’t take it well.

That truth was this: everything about that night was wrong, and we had grown apart. At uni, my friend Sally had transformed into the kind of person I would normally take great steps to avoid. Just loud, and kind of crazy, with zero inhibitions. She’s a nice person, but I need to feel in control and have some string of rational thought to hold on to. Sally doesn’t like this, and she’s very quick to criticise. Being the loudest person in the room, her criticism tends to stick.

I hate getting drunk, for the reason that beyond feeling incredibly sick, alcohol has the magical power of transforming my usual state of smart ass into a whiny, obnoxious bitch. Ordinarily I refuse to let anyone help me with anything, because I value my independence above nearly anything else. When I’m drunk, that goes out the window, and I become one of those pathetic, needy people that usually irritate me.

I hate the person that I am when I’m drunk, but lately it’s gotten to the point where the only way I can hang out with Sally and co. is by becoming that person. The person I really am isn’t the person they want me to be. It’s like when I’m around them I just can’t get anything right.

It’s not their fault. It’s a part of growing up: you also grow apart.

But Sally didn’t take that very well.

Eventually, she and the others left the house we were hanging out at and went to a pub. They left me behind. Looking at the inevitable shit storm to come, I decided to bail. I got in a taxi and went home.

This morning, I woke up tot a text message from Sally and co. informing me that I had been a real dick last night, and they were rather disappointed in me, and that if I was going to behave like that again they weren’t going to invite me out anymore.

Here is the problem the way I see it.

When I was a little girl, there was a sad moment when none of my friends wanted to play imaginary games anymore, and I was left on my own. This is exactly like that, but the other way around. I’ve become the one sick of playing the dumb teenage game where we make shit choices and pretend that means we’re grown up. I want to take control of my life and be an actual real grown up. But my friends don’t. Fair enough, that’s their choice, but the tension that hung around when we were kids becoming teens is the same now, as we try to become adults.

The difference between now and then however, is that now I can do something about it.

So I wrote Sally back, apologising for any offence I had caused and trying to explain the above as best I could. And then I agreed that I shouldn’t go out with them anymore.

Something about finally getting this niggling feeling out in the open is such a relief. Quite frankly, this is a long time coming. Anyone whose read my blog before knows I’ve had problems with my so called friends this year. And last year come to think of it. We were never going to be friends forever, and we’ve hit that point where now it’s time to face it.

I’m tired of being made to feel like shit because of being the way I am. I’m tired of being let down and mocked. And I’m sure my old friends are tired of me being a buzz kill and always ruining the mood.

A clean cut is better for everyone involved.

I’ve said before about my love for finding symbolic actions in my day to day life. All part of the narcissistic belief I think we all harbour about being the lead character in our own novel.
One year ago, at our last christmas party, Sally gave me a friendship bracelet. I’ve had it tied around my ankle every say since. Last night, I chopped it off.

Cut the ties, let it go. It’s time to move on.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , ,