It is my best guess that all of you are all looking for leisurely reading this afternoon as you are running around the wordpress playground. It is also my best guess that you are looking to find someone quirky, hilarious, and is able to write about absolutely nothing while telling such a fabulous story you cannot stop. Unfortunately, that is not me.
Luckily, though, I do have a story. It is a true story, in case you were wondering. I’m not exactly sure I want to delve into this topic, to be honest. I’m not exactly sure I want anyone to know any of this except for the few people that had to witness the whole mess that is me.
Back in mid-October, we completed what has been deemed our most difficult class in medical school. It is also the first class, you know, as a sort of a throw you right into the middle of a sumo wrestling match as a five year old. Most people were able to overcome the obstacles fairly well, and everyone celebrated the night the course ended like it was Y2K.
I can easily say this is my most embarrassing moment to date. Somewhere in me, I decided it was a good idea to drink hard liquor- straight out of the bottle. Not too big of a deal, right? I mean, that isn’t the first time that has happened (MOH at bachelorette parties included) and nothing terribly tragic came out of it. Somewhere in that night, though, I forgot to stop. Ooops.
By about, oh I don’t know, the end of the bottle, my poor stomach/blood stream couldn’t hold any more alcohol. I don’t blame it. I wouldn’t want to hold that much alcohol at once if I were my stomach or blood. You all know what happens next, so I will spare you any excess imagery. I also apologize for any imagery I may have created. Anyways… Someone was nice enough to call me and my other intoxicated friends a taxi cab, gave us cash, and sent us on our way. How we got home you ask? I showed the taxi driver my address which ever so handily happened to be written on my arm in sharpie. Genius move, but hey, it obviously worked.
I hobbled up the steps that I’m pretty sure were as numerous as in a football stadium or something just to find out that I didn’t have my house keys. Lovely life. I did the next natural thing anyone would do in this situation: sit and bawl like a two year old. The worst part about this whole situation is that I am not one to cry, like literally ever. The last time I remember crying before this was for a whole two minutes after my ex and I broke up over one and a half years ago. The last time I cried over something so stupid? Never. (I am more than likely lying when I say that because I don’t remember crying much at all as a child, and every child cries profusely.) But here I am, shedding alligator tears on my porch over forgotten keys. I’m pretty positive I threw in some, “I wish I was smarter,” “All I want is to be prettier,” and “I’m so sorry I’m crying right now” comments, but I think I’ll ignore those right now for the sake of embarrassment. There goes all the best “Never Have I Ever” statements. Humpfff. (For all who happened to read Going Crazy, Ladies, please don’t categorize me as one of them so quickly! One minor slip up doesn’t qualify me to that level, right?)
We got my keys back, got inside the house, took off my face and took out my eyes, and got me in bed. I wish for the life of me that I didn’t remember all of this the next day. Unfortunately, I am positive someone would have filled me in on the profuse holes in my memory if I had forgotten because they tried to anyway. That is the glory of drunkedness, there always has to be some responsible, sober deck who decides it is a really good idea to remind you/fill you in on how ridiculously stupid you/all your friends were the night before. I shouldn’t call him a deck because it was his logical being that got me and everyone else home safely that night. That is beside the point. But forgive me, because I seem to have forgotten the point somewhere along the line…