When I was a little kid, I use to pride myself on the fact that my parents called me their "Young Republican." I had no idea what it meant, but it sounded cool. While I was too young to know anything about politics, my parents labeled me as so because of my conservative nature. I was the four year old who would tell adults when they've had too much to drink and the six year old who would look at people with a serious face and tell them that their joke was not funny. There was only right and wrong- no gray area. I had the ability to be the biggest buzz kill packed into the smallest body you've ever seen.
Unfortunately, as I have gotten older, my blacks and whites have remained solid. So while I am no longer young OR a Republican, I have not lost the constant (conservative) lense of right vs. wrong. It also took me a good 18 years to learn that partying was OK- as long as it was done in moderation. Both lessons (it being OK and moderation) were learned on the same night in September during my Freshman year.
I didn't drink ONCE before college. I was the President of the anti drug and alcohol club. That's right. You read it right.
When I got to college I was a little turned off by the partying but decided that I would give drinking a try. It was a random Monday night and I was hanging out with my roommate when a girl from my floor showed up with champagne. I definitely know it was a Monday because 1). I had a test the next day in a class that I had on Tuesdays and Thursdays and 2). I had just returned from a trip home where my folks had a party and someone had brought apples and caramel, which they sent back to school with me.
I felt satisfied with my level of studying and decided a drink or two of champagne wouldn't do any harm.
I finished a bottle in 45 minutes and then switched to white wine, which, as I repeatedly said (or so I'm told), "It's like champagne without bubbles!" I would say that I passed my first attempt at drinking with flying colors- I succeeded. The test that I had the next day is a different story.
My roommate had the same test as me and was studying (or trying to) while the shit show unfolded. I think she stayed up to study after I finally fell asleep and then woke up in the middle of the night as I got to experience the champagne and apples a second time around. I puked. And puked. And puked. And puked.
The next morning I woke up to pieces of apples surrounding me. They were in my bed. They were in my hair. They were in the trash can that my roommate put next to me. They were next to the trash can. While it was hard to focus through my pounding headache, I slowly grasped the situation- apples chunks were EVERYWHERE.
I got up to take a shower (during which I puked twice more) and managed to get myself to the test on time. I cleaned the room when I got back and regretfully apologized to my roommate about what a disrespectful dumbass I had been. She accepted my apology and said she got over being angry during my hours of vomiting when she realized I had punished myself enough and she did not need to say anything.
I later told my parents the story. My dad simply replied by singing "The rain, the park, and other things" but replacing "flowers" with "apples." True story. Words of wisdom.
And if you really want to know, I made a D on that test.
It's better than an F.
No comments:
Post a Comment