(Yes, my relationship is over but my love affair with alcohol will never die. Remember: people come and go but liver damage is forever.)
This September, Alessandro and I celebrated our four-year anniversary. We met on campus in my sophomore year of college and moved in together after a little over a year as we continued our education together. Things were good. It was easy. Considering my love of dysfunction, I should’ve realized something wasn’t quite right.
Make no mistake, in this story I am the bad guy. We met just as I ended my first relationship and I hopped into this one without really giving myself time to think or grieve or remember to go to class. Sure, I loved him, but not enough to imagine a future together or to not feel the need to talk to other guys. (I KNOW I’M THE WORST, SHUT UP ABOUT IT.) Anyways, recently we started to see we didn’t have enough money to keep living in our apartment together so we both moved back in with our parents and decided to call it quits.
It’s weird being alone after 7 years of boyfriends. I still have my friends but sometimes you just wanna tell someone that you found a really long nose hair or saw a bumper sticker that said “I brake for wet leaves”, and you go to pick up your phone to send the news but you realize nobody except your significant other would even care, and suddenly you’re like,
“Shit… I really am alone.”
Then you start to ask yourself what you used to do before you had someone to chill with 24/7 and your mind becomes that scene from SpongeBob Squarepants where he’s trying to remember his name.
With that in mind, I’ve developed a few more drinking games you can play by yourself because who’s about to stop you? Certainly not your significant other because you’re alone and no one loves you.
Drinking Games to Play Alone:
Download Tinder. Take a drink every time you swipe right, chug if it’s a match.
Go through your phone, Facebook, picture library, etc. and drink whenever you delete a picture of your ex. (Because that’s how you win. At drinking AND at life.)
Make a list of all your past lovers/significant others/crushes and text ALL OF THEM. Drink if they text you back. Chug if they hit you up for a booty call.
This one’s obvious and possibly overused but open Chat Roulette, Omegle, whatever else they have now and shuffle through the people. Drink whenever you see a penis.
Solo Beer Pong: All you need for this is a table, a wall, cups, and ping pong balls. Put the table against the wall and arrange cups in front of you the way you normally would in beer pong but only your side. Use the table and the wall to bounce the balls into your own cups. Drink when you make the shot, etc. (normal rules apply).
Turn on one of your favorite (or least favorite) movies or tv shows. Make your own drinking game!! (It’s fun.) For example, I used to make drinking games for the Presidential debates but I was too good at them and I almost got alcohol poisoning so I stopped. (I’m actually thinking about making a whole series of drinking games for movies and tv shows to put on this blog so if you have any requests, leave them in the comments below.)
Put your playlist on shuffle. Try for mostly love songs. Drink every time you cry. (This also works for sad movies and looking through the aforementioned pictures of your ex as well.)
Well, that’s all I have for now. If you want more, refer to my last post about drinking games to play alone. It’s a decent read. If you have any ideas you’d like to share, feel free to leave them in the comments below. And remember: you’re never alone when there’s booze and twitter.
(“In the criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate yet equally important groups. The police who investigate crime and the district attorneys who prosecute the offenders. These are their stories…”)
Hello everyone! Welcome back to Funny Blog Friday! I totally forgot to write this post yesterday due to excessive napping and forgetfulness, so I’m kind of slapping together something quick before time runs out. Please visit all the FBF bloggers because they’re awesome and some of them are giving away more prizes (plus, you all know you need a laugh).
This story, dear friends, stays in the realm of themes of my recent posts: exes, alcohol, trouble of all kinds, Alanna (the heroine of our tale) rising above moral depravity and, as usual, taking the high road. Before I tell the harrowing story of how I got my very first underage drinking, I’d like to point out that everything I say may or may not be factual, so if you’re a cop, keep walking. There’s nothing to read here.
Our Tale Begins On The Eve Of Labor Day Weekend, 2012…
‘Twas Friday, August 31st. A warm day, though not too hot for jeans. I had just moved into my college dorm only a week prior. My school was stupid and put me in the freshman dorms even though I was a sophomore, so I shared a room with a nice young girl who was really religious and had Jesus stuff all over. That weekend, she was going home to visit her family so I thought it would be a good idea to invite my then-boyfriend over to stay for the holiday. How very wrong I was…
Zach and I had the entire weekend planned: we’d chill Friday night around campus, go to the local farmer’s market on Saturday (which my father actually had a surprise for us instead), and basically just lie around watching tv after sitting on a bench making fun of the runners and skateboarders on Sunday. A relaxing weekend for a couple who usually never got a chance for relaxation due to our constant and almost compulsive need to cause trouble.
Friday afternoon, we were at Zach’s father’s house, arriving just as they left for their annual Labor Day weekend trip to their cabin somewhere in Pennsylvania. We (actually, I) immediately broke into the lock on their keg fridge, and we proceeded to fill empty water bottles with beer. After a few hours of drinking beer, watching tv, and looking through his father’s and step mother’s things just for random laughs and being nosy, we packed up the rest of our beer and headed back to my campus. It was awesome. Almost nobody was there and we finished the beer while cranking Lil’ Wayne and manically dancing in my dorm room.
I should have known something was wrong when we went downstairs to smoke a cigarette and Zach tried sliding down the railing, but fell right over the side and busted his ass on the ground. Everyone who was hanging out in the common room totally saw it and rushed over to be all, “Is he okay?!?!” As Zach cracked up laughing and hobbled down the remaining stairs, I said, “Yeah, he’s fine. You kids never saw this.” And ran out before the R.A. who wanted me dead (sort of) saw us being drunk.
Earlier that week, I made friends with a group of Engineering majors who lived in one of the adjacent dorms (which were basically apartments) and since they were mostly all over 21, I’d hang with them and drink. I got the foolish idea that maybe my new friends (all of whom were guys, by the way) would get along with Zach and we’d all have a nice time. Plus, I wanted to drink more, so ya know, win-win. Or so I thought…
The second Zach and I arrived at my friends’ dorm, he started giving offensive nicknames to them. My Marine friend was “Jarhead”. My friend whose parents were from Germany was “Germany”. (Some of them I can’t repeat and others I can’t remember. I was drinking, too.) When “Germany” arrived, he had some vanilla-flavored rum and Cherry Coke which he made into a drink he was proud of. Zach’s first words to him were, “Your drink really matches your sandals.”
(What a dick.)
Basically, Zach embarrassed the shit out of me in front of all my new friends, acting like a total asshole and telling them some extremely private things. He even downed like half of a half-gallon of Evan Williams which belonged to “Germany”. (The next morning, my one friend texted me that everyone agreed they didn’t want Zach to come back because of his behavior.) So once things officially got out of control that night, I tried to make him act as sober as possible for the 100-yard walk back to my building. Everything seemed fine. (Especially after we smoked a joint in the shower. Not like “in” the shower, but in the part of the bathroom with the shower because it has a vent and you can turn the water up really hot so… blah blah, etc.) Then we fall asleep. In my mind, the giant “Mission Accomplished” banner was flying beautifully.
I stirred from my sweet slumber from fists pounding on my door and loud voices from the hallway yelled at me to, “Open up!” The clock on my bedside table read 5:11 and Zach was nowhere to be seen. I said, “Alright, alright! I’m coming!” already annoyed that someone would dare wake me up at this unholiest of times. (I’m a really deep sleeper and I tend to punch people who try to wake me up.)
I opened the door to see a campus “police officer” (air quotes and sarcastic tone) and the Residential Life Coordinator (whatever that is) standing before me. If I gave any attitude, it’s because it was 5 o’clock on a Saturday morning and I hadn’t done anything wrong.
“Do you know Zach ____? He says he’s a guest of yours.”
“Yes…” What in the fuck could he have possibly done this time?! I thought to myself.
“We caught him running around campus naked and appearing to be intoxicated. He’s currently being held in the jail cell until his parents arrive. He says his clothing is here?”
(WHAT A DICK.)
I composed myself and got his clothes to give to the “police officer”.
“Wait, like jail? At the station downtown?”
“No, the campus headquarters [lol, “headquarters”] has a holding cell.”
So he’s in pretend prison? But I didn’t say that outloud because then this asshole started asking me questions.
“Was Zach drinking this evening?”
It’s morning, dickhead. “Yes.”
“May we come inside to check your room?”
“Do you have a warrant?”
“No, we don’t need one. Campus policy.” (LIES LIES LIES LIES. They TOTALLY need a warrant, but that’s a story for another time.)
They come inside and ask me stupid shit and this guy’s acting like he’s a real cop or something, and SURPRISE! He doesn’t find any evidence of drugs or alcohol.
“Were you drinking as well?”
“Let me smell your breath.” (Hey, kids: this is 100% illegal. If a cop ever asks you this question, bring up the 4th Amendment and send his pig-ass packing. #themoreyouknow)
“Uhh… no, I just woke up.” (He then MAKES me do it. Then he coerces me into telling him I drank which is also totally illegal.)
“I just had some beer.”
“Oh really?” maniacally laughing. “Doesn’t smell like you just drank ‘some beer’. That beer have rubbing alcohol in it?” Laughs again. I consider what murder would do to my transcript. “Well, I’m charging you for underage drinking. This is a copy of your citation. You’ll get a letter telling you when to be in court, I suggest A.R.D. Have a nice weekend.”
So there’s the story of how I got my first and only law violation because my ex ran around my college naked. (He got locked out to go to the bathroom and thought that the giant blue emergency lights were telephones.) I also missed the phone call Saturday morning from my dad who had planned to fly me and my cousins to a Phillies game in Atlanta at Turner-freakin’-Stadium. I don’t know what the moral here is, people, but college is stupid and Penn State can eat it. The end.
Check out some funny posts from the folks at Funny Blog Friday!
(That’s from “Archer” but it rings true here as well. Thank God for Russians. And tomato juice.)
Ahh yess… I am quite the lucky one. I’ve been given the glorious task of contributing pictures of my ex boyfriend for his birthday party/girlfriend’s baby shower. And because of my blessed Catholic guilt, I agreed to do it. So as I sit here, cropping myself out of memories and chugging bloody mary’s, I have to wonder…
Is there such a thing as “too much” vodka?
I’ve concluded there is not, although I know this in my heart to be false. However, I’m unsure if I currently have a heart because there is nothing inside me but alcohol and numbness. (Also tomato juice, which is giving me a bit of heartburn.)
I’ve created a fun new drinking game out of this pain and loneliness: take a drink whenever I start to cry.
(At present, I am plastered.)
Do you guys remember that game (and/or “horror-fest”) that you played as children when you’d go into the bathroom at midnight and say “Bloody Mary” 3 times in the mirror? Well even though she doesn’t appear and slaughter you (spoiler alert), you will see a crazed redheaded woman screaming with makeup running down her face.
At least that’s what I see.
Despite the fact that I was always more of a Queen Elizabeth fan, I’m starting to understand Mary Tudor’s methods. (Not killing Protestants. I just mean the whole “burning people” thing.) She was just pissed, that’s all. Her lovely mother was replaced by a trashy ho named Anne Boleyn and she wasn’t about to let her shitty hypocrite father stomp all over her beliefs. “Defender of the Faith”, my ass! Thinks he’s a goddamn prophet…
Anyways, people should quit giving her a raft of shit because I’d probably do the same thing if my father tossed my mom out and tried to disown me…
…oh, wait!He totally did! (The latter part at least.)
Also, thank you very much to my ex and his family for giving me the task of providing you with pictures that I TOOK.
So fuck them and fuck everybody and have a nice day. Also check out this post from Thought Catalog that reminded me of my post from a couple weeks ago. God bless and peace out and whatever else people say. I’m getting too drunk to see the keyboard.
UPDATE NOVEMBER 13th, 2014:
I totally emailed her the pictures and said something like, “Here’s the pictures, congratulations on everything! Wishing you all the best! *smiley face* ” and guess what the fuck she said in her response email…
“Thank you for the pictures. Your being really nice about this whole baby thing I know it’s hard because you still have feelings for zach but we are about to start a family and you gotta understand where I’m coming from when I ask you to stop contacting him.”
Ignoring all the grammar and spelling mistakes, I’m sitting here like WHAT IN THE ABSOLUTE FUCK?!?! I don’t even contact him, HE contacts ME and I don’t want to be a part of their shitty little family!!!
(As though I’d leave my current fantastic boyfriend and get together with my ex so he can be a giant anchor shackled to my foot forever pulling me deeper and deeper into the water until I’m drowning in regret and clutching onto his child who calls me “Aunt Alanna”.)
So I responded with this:
“Of course, I totally respect that and I wish you both the best. I won’t contact Zach anymore and I’m truly sorry if I’ve offended you in any way. That was never my intention. I really do wish you both happiness and I’m glad that I could help with the pictures. I promise you won’t be hearing from me anymore lol :)”
BECAUSE THAT IS WHO THE FUCK I AM, PEOPLE. THAT IS WHO. I. AM.!!!!!!!!!
(She’s got leggings on there. And a whole stupid Pinterest board with cute ideas. Fucking bitch…)
I’m pretty sure I’ve only really been in love once. Depending on how you define it, I believe real love is being able to put someone else’s needs before your own. That’s how I know I’ve only felt that for one person. It sounds terribly selfish, but I feel like I’ll never want to fold a person’s t-shirts (store-style) ever again. Or wake up at 4:00am to drive someone to work when they stupidly lost their driver’s license.
It’s actually really weird to care about another person that hard. (I can barely do my own laundry.)
Like, how else would I have known that my ex’s child is due to be born in February? Or that his new girlfriend is planning to breastfeed? These are crucial pieces of knowledge, people. It’s as easy as “One, two, type that bitch’s name into Google.”
But lucky for me, I’ve “gone through” enough men to calm the crippling roar of my feelings into a faint growl. I’m pretty sure I’m over him. However, being over someone and wanting to know what they’re doing are not mutually exclusive. I still even creep on my middle/high school crush sometimes. (He seems happy, too… jerk.)
However, I can sufficiently say I am over my ex. I can wish him luck honestly and look back fondly on our time together with no regrets. We really did have fun together. :)
Granted, I’ll never feel totally comfortable seeing him or his family and I’ll probably (subconsciously) hate the tiny life form he produced. I’ll never shop at Five Below because I know I’ll see his baby mamma there. But… hold up…
Good Lord, there’s ANOTHER parade going down my street. It must be the local high school’s homecoming because there’s girls with crowns sitting on the back of convertibles (which, by the way, never seemed terribly safe to me). I didn’t go to my homecoming. (Too hungover.) I forgot how loud this shit is, though. Drumlines are no joke.
Anyways, in the spirit of letting go things from my past, I say “Bon Voyage” to all. I wish everyone all the best. I may even buy something off the registry for Zach and his upcoming child. Perhaps some tiny hats?