The 7 Stages Of Being Drunk

1. The “This feels nice”

Hey, it’s just one drink. Who doesn’t love a nice drink? It’s Happy Hour and they’re half off, and you know I love these fruity little things. It’s basically a serving of fruit, honestly. It would be irresponsible of me not to have it. If God didn’t want us to indulge, he wouldn’t have made them taste like alcoholic Ring Pops. I really have to get home pretty soon, though, I have a long day and I don’t want to have a hard time getting up in the morning. Twenty-five cent buffalo wings, though, that does make a compelling argument. Nothing washes down fried chicken and hot sauce like another vodka cran. Whatever, they’re half-off anyway. Barkeep, another round!

2. The Buzz

My whole body is tingling. It feels like I’m made out of vibrators, and I love it. Time to just relax and enjoy this drink or several. Sure, theoretically I have to get up tomorrow morning, but realistically I don’t have to be out of bed until, like, nine. It’s doable. I could basically just leave here, not sleep, run a marathon around four a.m., and go to work sometime after that, fully refreshed. There is no limit to what I could do at this point. Besides, everyone is funny and everything is inexplicably charming — why would I leave? This is basically what life is supposed to be all the time but never is. Maybe I could eat some more buffalo wings, but maybe I should just order a shot. I feel like a shot is what I most need right now. Yeah, a shot.

3. The Heeeeyyyyyy

Hey, have you heard this awesome story about my personal life? Spoiler alert: It doesn’t matter what your answer is, because I’m going to tell you anyway. As of this moment, literally every person in this bar is my new best friend, and I’m basically just going to talk to all of them until I have to pee, at which point I will awkwardly scuttle off to the bathroom like a crab and pray that there isn’t a line. (There will be a line, of course, but that is just further opportunity to meet future soulmates.)

4. The “Let’s continue partying at all costs”

No matter what happens this evening, comrades, no matter what travesty may befall us or which one of us may get left behind: The party does not stop. Susie, it doesn’t matter that you have class in the morning! Karen, I have to work tomorrow, too! Jimmy, forget your daughter at home — just let her get eaten by raccoons! This is Sparta, only the strong survive, and we weren’t meant to go home and attend to our various duties. When we agreed to have the Best Night Ever, we knew that some among us would be making personal sacrifices. We can’t split up. It’s only three a.m.. Only the elderly and the terminally bogus go home at this geriatric hour. I don’t care if you lose your job and never see your entire family again, you are doing this round of shots with me.

5. The Denial

The night is not over. Hey, who cares if the bouncer is kicking us out!? Let’s just go into the McDonald’s parking lot and do some swigs out of a Nalgene and then go party with the ghosts in the cemetary off by the freeway? I am totally down to let a ghost do a body shot off of me right now. I’m fine, you guys, we don’t need to go home. It’s not even that late, the sun is barely up. Fuck these birds, they don’t know what they’re talking about.

6. The Wind-Down

Does anyone have a bed I could sleep on? You know what, a bed isn’t really that important, maybe just like a warm cot somewhere that isn’t too close to an open door or window? Or even a bathtub, really, it’s not like I’m gonna be staying in there for that long. But really, it’s not even that important, though, because I’m just going to sleep on the floor over here, and my shoe is actually a really great pillow, and if I just leave all my clothes on I’m warm — plus the makeup I’m not gonna take of is like a little blanket for my face. I’m perfect. This is like a five-star hotel, actually. I should be paying you for this.

7. The Hangover

I would literally kill my own parents with my bare hands for a McDonald’s breakfast right now. Thought Catalog Logo Mark


Chelsea Fagan founded the blog The Financial Diet. She is on Twitter.

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