Texting my Dad
Funny story. And by funny I mean deeply scarring. On my 21st birthday I had one too many sake bombs. I remember nothing of the night, but I did wake up the next morning to find a little present for me in my text outbox. It was a text that I had sent my dad at 1am reading, “Yo. Come to Sessions. 73rd and 1st. Do it.”
Not eating enough
Drinking on an empty stomach is never worth it. Not only does it not feel good, but YOU will not feel good too, come sunrise. Last time I did it, I woke up with a disfigured face. (RE: not worth it)
Kissing my best friend for a free cab ride
It was in 9th grade, okay? Stop judging me. And I actually learned a great deal from this—maxims, in fact, that I still live by to this day. Such as: some things are better left unknown. Like the amount of saliva your best friend keeps stored in her mouth.
I for one have never had a drunken night of dancing that ended well. Sure, it feels good and liberating at the time, but you have to weigh the pluses and minuses. For example, letting loose by undulating your body and snapping off-beat to Sisqó is never worth a life of being made fun of.
Scaling a building
I did this, and survived, but would not recommend trying it.
Trying to hold/carry anything
I have a condition called lazy wrist syndrome, wherein my wrist often and spontaneously goes limp while I’m holding something. The condition worsens when intoxicated.
Taking a breather at the wrong time and place
Going outside for a breather while you’re in a dark, loud and sweaty club—totally reasonable move. But, taking a breather right as you put your key into your front door, but before actually opening the door? That’s just poor planning and a sure-fire way of not making it to your bed.
Not looking where you’re going
Like that time I was in a really hip club in Paris and, mid-complaining to the bartender about the expensive drinks like a typical American, took a step behind me. I saw there was a curtain, but if I had really looked then perhaps I would have saved myself from falling head first and backwards down the steep steps that loomed behind the curtain.
Thinking you’re more knowledgeable than you really are
Like my friend, who, when drunk, always claims that a taxi with “Y” in the license plate means it’s an undercover cop. Or those times that I think 14 years of French class means I can speak the language.
A common tendency while I’m intoxicated is to feel all Chevy Chase à la Memoirs of an Invisible Man and think no one can see me peeing behind a fire hydrant on Sixth Avenue. Typically, I’m wrong.