A candid tale of 20-something humanness and extended note to self.

Wednesday, 24 April 2013

Kathy B's Guide to being a drunken idiot...


I've noticed something about us human beings. A fair few of us have a penchant for alcoholic beverages. We like to drink. We like to throw shapes and PAAAAARRT-aaaaaaaaay. Some of us like to 'grind our filthy, juicy asses' and 'pull f*ckin' fiiiiiit birds mate' and have a 'tactical chunder' in the toilets. (Sexy.) We like to get MASHED UP, MAN. (People actually say these things. Wow.)

Alcohol has become a huge part of British culture. Whilst we're not all necessarily the grinding, pulling, tactical-chundering types (I'd much rather a hearty chinwag, two hours of hysterical laughter, and the Macarena), many of us do still indulge in a spot of whisky/wine hysteria. We pour ourselves a few drinks of a weekend and find that the world starts to spin in directions we never knew existed. We crack open a bottle of wine after a stressful day and slur about how much of a 'twotal beeeeeeeetch' Juanita is, or how Luke is just too much of an arrogant 'sexxxxxyyyyymudafugga' . Guzzle, guzzle. We clink our glasses to good news and down our glasses to bad.

Ultimately, many of us are pretty damn good at getting royally intoxicated with or without intention, and out of those of us that do, 100% of us are absolutely at risk of acting like a complete and utter moron. Woops.

I decided to reflect upon my own drunken adventures, and observe those of the inebriated citizens around me, and rustle up my very own guide to being the ultimate drunken idiot. You know; life skills and all...

Stand up on a piece of unstable furniture and do a speech. This tends to be a regular occurrence in the world of Kathy B. Yup, climbing on wobbly chairs and humiliating myself is a particularly pertinent skill of mine. On my 20th birthday, I resolved to tell everybody about how suffocating my control pants were (svelte figure vs vital organs.... hmm), and at my 21st, I shrieked hysterically, confessing my undying adoration for every single person in the room. Ah, isn't honesty just grand?

Broadcast the night's developments across all available social media platforms. 'Aren't we just having SO much fun? I bet the world really, really, desperately cares about how much drunken FUN we are having. Say cheeeeeeese! Sexy poses, sexy poses. Okay, let's get that on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Youtube, Pinterest, Blogger, Snapchat....'

Trip over. Whether you stumble over a kerb, stagger like a flailing goat down a flight of stairs, or jump a little too excitedly into the arms of your loved one, creating a whirlwind of flying limbs and disappointment, every drunken idiot seems to sustain an injury or a mystery bruise.

Have a severe outfit malfunction. I often see drunken women staggering around with laddered tights,  dress-exploding breasts, and extension clips springing buoyantly out of their scalps, not to mention skirts that are riding up dangerously high. We've all found ourselves having one of those 'oh wow, your shoes are so gorgeous' moments with a kind stranger, only to find our attention unwittingly distracted by a peeping vagina. I've never been too keen on seeing genitals prior to the fifth meeting. Can we all resolve to buy a smidgen of extra fabric or wear bigger knickers? Or just keep a closer eye on personal exposure levels? Pretty please?

Laugh until you cry. Isn't everything just so bloody hilarious after a few drinks?! HAHAHA. You have no idea what you're laughing at whatsoever do you?! But isn't life just sooooooooo funny right now?! 'Oh my goodness, I'm crying, I'm crying, I can't breathe, my stomach hurts!! I'm 'rofling'. An actual ROFL. Why am I even laughing?!'

Cry hysterically. This may well follow in quick succession to the point above. One minute you're a human chucklefest, and the next you're spilling tears like a hungry baby, consumed by a desperate sense of theatrical misery. Sniffle. Oh, WHY did Bambi have to die? Why hasn't he replied to my text? It's been a whole four minutes?... SOB. SOB. 

Send an excruciatingly embarrassing message to someone you'd like to date/sleep with.  This one is my absolute forte. Just ask the last guy I half-dated. When we're sober, we tend to be better at keeping things chilled, or at least knowing which lines we just shouldn't cross. When we're drunk, we expect that the person we'd like to date/sleep with feels an overwhelming desire to date/sleep with us too. And so we go ahead and unleash our biggest emotional/physical desires, with no grasp of the fact that we might have to answer a few awkward questions in the morning. We get soppy. We spell badly. Yup, coming across those messages is a sure fire way to make a hangover significantly worse.

Flirt/kiss/sleep with someone that you probably shouldn't flirt/kiss/sleep with. This is fairly self-explanatory. And always very tricky for everybody involved. You might play it cool and decide it's 'HAHA-hilarious and definitely not a big deal', but the truth is, you will do everything in your power to avoid that person for the next four years. Good luck to you.

Strut around like you're the sexiest organism to ever grace the planet. Folks, why do we suddenly think we're a bunch of Channing Tatums and Beyonces when we're drunk?! Suddenly us ladies start the half-wonky catwalk parade, pouting in a manner that we think is seductive but is actually ridiculous, and flicking our hair like it's made of gold, and our male equivalents start doing creepy winks and walking around like their genitals are national monuments. The bizarre truth is that we feel like we're 'looking fresh', and I guess we are, if 'fresh' means rained-on farm animals.

Dance. (Badly.) If only uncontrollable legs, windmill arms, and awkward thrusts counted as sophisticated dance moves...

Eat. Eat a lot. Eat so much that you wake up surrounded by two hundred crumbs and a disappointing sense of mass-scale weight gain.

Spend the whole of the next day in bed, feeling ashamed, embarrassed, sweaty, horrendous, and sick. Wow, we're a classy bunch.


*Disclaimer. This blog post is intended for use in a light-hearted manner. I do not wish for this to cause offence or be misinterpreted in any way. I  do not condone regular excessive alcohol consumption. Also, if you're under 18, it is illegal to drink. Behave yourselves, kids.*







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5 comments

  1. Bang on accurate! Need a good night out soon and do all of that ;)

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  2. Love this, it's so fun and relatable. Looking forward to your future posts :)

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  3. Indeed, we're a classy bunch! I love this post, I have to admit I've done them all :) You left getting escorted home by the postman off!

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  4. Wonderful post,I like your blog.^^
    Maybe follow each other on bloglovin?
    Let me know follow you then back.
    Lovely greets Nessa

    ReplyDelete

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