Where to start…oh I know!
I hate them.
It’s bad enough I have to compete with 21 year old girls, who look and act like children, but now I have to compete with actual children. I may look good for my age, but I can’t keep up with that shit. Plus, they can’t keep up with me.
For a little woman, I can sure put away some cocktails. Maybe all those years working for a vodka company have left me virtually immune to it. I say “virtually” since every now and then I wake up fully clothed, my house filled with smoke from a pizza I attempted to cook with one eye open, missing a shoe. This usually only occurs after about 5-7 drinks and 8-10 shots.
At the beginning of the night, I see these girls enter the bar, order one drink and a shot, then disappear. They usually resurface crying/vomiting in the bathroom hours later trying to comfort one another by saying, “You are too good for him!” over and over. Although I have never met “him” I think it’s safe to assume he made a wise decision getting out now.
The lucky ones who managed to stay upright have yet to master the art of being hammered without acting like an asshole. Most of them can usually be found giving each other lap dances on the dance floor….always entertaining yet horrifying at the same time. Even the young ladies that act somewhat composed, can not control their crazy eyes just yet. You know, when you are talking to one (usually trying to help her find her lost friend or phone), and you are not sure if she is talking to you or the person to your right? Maybe she is talking to the street sign since that is where her left eye is focused. You begin to wonder if she really is that drunk or if she does in fact have a lazy eye…you start to feel a little bad until she loses her balance and hits the pavement face first. Drunk, definitely drunk.
I don’t care about how many bottles of Boone’s Farm you put away at cheerleading camp last summer, if you can’t make it through the night without dropping your glass or falling down stairs, you should stay home until you are 21 and practice. Believe me, this is something that takes years of hard work and dedication. I for one should know. If pretending you are not a hot mess (while actually being one teaspoon away from alcohol poisoning) was a sport, I could win the gold.