I am drunk. DRUNK! SOOOO FUCKING DRUNK!!!
(please note that when I started planning this entry in my head, I had no intention of using so many exclamation points, or caps. or telling anyone that I plan entries ahead of time)And the best part is: no one knows! It's like a little secret. I'm just sort of sitting back, looking around with the knowledge that I, the straight-laced milquetoast homebody wallflower, am completely smashed. The giggling may be giving me away a little.
Word of warning: this is probably the lamest story for getting drunk ever. The only thing that makes it exciting is the fact that I never have been drunk before (or possibly that could make it even more lame).When we have a guest actor in a show, the cast is thrown a "Friends of the Arts" party - yes they are as lame as they sound. Basically the elite of the town in which I live (inwardly I laugh at the thought of this town having anything that could be considered elite) get together and invite us to one of their homes, where the cast inevitably converses only with themselves and watches these egotistical, pill-popping socialites get hammered. On a side note, I have never seen so much botox in all of my life.
Neither have I seen so many middle-aged men handing out alcohol. So, really, who am I to refuse? After 5 glasses of wine I was a bit light-headed and dizzy, and I spent the next 20 mintues wandering around trying to guage the level of my inoxication, and getting several different opinions on the difference between tipsy and drunk. Then I had another glass of wine. At that point it became sufficiently clear that I had trascended mere tipsiness and reached the quintessence of inebriation. I wish I could ay that I did something awesome like jump into their pool, but alas, I somehow seemed to retain my sense of decorum.
A few things I did do while in my state: won a game of pool against all odds, discovered the joy of eating cheesecake with my fingers, went to the bathroom 18 million times (and in every bathroom in the house - which I think was my proudest moment of the night), killed a hooker, was asked if I was British by way too many people, got lost looking for other bathrooms, fell and scraped my knee (which really has nothing to do with being drunk), and conquered Uzbekistan.
Side effects have been less than heinous. Other than a mild stomach ache, the only thing that's been bothering me is the fact that it is ridiculous o' clock in the morning and I can't sleep due to a severe case of the munchies.
