Blog Entry #4: Viva La Hypocrisy!

[Note: References to hypocrisy and irony correspond to my previous blog entry.]

And so, terrible, terrible irony punches kung-fu's me in the face. I'm beaten and battered by the happenstances of my own device, and I can't even blame anyone else! Hypocrisy rears its ugly head, and turns my self-righteousness to stone! The story I'm sticking to by now, is that the devil coerced me on Hallowe'en night, and enticed me to drink myself into the abyss of oblivion, and participate in unladylike behaviour.

Alright, so... My displacement tactics are working overtime right about now, but for good reason.

My evening officially began at eight, where the first step into Hell was taken via a one-way ticket into a glass of Screwdriver-goodness. My initial plans were to meet with two friends, then meander over to a party some of my other friends were hosting. Unfortunately, before the meandering I had ingested far too much alcohol already.

Viva la hypocrisy!

I soon found myself immersed in cheering some beer-cup game, called Flip Cup. I vaguely recall that the whole point of the game was to drink your drink the fastest, and try to flip your cup from a down-right to an up-right position. When I first arrived, there wasn't really too much happening other than the game. Although, my mind seems to skip the rest of my socializing until a bunch of folks show up that I'm acquainted with. The music abounds with bass, and simultaneous dancing occurs. Myself included...

Between going onto a balcony and socializing there, and returning inside to dance some more and socialize there, I ended up by the Flip Cup table dancing with one of the friends I had brought with me. I, the Devil, her, a pregnant school-girl. By now, I had consumed an even larger quantity of alcohol. [The Raspberry Vodka spoke volumes to my senses.]

A handsome acquaintance shifted in and out from talking to me, then circling the room until he practically shoved a poor kid aside from infront of me, and asked if I wanted to dance. Of course, I obliged and we commenced a typical ritualistic dance that occurs during these shindigs. Somewhere, somehow through all of this dancing I got caught up in some moment and saw my handsome acquaintance dip his head towards me and we ended up tonsil-hockeying up a storm. This lead to some random ladies taking pictures of this, and for some reason I didn't really care at the time.

Fortunately, several songs and hockey games later, we both decided to obtain more alcohol and then return for more ritual dancing and quite possibly more hockey games. Unfortunately, I ended up returning to my place and my intentions went down the drain, or toilet...

For what seemed to me like an eternity, I ended up cradling the toilet bowl in my arms as I emptied the contents of my stomach. It took many attempts on my friend's behalf [who thankfully went with me], to get me into my bed. I fought her every inch of the way, wanting to sleep immediately and not wanting to move anymore. My head spun, my stomach lurched. I felt on the verge of either dying, or asking to. My jeans came off, my socks followed and I was a fetal-positioned mess on my bed with a bucket by my head on the floor. My clever makeup was smeared, and during a particularly painful upheavel from my stomach, I burst blood vessels in my eyes.

The moral of my tale is now I've become the Poster Girl of what not to do the first night you ever get drunk. Lady Larkspur: The Failed Role-Model.

I can officially say that I now look like a demoness from Hell, as my eyes are extremely red. Some of my friends who have seen my eye afterwards, didn't even know it was possible to burst blood vessels in the eyes from throwing up. Guess we learn something new everyday... At my expense.

And so, after all this raucus, I have yet to be contacted or [according to my sources] even mentioned to mutual friends. So it's a good guess [reality check] that I've been outed. Not that I expected anything less, of course. If anything, my initial thoughts on how this would all play out only went so according to plan, a script wouldn't have gone better. A friend asked me if I had wanted his number the very next day, but I shyly declined.

I said, "No... I couldn't possibly..." I thought, 'As if!' What could I have said?

"Hello, it's Lady Larkspur. Yes, the lady you've talked to only six times prior to making-out with on Halloween. Hm? The one who left you at the party, intending to return, but ending the night with her head in the toilet? Yes, the very one. Would you like to go for coffee?" Wouldn't bode very well, I think...

After I told my tale, one of my friend's psychological analysis of me consists of: "All your drinking and [debauchery] "getting together" with guys, is just you trying to drown your fears and stress in living for the moment." Hm, I wouldn't say it's not correct but as it was my first time... I could definitely say that her bitch-slap statement is a little bit exaggerated. But then, who exaggerates better than I do? She must have gotten it from me.

The best solution I've received on how to deal with my handsome acquaintance and the demon-eyes, is just to forget about it and move on. One step at a time, and continue moving forward. One night of all that chaos, and it's certainly enought to last me a lifetime. Besides, I'm one to find humour in irony and my circumstances now wreak with irony. Laughter is the best medicine, right? Ha ha ha ha...... [Sigh.] Well, even if he had called... I would've said no, anyways. [If I were smart, that is...]

"I would not just be a nothin', my head all full of stuffin'. My heart all full of pain. I would dance and be merry, life would be ding-a-derry. If I only had a brain."