Wednesday, January 22, 2014

How (Not) To Party

Over the past few years a lot of kind of strange things has happened to me when I went out clubbing. Some of them were funny, some not so much. The worst part is my relatives know about them and they make fun of me every time I say I'm going out (maybe that's the reason I don't go out as much as I could).
So the thing is where I'm from most of the clubs have over 16 policy. This means you need an I.D. that proves you're 16 or older to get into a club. I don't know about the kids from your town, but in my town that means that the average age of people in a club would be about 14. And if the club has over 18 policy, then the average age is 16. You can imagine you could feel a little out of place if you go to a place like that.
Anyhow there are two stories I want to tell you about how my first and second (well technically it was second and third, but the first time I didn't drink a thing and I was back at home by midnight. Not much of a party, don't you think?) time I went clubbing in my life went.
The thing is I'm not really into all the "Lets get drunk and dance and scream to a lousy, super loud music I don't really listen to" type of partying. To me a good party is more like a social gathering where you drink cocktails (not a mix of the cheapest version of vodka and orange juice available in local store that sells to the under-aged) and gossip with friends without a chance of losing my voice for the next week.
So the first time my friends convinced me I just have to go clubbing was for a schoolmates birthday party (she was 18 years old. Where I'm from that means you're finally aloud to drink). So she and a friend of hers hired this (kind of small) place on the other side of the town. I had no idea what the rules of when to show up to a party were. I mean the invitation said from eight pm till five and I had to (very discreetly of course) ask a friend that went to loads of parties before, when was the right time to show up. So you don't look lame for coming too early or disrespectful for coming too late. Apparently in this case it was between nine and ten (I later learned that if you're not going to a private party, you'll be alone in a club if you show up before one in the morning. Lesson learned).
A capture of some of my favourite cocktails: Long Island Ice Tea and some green thing the waiter recommended. The yellow drink in the middle is lemonade. And for the record, there were three of us. 

So I dressed up and made myself look real good (I'm still not sure why, since I knew there'd only be people I already knew and went to school with, Which meant they saw me when I was sick, And let me tell you, I look horrible when I'm sick. Imagine normal people look like vampires from The Vampire Diaries or Twilight. In comparison to that I looked like a vampire from Buffy The Vampire Slayer. They saw me when I looked that kind of horrible.). When I came it was just like I imagined. Loud music and people drinking and smoking outside the club. I didn't really like it but at the time I was an OK friend with the birthday girl and didn't want to ruin her big day. I knew she was worried, because a lot of people cancelled on her the last minute and I had no intention of telling her the truth. Just when I got into the party mode people started throwing up. Which happens if you drink more than half of bottle of vodka. And then some tequila to wash that down. The thing is, one of my former friends (we kind of lost contact after high school, not that I tried to stay in touch) got so drunk she didn't know what is going on around her. She threw up every five minutes even when there was nothing to throw up any more. And this is when my maternal instincts decided to kick out. I was with her for more than an hour, outside holding her hair while she threw up. Around two we decided it would be the best if we send her home. There was just one small problem, she lived on the other side of the city and she was in no condition to come from the taxi to her place without passing out in some ditch beside the road. I couldn't left her in this condition, but I only had enough money for the taxi to drive us to her place (I live in between the place where the party was held and her apartment), not to get back home. So I had to call my parents at two o'clock in the morning to let them know a friend is so drunk I have to get her home (thinking back it would be easier to just ask my mom to drive us to her place and then go home). My mom is a doctor and her first reaction was:"Do you need me to come and take a look at her, she might need to get her stomach cleaned." I knew she was OK, so I just told her to pick me up in an hour at her place.The next day I had to listen to my entire family (we celebrated my cousin's birthday) making fun of me because I took care of my super drunk friend. So much for being proud of me for caring. Next time I'll just leave the drunk person behind. Maybe they'll like passing out in some ditch or under the bridge.
The teasing about how I party might not be so bad, if the next time I went out I wouldn't end up in a hospital. Yes, that's right, in a hospital. And what a coincidence, the next day we celebrated my grandfathers birthday with my big loud family. But I should probably start at the beginning. Two more of my schoolmates had a birthday and decided to have a party. I said I'd go, but when it was time to get ready, I didn't feel like it (again!). But a promise is a promise and at ten (I learned my lesson about when to show up) I arrived at the club. This time I had to pay to get in, but the drinks were free. Never mind that they were gone before midnight. I decided that this time, I'd have fun and wouldn't let some drunk friend to ruin everything. Unfortunately for me, this time, it was me that got in trouble. Some time after midnight when people started to get seriously drunk and the throw up feast begun, the bathroom became flooded, because some drunk idiot forgot to turn off the water. I was wearing high heels and I felt a bit tipsy from all the alcohol I consumed. Around two o'clock I overcome my completely rational disgust that kept me from going to the bathroom and went in. When I tried to turn and leave the stall, I slipped and fell with such force, my elastic bracelet with fake pearls broke, and I cut my lip pretty bad. There was blood all over the place. But after I cleaned it up it looked more like a minor bruise. So I decided it was nothing and continue to party (at that time all my close and sober friends already left, so they couldn't convince me it would be a good thing to go home ad get my lip fixed). After an hour when almost everybody left, my schoolmate, who was claiming he's totally sober (he wasn't) decided to leave and since he was going the same direction as I was, we left together (that's the other guy who walked me home, the one I wrote about in How To Meet Guys post). When I came home I woke my mother up, because I'm unable to walk quietly. When she saw my lip, she got super upset and we just had to go to the emergency room. I ended up having three stitches. But not before the good (and slightly overdosed on caffeine) doctor declared I'm sober enough to undergo the stitching. I have some great pictures from the next day, with my family and the cake and my three stitches and a lip that looked like I got into a fist fight (I also had this big violet circles around my eyes, the one you get from not sleeping enough).
I must say, the next time I went out, I didn't told my parents I wouldn't be home until the next day, I just told them I'm going to the party. When I went to this concert I got super drunk and talked to everybody there, introducing myself and telling them how much I love them. I still have no idea who most of those people were. And if they are reading this, please note that I'm sorry, it wasn't on purpose.
So trust me when I say there's probably no one else on this world who'd managed to get in so much trouble the first two times they went out to party (and almost every other time I go out). No matter what the TV and movies says, I'm probably the last person you'd want at your party, since it's almost guaranteed something will go wrong, and I'll end up being the guilty party and my family will have another embarrassing story to tell to whoever is ready to listen.
So kids, if you're reading this, please remember, you don't need to set your house on fire or stole Mike Tyson's tiger and get into trouble with local Mafia like the guys in the movies like Hangover do, to regret the moment you decided to go to that party. In my experience the combination of flooded floor, high heels, some alcohol and my legendary clumsiness will do that just fine. Actually, scratch the alcohol, the good doctor declared I'm not drunk half an hour later and since I don't know anyone who'd be capable of sobering up in 30 minutes, I think I can safely conclude I wasn't that drunk.
Party safely,
Lucy Jane (the girl you want by your side if you're planning to get in trouble. Don't worry you don't have to do anything, she'll do all the work. Trouble follows her everywhere, especially to the parties.)

Do not party the way I do if you want to meet a guy. Trust me when I say that a broken lip doesn't look attractive ;)

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