St. Patrick’s Day is dedicated to drinking various green alcohols, and I’ve tried ‘em all. Green shots, green beer, green gummy bears infused with vodka. I’m no stranger to a mid-day St. Patrick’s hangover. However, because the only time I spent in Europe I was accompanied by a very responsible adult, and I’ve never been bold enough to use my fake to buy something that ~might~ be illegal in the United States, so I’ve never had the greenest drink of all.
But this past St. Patrick’s day, I was offered the chance to try some of the Green Fairy. Drugs and I rarely mix well together, and I had heard stories of people hallucinating, but my friend insisted that I would be totally fine. I didn’t want to seem like a pussy in front of my friends, and absinthe seems cool as hell, so I agreed. It should be noted that when you drink absinthe, it is supposed to be diluted with cold water. But I was trying to black out before 3 p.m., so I wasn’t about to dim the effects of anything.
We each poured a shots worth and took a round, and immediately then took another because that shit tastes phenomenal. After surviving on an alcoholic diet of PBR, Natty Light, and cheap wine, drinking the green juice was how I imagine it feels for deaf people to hear for the first time. It made me feel like I was sipping a mojito made for me by a tall, tanned European man while sitting beach side in Cancun, instead of drinking pre-bottled absinthe in a fraternity’s freezing backyard in mid-March.
The effects didn’t hit me immediately. After the second shot, my friend advised me to slow down and let the drink wash over me like a nice warm blanket. While the first shot wrapped me in the warm embrace of intoxication, the second punched me in the stomach and tossed my sorry ass down a hill. Absinthe is like drinking three shots, a Four Loko and beer mixed with redbull in an hour. It gets you fucking crazy. Within ten minutes, I went from happy and tipsy to a completely smashed and ready to regret all decisions.
While I was expecting to see multi-colored worms crawl across my vision, the hallucinations weren’t quite that literal. Instead, I just felt insanely happy, and like my various limbs weren’t attached to my body. The shitty EDM remix and the absinthe flowed through my veins, and the limbs that were no longer attached to my body took on a life of their own.
I danced my way through the crowd that made up the entirety of the yard, carelessly bumping into people and knocking drinks all over myself. Alcohol normally convinces me that I’m a much better dancer than I am, but the absinthe didn’t just convince me I was a better dancer. The more guys I grinded on and the more drinks my flailing arms sent flying, the more insistent I was the best dancer in the entire world, and it was time to show my talents off to the people.
High above the yard, the flashing lights of the makeshift DJ booth beckoned me like a fly to a shitty florescent dorm room light. I couldn’t just waste the Taylor Swift-esque stylings of my new found rhythm on rubbing my ass against random guys crotches. I needed to be where everyone could truly appreciate me.
I sauntered my way over to the door to the house and after convincing (re: flashing) a poor unsuspecting pledge that I really needed to pee and had to be let in, was granted access to the house. Within seconds, I was up the stairs and heading out onto the second floor balcony where the DJ was set up. There were a few people, mostly guys who lived in house, milling around the DJ and drinking, and they were more than willing to allow a very attractive, highly intoxicated girl dance on their balcony.
After some light grinding to get my way, I made my way over to the booth and hopped onto the makeshift stage, which was a beer stained card table sitting atop a slightly raised platform. Against all better judgement, I then took it a step farther and decided to stand on the railing so that my dancing could be truly appreciated in all it’s unobscured glory.
Within seconds, I was being unceremoniously pulled off the railing by the arms of many strong and very pissed off fraternity members, because while it’s nice to watch a girl dance on your railing, apparently it’s also a huge legal liability. Go figure!
But I was drunk and the queen of dancing, so I wasn’t above to removed without a fight. I wrapped my legs around one of the spindles on the railing and held on for dear life. The four times I had gone to the gym in preparation for spring break had apparently paid off, because, for a drunk girl, I did pretty well. As the fraternity guys wrapped themselves around my midsection, and I clung tighter and tighter to the railing, until finally, a final crack made me release.
The spindle, which I had refused to let go off, was now bent at an odd angle and had a massive crack in it.
In my inebriated state, I found this whole situation to be hilarious. The guys who lived there, however, did not. Unsurprisingly, I was escorted from the party and told I would be contacted about paying to fix the railing. My friends, who had watched the whole situation go down, also thought it was the most hilarious thing they had ever seen, and voluntary left with me.
The lesson to be learned here? If you’re going to try absinthe, make sure you do it with people who are totally willing to leave an awesome party when you inevitably do something that will get you kicked out. Oh, and if something says it should be diluted, maybe listen..
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