The Stages Of Claiming You’ll Never Drink Again

The Stages Of Claiming You'll Never Drink Again

7:00pm: You’ve finally finished applying the necessary amount of makeup onto your face to be prepared for a good night out. You’re half way through straightening your hair when your friend sends you a text. “How drunk are you planning on getting tonight?” You have 9:00am class, so you’re first instinct is to text back “not drinking too much tonight;” however, like any rational person who is experienced in the world of drinking, you know that the nights you claim that you won’t go too hard, you end up blackout. You send back a vague “IDK” so that you don’t curse your night.

7:30pm: Where the f*ck are your friends. Shannon said that she was figuring out what to wear 45 mins ago, and Tori said that she was about to call an uber around the same time. Your friends suck, and do you know what makes that better? Wine. Besides, you don’t want to look like you were anxiously waiting at the door for them to arrive, like you did when you were convinced that no one was going to show up for your 13th birthday party. You’ll seem like you can totally have fun without them if you’re slightly tipsy when they show up.

8:15pm: You can drink a surprisingly amount of wine in 45 mins. By the time your friends arrive, you’re tipsy enough to give them shit for arriving so late.

8:40pm: Tori announces that one of the frats is hosting a pregame. You inform her that this was supposed to be a well-deserved girls night, to which she responds that a pregame with boys is a lot more fun than drinking alone with an angry, drunk you. Besides, you secretly feel sort of cool for technically going to two pregames in a night.

8:50pm: The Uber is here, and you’re not one to waste wine. You finish the rest of your drink straight from the bottle.

9:15pm: It’s an unspoken rule in the frat that no girl should ever go without a drink in her hand. Since you already finished all of your alcohol, some nice pledge is instructed to get you a drink. You’re not really sure what’s in it, but you’re pretty sure that there isn’t anything but alcohol. Honestly, you’re just amazed at the frat-magic that somehow makes vodka go down easier than juice.

9:45pm: People start playing beer pong, and everyone knows that your competitive side only becomes worse when alcohol is involved. You temporarily forget that how awful you are at beer pong, as well as sports in general (not to mention all off the other things you forget that night), and act as if you’re a star. This results in you drinking a lot more of whatever frat concoction is flowing at the moment.

10:15pm: Shannon starts to whine that its time to go to the bar. Someone interjects and says that you all have to do shots before leaving. You rationalize that alcohol is free here, and won’t be at the bar; regardless of whether or not you actually need it.

10:30pm: The bar line is long, you are cold, and the pizza place across the street smells really good. Your thoughts aren’t much more advanced, and your primal instincts for food and warmth thrive. Your friends wrestle your animalistic behaviour, and somehow manage to get you into the bar. You assume some form of bribery – whether it be cash or a quick flash – was used.

11:30pm: Your genius friends decide that it’s a great idea to feed your more shots. Personally, you just think that they want to get drunker so that you become less annoying; but they know that if they do anything without you, you’re whiny ass will complain.

12:00am: The bouncer reads your nonverbal cues and kicks you out of the bar, and you’re not mad about it. Through eye contact, you had been begging him to kick you out of this loud hell hole for the past 15 minutes. You obviously couldn’t just leave by yourself, and risk being seen as the lame friend in front of all of the frat boys who have become progressively cuter as the night has progressed.

12:15am: The greasy pizza place across the way has been calling your name the entire night. You go in expecting it to simply fill your needs of hunger and warmth, but are pleasantly surprised that it also offers you a place to puke.

12:45am: Tori and Shannon find you sitting outside of the pizza place. They’re annoyed that they had to leave the bar early, and become increasingly more annoyed as each cab driver refuses to take you home. You yell at them for “killing your vibe,” and then proceed to run back to your safe haven — the pizza place — to puke again.

1:00am: You emerge with an empty stomach and more pizza, just in time for your very annoyed friends to have found some poor sucker of a cab driver to take you home. They arm you with a plastic bag and your address written on a piece of paper. They have no faith in you. You end up taking advantage of both.

1:20am: You somehow made it into your house, and are thrilled with the realization that you’re surrounded by more food. Calories don’t count, since you’re probably just going to throw them up anyways. You realize that you’re disgusting, but you’re also staring, and that realization trumps the other.

8:30am: You wake surrounded by food, with your makeup smeared all over your face. You feel the overwhelming urge to never drink again. You promptly throw up again from the combination of the 2am nachos, the taste of your still-on sickly sweet lipgloss and… of course, the amount you drank the night before. You can’t miss class today, but can’t remember why.

8:45am: You phone Tori on your way to class, to inform her that you are still alive, and also planning on abstaining from alcohol for the rest of your life. Within seconds, she calls you out for still being drunk. When you try to protest, she asks you if you’re hungover then. When you say that you feel great, you realize that she has a point. With the amount that you drank, you’d have to be still drunk or very hungover, there are no other options

9:05am: You make it to class basically on time. As you run in, the prof rolls his eyes at you, and hand you a piece of paper. Your heart sinks when you see it. Its a quiz… how the fuck are you supposed to write a quiz still drunk. At least this will be a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence, since you’re planning on dumping the remained of your alcohol stash down the drain as soon as you get home. “You’ve got this,” you encouraging whisper to yourself until the girl beside you gives you a strange look. You let the drunk logic that prompted all of your fantastic decisions the night before take control, and you answer all of the question based off of what “sounds right” instead of with logic.

9:45am: You drag yourself to the closest place that serves brunch, justifying that some carbs will help you battle what is soon to be your last hangover you ever experience. As you scan the menu, you realize that the place you’re at serves mimosas. Drinking more would help you fight the impending hangover. By some stroke of pure luck, you managed to not fail your quiz, so it would be a celebratory drink. You’ll just have one drink, and then reassess you abstinence plan later.

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Hiding from my mother and standards, both of whom would disown me if they heard most of these stories. Aspiring law school student, with a chihuahua named Bruiser and a head of unnatural blonde hair. Email me your "crazy" stories or any mixed drink recipes that taste like juice, but have copious amounts of vodka in them at [email protected] Watch the bitch behind these stories at:

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