Monday, May 23, 2005

a continuation...

Here's a chronicle of the rest of my Saturday night:

After dinner, I headed to the bar where Berdie and friends were having their going away party. The place was in a dodgy neighbourhood and I had a bit of trouble finding it. I had to walk for several blocks through rather seedy territory, and when I finally made it the bouncers wouldn't let me in because I had taken my ID out to vote in the election and had left it at home. A student card that expires this year because I'm graduating and a credit card with my full name on it, which you have to be 19 to obtain, were not enough for them. Berdie really wanted me to come to their party, so I took a $12 cab ride home to get my ID and a $12 cab ride back to the bar. By this point it was 10:00, and I was $24 poorer. I had a few drinks and it started to get pretty late. I was having an okay time, but I wanted to meet the Boy for breakfast the next morning and I wanted to be relatively well-rested for work, so I tried to wind the drinking down. Apparently the words "I have to work tomorrow" are Latin to everyone except me, or else I am the only person in the world who needs to keep their job for reasons significantly more compelling than economic necessity.

Berdie and her boyfriend wanted, for reasons entirely unknown, to set me up with a friend of theirs with whom I appeared to have absolutely nothing in common other than acute embarrasssment about how obvious the setting-up was. Let's call him Ken. He was okay-looking, nothing spectacular, and showed just about no interest in talking to me or having any interaction with me whatsoever. I finally slid my chair up to him and asked him if he had noticed the whole forced fixing up arrangement. He had. We laughed. Things were pretty relaxed once he knew I wasn't interested in him and I knew he wasn't interested in me.

But that wasn't enough for any of them, because they kept forcing me to drink more, once again for reasons unknown. Perhaps it's because the last thing to go when I'm drinking is always my ability to string sentences together, and so they assumed I was pretty sober when in fact walking was a real challenge. The guys started doing these fairly dreadful 'Dr. Pepper' shots, which consisted of a shot of amaretto dunked into half a glass of beer and rapidly chugged. That was an experience I don't care to repeat, although at the time I was just drunk enough to be okay with it.

Finally, Berdie got up to dance and I made my exit. Her boyfriend asked as I was walking away "What about Ken?" I replied that if Ken cared to see me again, which I was 99.8% sure he did not, he could get my number from Berdie. Easy out.

I went home and tried to stay awake long enough for the spinning to stop. I didn't quite make it. I don't remember any of the conversations I had with my brother after I got home from the bar. I passed out completely and woke up again at 5:45 am, totally disoriented, and all the lights were still on. I turned them off and resumed my fitful attempts to sleep. I was too drunk and miserable for that to be very successful. The Boy came over for breakfast, shortly before I became violently ill. I can say with absolute certainty that it was the worst hangover of my life. I was nauseous, had a killer headache, felt dizzy and tired, and was constantly chilled and shivering. For the first few hours I was pretty sure I was going to die. I made it to work by sheer determination, took an extra-strength Advil, downed some Gatorade and a lot of water, and managed to weather the storm.

I came out of it wishing that peer pressure was actually a concept that had expired with the end of high school. I hate, hate, hate drinking until I am sick. I hate hangovers, and frankly I don't need to be drunk enough to have one in order to have a good time. The point at which I know I will be ill the next morning is the point at which I lose my ability to enjoy myself. A hangover to me is a sign of miscalculation and stupidity, not the memory of a good time.

Sunday after work I went to campus to have some grad photos taken by my aunt. That was pretty fun, and we got some great photos. When I finally fix my fucking piece of shit excuse for a scanner, I will post them.

Today was spent having brunch with my mom and her sister (my aunt) who is in town for a few days, shopping for clothes (there goes another paycheck!), and going to see a Scottish film called Dear Frankie. It was sweet and sad and made me cry.

And now what none of you except me have been waiting for. My bisexuality rant.

The shortest I can possibly condense my rant about bisexuality is that I fucking hate people who say that it doesn't exist. I cannot stand it when people claim that bisexuals are closeted homosexuals. To me that is exactly as intolerant as saying that homosexuals are perverted straight people. Bullfuckingshit. Labels are bugging me a lot at the moment, so I will just say that I have been about a hundred times more comfortable with myself since I have come to terms with the fact that I'm attracted to girls as well as guys. It's just stupid to say that I don't like guys. Stupid and ignorant and anyone who knows me even a little should know that. That said, my whole life I have ignored and repressed any feelings I've had for girls. I've felt weird and uncomfortable and abnormal and unnatural about it and I am done with it. Completely. I don't want to spend time with anyone, male or female, gay or straight, who is not okay with this. Unfortunately, these people exist. Many of them are related to me. I cannot choose my family, and because of this I cannot choose all of the people I love. But I can choose who I like, and I like those who accept me the way I am, plain and simple. Intolerance and reverse discrimination have no part in my worldview, none at all.

And on that note, I will give you a quote that I really like from a rather perceptive 19th century American writer:

"It is true that a woman may be in love with a woman, and a man with a man.
It is pleasant to be sure of it, because it is undoubtedly
the same love that we shall all feel
when we are angels."
-Margaret Fuller Ossoli

Blogging "breaks" seem to be rather popular lately, which means that some days I will be among the only blogs you get to read from. Be grateful. Leave comments. Shakespeare believed in audience participation, and so do I.

I'm adding some disclaimers to my sidebar. Please read them. Skim them if you must. But don't ignore them, because sharing is a privilege and few people who lose my trust ever gain it back.

I'll continue to post the new questions for my interview game.

Oh, and I have a new poll. But I'll save that for another post.

Cheers,

-N