Monday, September 19, 2005

Damage

I am a shell of a woman. I have worked eight out of the last eight days. I am averaging five hours of sleep per night. I have run out of post-it notes. And I am on my period.

If memory serves, the Union hosted a dance at the graduate student pub on Thursday night. I had a few beers and was holding up quite well—that is, until the first round of shooters arrived.

Shooters, I have decided, are evil. They usually contain liquids you would never otherwise drink, and which you would politely decline if it was socially acceptable to do so. It is not. You can no more say no to a shooter than to a gun-toting rapist, and a shooter cannot be stopped with mace. Worse, shooters beget shooters, in a vicious cycle that only ends when no one is left standing.

Without thinking, I imbibed three shots of unadulterated evil, on an empty stomach no less, and suddenly there I was: dancing like a madwoman to Men Without Hats; flirting with my delegates and random law students; and spilling sticky things on my freshly laundered dress.

I was, in other words, having fun. Loads of it.

I most assuredly did not have fun the next day, however, when I crawled out of bed after four fitful hours of sleep and realized that I was still drunk. And, dimly, that I had a speech to give to my faculty’s annual orientation meeting in an hour and a half’s time, by which point I would be retchingly hungover.

I did manage to give the speech, which may possibly have been coherent despite having been written in the back of a speeding cab. Immediately afterwards, I took the bus home and collapsed in a heap on my sofa, where I solemnly vowed never to drink shooters again.

I mean it this time.

9 comments:

Sal said...

Vila,

Ahhh, now I see the opening to convert you, in proper messianic and evangelical style, so that ye may abandon satan's army of shooters, and embrace the righteousness, and the most gracious, and the most merciful marijuana. Weed is the True Faith, as you feel better than ever the next morning, speechwriting and speaking improves, and ice cream never tasted so so good. Hallelujah!

alice said...

marijuana leaves you parched and shaky and god forbid your heart starts beating real fast for some awful reason and you feel like the next moment might not come because you will explode and be dead only to be found by your disproving parents and friends.....

Nick said...

Does anyone actually like shots? Or are they just a perverse rite of passage our society has managed to keep around for far too long? There is no good reason for Jaegermeister to exist in 2005. None.

As for the Demon Weed, it's not the best for social occasions, but it makes a great hangover cure.

Sal said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Sal said...

Heart beating real fast??? You will explode??? That's awesome!! Your shit must be fan-fucking-tastic!!!

Ohhh how do I love weed
Let me count the ways...

g_pi said...

Bad, bad girl.

It would seem, however, that a dirty great blow-out is exactly what the doctor ordered.

Vila H. said...

Khansahib, et.al: This is like the Fairmount vs. St. Viateur bagel debate, isn't it?

Vila H. said...

g_pi: Is it too soon for a refill?

g_pi said...

Gads, no.

But for maximum efficacy, and in the immortal words of (Smith's era) Morissey, drink one -- it becomes four -- and when you fall on the floor, drink more...