Kiss Me, I'm Shitfaced

It was the night before my graduation. I would be receiving a doctorate the following day and damn it, was I psyched! I went out for one last night of debauchery with my friends before I left the town and people I had grown to love over the previous three years. I had been “dating” a guy named Forrest* for a few months (if by dating it means going out, getting drunk and sleeping together). I had decided that I was going to finally ask him where “we” were going, if anywhere, since I was moving 5 hours away.

I went out with my girlfriends to a dive bar and we proceeded to hit it hard and heavy. I had to get enough liquid encouragement to have “the talk” with Forrest. He was at someone else’s grad party and had planned to meet me later in the night. I had a long island to start off, followed by some shots. And some more shots. And yet more shots. Forrest showed up at some point and we drank more shots. I could barely comprehend my name, much less where we might or might not be going in our relationship so I thought we should just go back to his place and have sex one last time. He was plastered, but luckily his apartment was really close, so the drunken driving was kept to a minimum. (I do no advocate drinking and driving, however people have questionable judgment under the influence and it sometimes happens).

What happens after we arrived at his place is a mystery, to us both. My graduation ceremony was to take place at noon. I woke up at 9am completely naked with a hangover from hell. I quickly dressed and poked Forrest to get out of bed to take me back to my car. He was naked as well, and was still wearing a condom. We conclude that we both passed out before we had our final hoorah. I had to throw up before leaving his apartment. He drove me back to the bar, probably still drunk, and we awkwardly hugged.

Before I could even begin the drive back to my home, I had to pull behind a Value City Furniture store to throw up. I knew this was going to be a BAD day. If it were up to me, I would have totally skipped my graduation. I seriously felt like death. Never in my life had I felt so hungover and sick. I managed to make it back home. My family was staying in a nearby hotel and was coming to pick me up around 11am. I went to bed and didn’t wake up until my phone went off, asking if I was almost ready. Fuck. I jumped into the shower and spent the entire time on my hands and knees heaving my guts out as the shower streamed down onto my body.

I somehow managed to get dressed but couldn’t even function enough to put any make up on. I seriously looked like death warmed over. My stomach was in knots and the nausea was terrible. We arrived at the graduation, I donned my tacky gown. Everyone I passed asked if I was alright. I knew I looked but didn’t think I was THAT bad. Apparently I was. My grandma told me I still reeked of alcohol. ‘

Being blessed with a last name at the beginning of the alphabet was also my curse on this day. I had to lead my fellow graduates into the auditorium and would be the first to have my degree conferred. It was hot inside and this did not help my situation. I was squeezed in between a hefty professor and another student. I’m agnostic, but I prayed to whatever was up there that I could make it through that ceremony without heaving all over the place.

They called my name and I went onto the stage. I felt that gurgle in my stomach. I could taste the bile rising in my throat. I ducked to allow them to adorn me with my doctorate sash. Just keep breathing, I told myself. I made it off the stage with throwing up onto the Dean. Anastasia -1, Hangover-0.

Somehow I managed to get through the rest of the long ceremony. All I wanted to do was to crawl into bed and sleep for the next 24 hours. But this was not in the cards. I was also scheduled to finish packing up my house and to move 5 hours away. My mom decided I needed further punishment than my obvious hangover misery so she forced me to load my shit into the moving truck and to drive back home just after the ceremony. No time for a nap. No time to just catch my breath. I was still sick when I arrived back home that evening.

Between my camera and talking with friends, I managed to piece together the night. I had one long island and 17 shots. My bar tab was almost $150. I apparently bared my breasts so the doorman would let me borrow his sombrero for an early Cinco De Mayo picture. I never had “the talk” with Forrest.. We never had one last romp (not that either of us would have remembered, but hey! We at least remembered a condom!). I can no longer drink long islands and pretty much want to projectile vomit any time I take a shot of any kind. I am forever scarred.

*Names have been changed to protect the guilty.

XOXO,

*~*Anatastia X*~*