The whispers of still unsteady feet seeking purchase on the ground. Bodies lazily stumbling against walls. The tortured echoes of painful regurgitation from behind closed bathroom doors. The slow, swollen way half-closed eyes take in the fruits of last night's labor, the spoils of drunken victory: red plastic cups strewn about the sticky table, empty bottles of varying height and hue, sleeping shapes on every available floor space...
I get so irked when people say things like "have you tried Jager? It's so yummy! It tastes so good! Like licorice!". For those of you who don't know me, here's a little fun fact: I have a raging sweet tooth. It rules my life. It directs the course of my day. It's my north star, my compass, my true love. So when people tell me that something is "yummy/tasty/sweet", you have to realize that the bar is high. When something is called "green apple" or "watermelon", I'm expecting green apple or watermelon, god dammit! Fun fact number two: alcohol repulses me. It sets me into involuntary convulsions. I get my hopes up that said green apple or watermelon will mask the sheer pain that is alcohol. Imagine my DOUBLE disappointment when not only can I taste the demon, but the damn thing isn't even passably sweet. Outrage ensues. Punches are thrown. And yet, even after months of not speaking to each other, I call alcohol up. We go out. I end up with friends I won't remember the next morning and hazy memories of maniacal laughing. Alcohol, you cruel temptress. You wily lady of the night.
-LG
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