I had a particular topic on mind that I wanted to discuss with you, but I realized I already laid my feelings out bare about it back in August so I thought perhaps I best write something else today so I don’t tend to sound like a broken record. I do just want to say one more time in general: “Seriously, Ladies, we’ve talked about this… Seriously, Stop It.” I’m just so tired of that shit; too many men I know are having to deal with this already… Rise above, girlfriends.
Since I’m not going to preach at you again today I thought I’d tell you another Drunk-Emma story. Might as well document as much as I can remember LOL
When I was 18 I went to a happy hour at the American Embassy with my mother. Yes, seriously, I got drunk in front of my mother…. Let me get to that.
I approached the Marine behind the bar – the happy hours were hosted by them – and made my drink order. He asked me how old I was, and I told him – he turned to another Marine and asked if he was allowed to serve me. Technically I was of age in the country we resided, Sweden, but he wasn’t sure if American laws applied since we were considered to be on “American soil.”
The other Marine assured him it should be fine to give me the Martini I requested. He had a blank look on his face for a moment, then turned again and asked the other how a Martini was made. The response was that it was dry vermouth and gin, so he went about making the drink in a large plastic cup. I knew that Maja’s Aunt usually made them for us with sweet vermouth and a little bit of vodka – but I was nothing if not a sucker for vintage style things and the thought of a gin Martini sounded straight out of the 1920s. I had never tried gin, so I thought it best to accept it being made that way because there always has to be a first time.
The Marine filled the glass mostly with gin and gave it only a splash of vermouth. Certainly more liquor than Maja’s Aunt usually added… but again, I just accepted the drink as it was made for me.
I went to sit down with my mother, and as I started to sip I realized how much stronger than I was used to. It didn’t take long for me to start feeling the effects of the gin. I believe I only got through a little over half way through it (remember it was a sizeable cup), before I got a very strange sensation. I’m not sure how to describe it except that it was like Tunnel Vision – but with my hearing instead of sight. I ceased to be able to hear what was being said at the table I was sitting at, but my hearing tunneled across the room to a couple of other tables on either side of the room; I could clearly hear what they were all saying.
I decided I best get up and get some fresh air or use the toilet or something… attempt to shake off the weirdness. I pushed my chair out and stood, nearly falling as my legs gave way out from under me. I was not expecting that. Up until then, my lower extremities had felt just fine. I caught myself on the back of the chair and my mom looked up at me – I said something about tripping over the table leg.
I carefully walked outside, taking special care to focusing on making my muscles move in my legs – making sure as much strength as I could send to them would go. As if it had to be a conscious thought process to command them to stay upright.
I took some fresh air,leaning against the wall, then walked carefully inside to go to the ladies room. I splashed some water on my face and relieve myself of some of the gin in my bladder.
I then, for some godforsaken reason, decided I’d go back out and get a Corona. As if the lower alcohol percentage would right me or counteract the near-straight gin I had sculled.
I also didn’t want my mom to realize I wasn’t handling the gin very well… Again, I can’t explain the thought process to how drinking a beer would help this at all. Mainly, I would not have usually stopped after one drink, so I likely just didn’t want to raise her suspicions.
I did not go to sit back down; however, I was concerned I wouldn’t be able to get right back up again if necessary. I leaned against the wall; casually, I thought. I was about halfway through that when my mom came up to me and said she was ready to go if I was. She then looked at me curiously and asked why I was leaning on the wall. “Are you drunk?” She asked.
“Psssh, NO. I’ve only had TWO drinks, Mom! …I’m… just…tired…”