As you have probably caught on, I definitely have blacked out my fair share of times. And by fair share, I mean most of my college career. This probably explains why I’m not able to form full sentences and need a calculator to figure out the tip on a $10 bill. (Really, Leigh? Really?) I’m basically like an upright walking, less hairy caveman.
Leigh 0, Rum 1,000.
The drill in college with my roommates was that we would usually reconvene with leftover pizza or McDonald’s the morning after a night of drinking and go over the events of the night. The conversation usually started off with me asking, “What did I do?” and then ended with me saying, “I’m NOT drinking that much tonight!” That was up until the moment when the “pre-drinking” would begin (why did I call it that?) and all promises would be forgotten as we did a few shots to “top it off” before we left for the bars.
One morning after yet another night of boozing, dancing and silliness, we reconvened on our couch. I again started off with, “What did I do?” My roommate looked at me with incredulous pity in her eyes. “You don’t remember, Leigh?” she asked quietly. I began to get nervous. “What? No. What happened?” I looked at my other friend for reassurance, but she quickly looked away.
“What, seriously, what happened?” The knot in my stomach began to grow as I went through all the various horrible things I could have done.
“Leigh,” my friend explained slowly, “last night after the bars you got completely naked and were running around for like 30 minutes.”
Now is a good time to let everyone know that I actually am quite modest. You probably don’t believe me based on my drinking stories, but it’s true. I’m not one of those ladies in the locker room who struts around naked. I mean, I don’t mind being naked, but I never want to make anyone else feel uncomfortable. I’ve just never been an exhibitionist. In public, my preference is to be clothed!
I should also inform you that I have a very hard time controlling my emotions. If I have to cry, I cry. When I have to laugh, even if it’s at an inopportune time (say the funeral of a loved one), I laugh. I can’t help it!
“No!” I shouted. “No, I can’t believe it!” At this I stood up and covered my face and began flailing my hands around as I ran around the living room.
“Yes,” my friend said, “and everyone was here. You were posing for pictures.” At this, I began sobbing uncontrollably, repeatedly screaming “NO!” and then ran back to my room.
My friends then jumped up after me, trying to calm me down, insisting they were just teasing. I hadn’t gotten naked! They did not expect me to start crying like that, and then ended up feeling pretty awful when it took me awhile to calm down. Apparently behind my backs my roommates were taking acting lessons and, after their performance, I commended them on money well spent.
I kept asking them over and over, “Are you sure you were kidding? I really didn’t get naked?”
Unfortunately, if anything, this joke just planted a seed in my brain that only materialized when drinking 8 years later. I basically blame my roommates for causing me to go through a brief phase of motor-boating unsuspecting victims when drunk, as well as lifting my dress up over unsuspecting people’s heads. Thankfully, these phases were brief.
Moral of the Story:
Don’t drink to the point of not remembering. If you are a normally modest person, don’t drink to the point where there is even a sliver of a possibility in your mind that you would strip down to your birthday suit and take pictures with your primarily male group of friends.
And don’t pick roommates that are major a-holes. That’s a key point to the story.