Ladies, we all have drersonalities (drunk personalities). My drunken alter ego even has a name: Dranners. Are we seeing a theme yet? They all, more or less, fall into one of the eight following categories. If yours doesn’t, you haven’t been drinking enough.
The “No But, Like, Actually”
For some reason when you drink, your brain convinces you that every single one of your friends and family does not know how much you love them. When you leave the bar at 3 a.m., you call your mother and leave a six minute “no but, like, actually THANK you for being the best woman ever, you have no idea, like, actually how much I love you” voicemail. When your best friend holds your hair back as you blow chunks in the bathroom, you repeatedly look up at her with your one, drunk lazy eye and say, “No but, like, aaaactually Kate, you’re my best friend ev–BLAARHGHH.” No matter how many times she says, “God dammit, I know you love me just keep your mouth over the toilet,” it will never register with you, and you must, therefore, tell her six more times.
The Woo Girl
A term coined from “How I Met Your Mother,” the Woo Girl is the girl who lets out a “Woo!” every time anything at all happens. Free round of shots? Woo! No line for the bathroom? Woo! A dude just inappropriately groped my butt? Woo! The Woo Girl is a fun girl who radiates an aura of energy and happiness while usually gravitating toward tequila and men with pulses, but deep down, she’s single, lonely, and miserable. She uses the “Woo!” as her own personal veneer. She generally wears too little clothing and has a stockpile of Instagram-ready selfies at her disposal.
The open book, the tell all-er, the crier, the please shut up. You have multiple names with one overarching theme: TMI. You’ll meet a new best friend in the bathroom and drag her into the handicap stall so you two can talk. The next thing you know, you’re sobbing about something in your past into the arms of this new chick who can’t stop thinking about what drink she’s going to get next. You often dabble in one-night stands because you wear your daddy issues on your sleeve, attracting creeps from every corner of the bar. There are at least 45 complete strangers out there in the world who know more about you than your own mother does, but have no idea what your first name is.
The “Did She Even Drink?”
You can pound back shots of Fireball all night but stay impressively composed. Nobody bothers to keep you in check, because you haven’t slurred a single word or even suggested to take the fun over to the karaoke bar next door. You’re probably part super hero who comes from a strong ancestry in Ireland. You get excited when men challenge you to drinking contests, because you know you’ll beat their asses so badly they won’t be able to walk in the morning. Men want to marry you, women want to steal your metabolism. Like, seriously, an average of 10 drinks a night and you’re still a size 6? I mean, come on.
The Sexual Panther
This hormonal hurricane is ready to do it in every position after whiskey sour number one. You take pride in your little black iPhone contact list full of “hotj boy bahr Alexanddioiwwwd”s and you have zero to one pairs of panties in your underwear drawer. Before going out, you pop your birth control with a glass of Franzia’s finest and then you start to complain about your two-night dry streak. You give no fucks, because you know you’re happier than those jealous bitches–who are in desperate need of a lay–who call you a slut. Your beer goggles make even the weirdest of guys look like studs come 2 a.m., and the grace with which you can call an Uber in the morning is one of a kind.
The Clothes Taker Offer
Now, while this one tends to go hand in hand with the Sexual Panther, the Clothes Taker Offer can be its own personality in itself. The CTO doesn’t necessarily want to pass her cooch around to the first willing man who tells her she’s pretty–she just wants to get literally naked. She is a walking “Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off” billboard. Her closet is full of shoes with missing counterparts and garments with zippers for easy access. She enjoys a good skinny dip and has zero insecurities about her body, due to the excessive amount of time she spends in the nude.
While the purpose of alcohol is usually to help people relax and have a good time, something about it gets you more heated than the Bunsen burner I forgot to turn off when I failed chemistry in high school. I’ve only met one of you, but I’m sure more of you are out there somewhere. A woman walked by our table once, and my buddy said under his breath that her leggings were interesting. And interesting they were–they were black with big, neon yellow patches on her inner thighs. I said under my (intoxicated) breath as well, “It looks like she pissed herself.” Well, of course she heard me, so she stomped over, infuriated. While yelling complete jibberish, she searched me up and down for physical insecurities that she could attack to make herself feel better. She settled on the microscopic gap in my teeth, making field goal arm gestures. I was so offended I flashed her a big, toothy smile and went back to talking with my friends, ignoring her. Because she was so set on having a bitch fight, she asked if I wanted to go outside. I wasn’t in the mood to get peed on, so I respectfully declined. Her boyfriend apologized and escorted her out of the bar as she kicked her legs around, still looking for a fight with someone, ANYONE. I saw her try to instigate fights and push buttons with the waitress, the doorman, and, hell, even her own boyfriend. Pee-Pants encompassed the drersonality of The Fighter more than Christina Aguilera did as she rolled around in mud in the ’90s.
The Good Time
People actually want to be around you after the drinking has commenced. You become impressively witty and make everyone around you laugh, thanks to your goofiness and charm. You’re what all the other drunk idiots above want to be. (Well, except the Over Sharer–she just literally wants a therapist.) You give men hope that we’re not all crazy bitches after a bit of imbibing and give women everywhere a role model to look up to. So, thanks, Good Time. The next one’s on me, Nanz, the Clothes Taker Offer.