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You finally come to, your eyesight is blurry, and you’re not sure if you can stand up yet, let alone walk successfully. You’re still blatantly drunk, and your decisions you’ve made over the last 10 years are starting to take a toll on your feeble body. Hopefully you at least know where you are. Then the flood of questions start.
Am I alone? Have I been alone since I decided to put myself to bed? Good Lord, did I even put myself to bed? No one else did it for me, right? If someone did, what did I do? What did I say? Okay, good, I still have my clothes on. If not, any article that’s missing is lying in front of the toilet, because peeing and undressing before passing out is really just drunk person multitasking at its finest. Okay, luckily I’ve passed the first test, so there’s no need to delve into any further analyzation of potential bad decisions–yet.
Where is my phone? Thank goodness I’m so good at keeping it attached to my hand at all times. I’d have hated it if someone had been looking for me, considering it’s after noon. Shit. Now I have to actually look at my text messages. Did I delete them all after I sent them to leave myself a real mystery to solve? Or did I leave plenty of evidence of my alcohol-induced justifications that people wanted to talk to me at 2 a.m.? Okay, just one “heyyyyy” to a previous semi-boyfriend, no big deal. He was probably drunk, too.
Do I have my wallet? Yes? Cool. Is my ID and are all of my credit cards in said wallet? Praise Jesus! Wait, how much did spend last night? Oh, just $35, awesome. Wait, I remember shots–who paid for those shots? (pulls out mysterious second receipt) Dammit! I’ll just bring my lunch from home this week. It’ll be okay.
This may seem like an illogical order to some more put-together individuals, but for you and me, this is about the time we ask ourselves how we arrived at our desired sleeping location safely. I know I didn’t drive, because I know myself well enough to know what would happen that evening. Did I walk (stumble) here? Did a friend take sympathy upon my intoxicated soul and give me a ride? Did I hail a cab with a 99.9 percent probability of a heartfelt convo with the cabbie concerning the American Dream? (checks email, Uber receipt, sweet)
Other logical questions may also arise at this point, such as: Where did these bruises come from? Did I fall down? Did someone beat the shit out of me? What did I eat? Why did I eat EVERYTHING!? Who’s number is this? Did I talk to this person? What did we talk about?…and so on. Answers will come with time.
Now that you’ve put in the groundwork of piecing together the puzzle that is last night, you can respond to the “What the hell happened last night?!” texts that are well on their way, with an ecstatic and reassuring “I’m not really sure, but I made it home (alone), have all my belongings, and kept drunk texting to a realistic minimum. Yay! What time is brunch? I need to mitigate this oncoming hangover before I sober up.” However, if the answers to these necessary questions didn’t align in your favor, welcome to the blues. Do less next time and hope your friends and the public at large forgive you.
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McMagistrate
After stretching college out for 9 years, McMagistrate is now an attorney in her late-ish 20's who earned her title by embracing the stigma that accompanies a healthy partying habit. She enjoys showing off her sub-par golf game and pretending her impressive law school loan doesn't exist. You can likely find her on her patio, live-tweeting her wine binges, and concerning her neighbors.
@mcmagistrate