One second I was sipping some wine, the next I was waking up in bed at 8:45 wondering how I’d slept through my alarm and wondering why my vision was suddenly amazing. Oh, I realized with a sudden delighted clarity that only happens when I’m drunk, I’m still drunk. I’ve always wondered what it felt like to wake up still drunk! Cool! because drunk Ariel is one positive, joyful motherfucker 93% of the time. It took me a minute to realize that God had not miraculously restored my vision in the night to reward me for saving orphans or something the previous night and that I’d just forgotten to remove my contacts. Ah, well, I thought sadly, maybe next time.
I have to be at the bus in about ten minutes for this field trip thing…I can do it!!
Still Drunk!Ariel didn’t care that she had her glasses on at this point and that there was no time for a shower. Instead, she threw on some jeans (because even StillDrunk!Ariel is violently opposed to wearing sweatpants in public), a different shirt and was on her merry way. She even managed to remember to fill her water bottle before she left. This girl can literally do anything.
Outside, I confessed to my friends the situation, giggling the whole time. “This is going to be a good day,” One declared, “I can already tell.”
Once on the bus, my professor began taking attendance, figuring out who was just late and who was blowing the whole thing off. I’m still drunk, and I’m even here, I thought smugly. My professor began asking about one member of our class who I will call Cartman because he is basically the equivalent of a South Park character. He sounds so like Eric Cartman that it is both terrifying and delightful. Cartman is always late, always high, always drunk, and always stinky because he tries to save money by not doing laundry. So when someone said, “Oh, he’s just running late,” I couldn’t resist widening my eyes and saying innocently, “Wait. Cartman is late? There must be some sort of mistake or perhaps a crisis of disturbingly epic proportions! He is always so punctual and reliable!”
My professor, unphased said, “You know guys, every minute these guys are late is basically an hour of your time.” Now, he meant something along the lines of, if we added up every minute and then multiplied it per person, that’s how much time we were wasting. But my professor never makes any sense, and also the still drunk thing, so I thought he meant the later they were, the later we would get back from the trip.
“Wait…” I said eloquently. “What?”
He re-explained himself, and satisfied that I would not have to endure more time on this class trip than necessary, I promptly passed out on the bus.
Upon arriving at a field where Constable painted some of his famous landscape portraits, I was disheartened to find out that my near hour of extra sleep had not cured me of the drunk. In retrospect, I am deeply thankful for my altered state. It made an otherwise undesirable trip bearable. It’s not that I don’t enjoy nature, it’s just that it was a Saturday, I had an alarming amount of work due in a couple days, and I was deeply bitter about having to be at a bus stop at eight and not due back until five. Luckily, my state of mind made me incredibly upbeat and positive, and very very zen. At one point I reached into my coat pocket and realized that I was missing money, a glove, and my bus pass that I knew I’d had out with me the night before (I opted not to bring a purse because the plan had originally been to go clubbing and I didn’t feel like bringing much more than money, my bus pass, and my ID.) Instead of panicking, I had faith that Ariel from the night before had haphazardly thrown placed these items in a responsible location, like the floor, or the foot of my bed, or possibly the desk.
Most of that morning is a bit of a dazed, cheerful blur. But these are the highlights:
At some point I said to a friend, “Su casa es mi casa…haha oh, I meant to say, hakuna matata.” I truly wish I remember what sparked this.
“I’m both too drunk for this and not drunk enough.” I sighed at one point, hiking through the fields, sun molesting my eyes.
I told my friend, giving her a hug, “I feel like I could be a functioning alcoholic, but, you know, in a really funny way.”
“I’ll quote you on that later,” She assured me, laughing. She has yet to quote me on it, so clearly I had no choice but to quote myself, because that’s the way we classy ladies roll.
Sadly, after some delicious bread from a local bakery and some toffee pudding from the pub we dined at for lunch, I had sobered up. The rest of the day passed slowly with a hangover cloud hanging over my head. There wasn’t much of a difference between hung-over me and irritated-to-be-on-this-trip-when-I-had-better-things-to-do me, so no harm no foul in the end.
I don’t know how I’ve avoided waking up still drunk for this long given my penchant for tequila shots and personal bottles of wine, but I’ve finally lost my virginity in that regard. I can’t say I’m a changed woman…or can I? No, no I can’t.