Skip to main content

My Theory About Why Party Girls Quit

For a woman who fractured her skull as a three year old and promised that wasn't the first or last time she challenged Darwin's findings, you may wonder, "what is she like now?"

So I think I would like to balance stories from when I was a kid with stories from when I was an adult. Not from right this second, because right this second I'm drinking a Chai tea latte and updating my blog. I'm a basic bitch, and I own it.

Right now I'm going to tell you about why Fireball reminds me of a time I almost died and how it led me to a theory about party girls, and it is literally my most mundane story about drinking. And I didn't drink until I was 20. I was the late bloomer of my crew - my mom thinks I'm a lightweight, but that's because my mom hasn't been drinking with me. I think she forgets that my natural personality still has people believing I am under the influence of something at almost all times. I think my poor mom's brain is just like, "Well, Amanda had an Angry Orchard, so I'm going to just excuse the personality of this human I raised."

I'm not a big drinker, but I drink for the stories. Even though the time I almost died, I absolutely did not do it for the story. I've never been blackout drunk - there is one night in my entire life where I didn't remember it all right away, but once I saw reminders it came back. It's all there, I just tucked it away. And I very clearly remember everything about this particular night.

I also miss Fireball.

I'm probably hyping it up too much with the back story. I apologize. Anyway, for a little bit I was crashing with my cousin and her boyfriend. They lived literally a mile from my job and I was still looking for a place to rent. Well, one night, my cousin was at work and her boyfriend had bought Fireball and decided that we were drinking it together.

I loved Fireball, so hell yeah.

After a good solid 6 shots, I was like, "I'm done," and he was like, "I'm not drinking alone like an alcoholic," so like a good friend, I said, "okay." Because I was drunk and I'm really easy to convince do things I want to do even if I know they're a bad idea when I'm drunk. More drinking sounded fun.

But here's why keeping up shot for shot was a problem. I'm 5'1", and not a super heavy drinker. Like, the fact I wasn't dead by 6 shots was actually pretty good. He's like 6'4" and buff. He could definitely handle more alcohol for me.

Anyway, we finished the bottle.

And then I died.

It wasn't instantaneous and I thought, "Oh, man, I'm good. I just did half a bottle of Fireball."

Then ten minutes later, I was praying to the porcelain gods. I had never been so sick in my life. And I was drunk, but I was cognizant, and I was just so miserable and pretty sure I would have to have my stomach pumped but also not wanting to suggest it to the drunk guy in the living room that didn't see this situation coming.

Oh, I just realized why Carl's Jr also reminds me of death now and why it took me three years to ever eat a Western Bacon Burger again. Maybe I can heal and forgive Fireball, with enough time.

Anyway, my cousin came home and I told her that I was drunk and dying. She just laughed and went to bed. The next day her boyfriend made me toast and said he felt bad since I had very responsibly wanted to stop and he made me keep drinking. Which, I never blamed him, not even then. I could have said that I was a little person and can't hold my liquor as well as he can, and I didn't in favor of more drinking.

But, the night before, as I lay there, dying and swearing off Fireball forever, I had my epiphany.

Party girls don't stop partying because they grew up. Party girls stop partying because literally every alcohol reminds them of a time they almost died.

And that sucks.

And that is my lame story about a time I somehow avoided alcohol poisoning and realized why the party stops for some girls.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

That Time I Broke a Wall with My Brother

I've had adventures other than almost dying. I mean, the amount of times I've almost died is probably more than average. My mom learned the baby Heimlich because I almost choked to death every single time I had cut up hot dogs as a baby. But this isn't a story about almost dying, because I should change it up a little. When I was 13, I broke a wall with my brother's ass. Then a few weeks later, he broke a window with my elbow. My family lived in Delaware in 1996 and 1997, and for some reason that was the year or so my younger brother and I just hated each other. I have two younger brothers, and the youngest one was smart and stayed out of it. But my brother I had the blood feud with was 11 at the time, and had expressed anger issues since birth. He Hulk smashed a pretty big and heavy dining room chair when he was eight. And when I was 13, I was all hormones. Add in the fact that we were latchkey kids and nobody was home to interfere when things got heated, things ...

I Have Lived in Five States

I was born in California, lived in California as a buffer between living in other states, and I currently live in California. California is my home, but it's not my only home. Home is where the heart is, and I left part of my heart in two other states. One I don't remember, and the other one can suck it. I have lived in five states. This is one of my go-to fun facts, because "I broke my head when I was three" is something I work up to in real life. So I'm a Californian through and through. I hate weather and humidity; I wear a sweatshirt and shorts; I can drive in 70 mph gusts of wind but fuck me if there's three snowflakes on the ground. But my parents were in the military, and as a baby, I lived in Kentucky. Here, I was apparently addicted to Gomer Pyle, and I learned the word "golly" from him. It was my first word. I also developed a love for at the time brand-new show Small Wonder , and I picked up a little brother. But then my parents gave u...

The Time I Got a Concussion From My Car Trunk

Children who grow up challenging Darwin do not grow up to be graceful adults. Case in point, in 2017, I got a concussion from my car trunk. This was not even the first time I fought a car trunk and lost. Way back in 1988, when I was about four and a half, my forehead was accidentally shut in a car trunk. The person who shut the trunk did not realize I was standing next to it, nor did they realize I was exactly the right height for that to be a problem. I slept it off at Grandma's. It was fine. I barely remember it, and the only reason I know it really happened is because when I got my first car at age 20, my mom got really nervous when I was showing off the trunk. But in 2017, I was a bit taller than I was in 1988. I mean, barely. I was a very tall child, but I stopped growing at 11. I also didn't have anyone else controlling the trunk. So, one may wonder how it is that a trunk managed to attack me a second time in my life at all. The damn Santa Anas. They're a fuckin...