Daily Aggravation 47: Drunk People

I rarely go to bars. I don’t like the taste of alcohol, and resultantly, I have the tolerance of a flea. After two beers, I start to feel queasy and hot, and almost every time I “go out,” I end up doing that embarrassing thing where you order a pint of water at the bar and then excuse yourself to go home and take a nap on the bathroom floor (just me? Okay then). 

Moreover, I can’t stand drunk people. There are few things more tedious and irritating than having to listen to someone loudly theorize about dumb shit like how her version of the color blue could be my version of the color red. Drunk people spit on you and shout, and eventually they stagger out of the bar with a mint-green face and barf on the sidewalk while you’re trying to hail a cab. 

I know this from personal experience. When I lived in Scotland, there was a bar on the town’s main street called The Keys. This place was a SERIOUS “locals pub,” meaning that its clientele consisted exclusively of decrepit, cirrhotic old men who hated university students like me. Once I saw an 80-year-old gentleman in a tattered coat stagger out of The Keys at 2pm on a Monday and projectile vomit against a wall, and I still count that as one of the grossest and most depressing things I’ve ever seen. 

The question is, though, where do young people hang out if not in bars? I wish bookstores would replace bars as the places to go when you want to let loose on a Saturday night. Who’s with me? 

Daily Aggravation 34: Red Wine Mouth

You know when you drink red wine and you’re having a great time and you feel like hot shit? I love that feeling. What I don’t love is going to the bathroom and realizing that my teeth are purple and I look like something out of the “Thriller” video…and then having to go back to the party.

Wanking in Memphis (actually, San Diego, but whatever)

TMZ.com, that highly-revered bastion of responsible journalism, has posted a video of Kony 2012 creator Jason Russell during this epic San Diego meltdown that we’ve all been hearing so much about. In the video, Russell is as naked as the day is long, screams the word ‘fuck’ a lot and does nude calisthenics on a street corner while people film him.

Apparently, all that exercise and spastic clapping got him worked up, because reports indicate that Russell’s next move was to start chokin’ the chicken in front of everyone and get arrested for it.

I have to admit, I feel bad for the guy. Clearly, all the stress of being suddenly thrust into the public eye set him off – and judging from this video, it seems like he probably wasn’t playing with a full deck of cards in the first place. Can you imagine how awful he must have felt when he finally sobered up in the jail cell and had this inner dialogue with himself?

Jason (thinking): Oh, shit. Where the hell am I?
Jason (thinking: You’re in jail, you stupid fuck.
Jason (thinking): Wait, what?! The last thing I remember was pounding that bottle of Wild Irish Rose after neglecting to take my Abilify for three weeks!
Jason (thinking): Yeah, well, some *major* stuff went down after you blacked out.
Jason (thinking): Stuff? Are you kidding? What kind of stuff?
Jason (thinking): Well, you, uh, you got completely naked. Like, your balls were out, man.
Jason (thinking): NO! No UNDERWEAR?
Jason (thinking): You were as naked as a jaybird, buddy. On the street. With people around you. And also, they were filming the whole thing. And then you masturbated in public and then you got put in jail. I’m sorry, bro.
Jason (thinking): Well, huh! How about that.
(long pause.)
You know, I never thought I’d say it, but I actually wish Joseph Kony were here right now to put a bullet through my fucking head.

In which Caroline reminisces about Scotland.

I just found my Moleskine from my last year at St. Andrews. The following entries were made on my last full day in Scotland and on the day I moved home to NYC.

Leaving Scotland For Good

Tesco, St. A: An alcoholic in front of me was buying a pack of 10 cigarettes and a bottle of cheap red wine at 1:30pm. Shaking uncontrollably, he said, “My day is getting better by the minute!” as he stuffed the cheap red wine into his little backpack. Talk about DEPRESSING!!

Edinburgh Airport: A boy who looked perfectly ‘normal,’ save for an eyebrow piercing, sat down and pulled out an actual little crystal ball that he proceeded to stand up and do tricks with like he was a member of the Harlem fucking Globetrotters. He was completely unashamed, even when the crystal ball fell loudly to the ground and when a Scottish man in a kilt said, “that was fucking brilliant, mate, but your flight left ages ago!” and his friend laughed. In between practice sessions, the boy sat down and read from what appeared to be a Penguin Classic.

Lack of Shame in Scotland

There are many kids at St. Andrews who are already peripheral members of society and still decide to break out sticks lit on fire at parties on the beach and twirl them while knee-deep in the North Sea. During these fire-twirling sessions, they wear their breathable cargo pants rolled up so they won’t get wet. My questions: where does one practice that skill? And who looks at someone twirling fire in wide-legged cargo pants and decides that they want to be just like that person? Most importantly, why doesn’t this fire twirling ever go awry? Because THAT would be entertaining: “Help me, mate! Me fockin’ favourite trousers are melted to me fockin’ legs! An’ I rolled ’em up an’ everythin’!”

Generally, I’ve noticed that the Scots are weird about the personas they create for themselves. I think it has to do with the question of how you go about individualizing yourself when you live in a completely homogenous, class-based society. Once you’ve aligned yourself with a group over here, you are not changing your mind about it. And if you went with becoming a “goth,” which means you decided to only wear knee-length pleather coats and listen to mainstream rock music from the late 1980s for the rest of your life, then you’d best have developed a thick skin and a nasty attitude – because, well, look at you, for God’s sake. I remember one time when I was going for a drink with some kids that I did Classics with – I’d had a mishap with self-tanner and had an orange face with color concentrated mostly on my upper lip. I looked like hell – like an Oompa Loompa who was in the middle of hormone replacement therapy. So when I showed up at the bar, I said casually, “Don’t judge me – I made a bad choice!” and then laughed. One of the girls, who happened to be wearing neon green mesh arm-warmers and had a lip ring and filthy hair, said to me, “We’re not judgemental,” as she rolled her beady eyes. That about sums up my experience here.

PS: In airport now- I keep seeing a man everywhere who has slicked-back hair and emotionless reptile eyes. Having a slight stress about the likelihood of this flight turning into something like the movie “Red Eye.”

PPS – Now he is sitting across from me on the plane!!!

Ahhh…those were the days. PSYCH!