Subway Meets, Drunken Greets

The beauty of being drunk is that you're never quite lucid enough to notice how much of a complete douchebag you're being. It's inadvertent ignorance to pretend the night was a success in your mind. Except the truth is that your mind is actually drowning in a pool of bad red wine and beer and is not able to string together more than 2 coherent sentences before it starts going under. Basically, you're a fuckhead and you don't know it. Lucky for me, I'm atrociously sober at all times so I don't worry about being a fuckhead, unless of course I want to be which happens on occasion. However, the problem with being sober is that even though you're in complete control of your own, shall we say retardedness, you're the victim or bystander of other peoples retardedness.

Let's put this into perspective. It's a Friday night, and I'm dressed to get noticed. It's 10 degrees outside and raining (of course, it is London). I'm wearing my leopard print peep-toe wedges because they're hot, not because I'm being practical and trying to actually keep my toes from being frost bitten. The leggings I'm sporting aren't keeping me warm, but make my legs look firm, long, and super sexy in that "she must work out" kind of way. I've put more work into my hair and make-up for this one night than I have every day of the last 3 weeks. I sacrificed comfort for attractiveness and I'm sure we all get the point.....I'm trying to get a pair of hot lips on my lips tonight.

The tube ride to the South London club where we're going to party (me, G, and M) is crowded with Friday night partiers all dressed with the same irrational disregard for the weather. We're all going to get some action, and we're doing our damnedest to look like we deserve it. I stand, looking very cute if I do say so myself, gripping a rail in the train as it makes its way from station to station. It is here where I am confronted with the worst drunken moment ever.

G, who had been steadily drowning her boyfriend sorrows in red wine since 4 pm, decides that talking to complete strangers in a ridiculously crowded train is the best way to express her liberated state as a woman. In enters Spanish tourist with confusion in his eyes. "I like your cap," she says loudly in the kind of slurred tone that is very common on London tubes. Trapped between Poor Spanish Boy and G, I decide, at that very moment, shit is going to hit the fan and I'm fucked. "What? I don't understand," Spanish Boy responds in an accent. Oh shit, he's foreign and can't speak English. Double fucked. Drunk laughing (because it's louder and more shrill than regular laughing) G responds, "You are insanely gorgeous!" Oh and how quickly that went downhill. Poor Spanish Boy laughs, M grimaces, the very crowded train breaks into simultaneous snickering, and I shudder with utter embarrassment. The worst part was that Poor Spanish Boy was not even that attractive. The guys behind me , who were very good looking, looked shocked and turned off by G. Because G was traveling with me, I was painted with the same crazy brush and could do nothing, but fake laugh through the situation. Sadly, we had 4 more stations to go and we had turned into the train debacle of the night. I'm used to drunken idiocy on the night trains in London, but never have I been a part of it. But this night, I was unwittingly co-drunk, co-idiot, and co-unattractive.

The rest of the night consisted of G making golden comments like,

"I really like your duck," flirtatiously to unassuming guy on the train with a duck drawing on his binder.

"Hey, that guy just offered me a pill. Ummm, do I want one?"
"No, G, you don't want one."
"Okay, in that case I'll go tell him I don't want one."

"Hey, so I'm going to go out with those guys over there, on the street...yeah, them, they're kinda hot."
"Ummm, G, they're so not hot."
"Hmmmm, really? Okay....hey guys, yeah you over there, can't go out, you're not hot!"

I was smart enough not to get drunk, but had to deal with the consequences of drunkenness anyway. I was dressed to kill, but my outfit was being overshadowed by G's drunken stumbles and bumbles. My feet were freezing, my hair bobby-pinned within an inch of my life, and my sexy legs quivering under the strain of my high heels. And no, I did not find a pair of lips to do all sorts of fun things with because all the lips in my vicinity, at any given time, were too busy laughing at the antics of my drunk friend.

Here's a lesson, people, do not ruin my night by making me your co-drunk. Limits are your friend, see the limit, love the limit, learn the limit.