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Why's the Drinking Age 21? December 09, 2000 |

The tale I am about to tell you is not for the faint of heart, nor is it an accurate representation of my normal behavior. It all started over dinner where I was persuaded to go to a party with a couple of old chums. I wasn't against the idea persay but I did know that it was highly likely that we would end up going to the frat house. I am not a fan, there is never toliet paper in the bathroom and by the end of the night there are couples everywhere and I am standing in a corner alone. Its a lowsey night of lowsey beer and a waster of five dollars.
I have allways thought of myself as a responsible drinker. I can handle myself in a calm and collected manner pretty much any time durring my period of intoxication if the need arises. However, this night was different, tonight I realized that the drinking age is twenty-one because of dumbasses like me.
I was ready, I curled my hair, painted my face, and adorned myself with the party bra allowing my chest to look more "perky" Before the first beer met my lips it was spilled down my shirt a sure sign of good night to be had. To make a long boring story short I made out with two guys, lost my friends, found my friends, was rolling on the floor of hardies laughing and counting to gum under the table, got in a fight with two of my other friends, and drove over to a friends house to spend the night. In my own defense I was sobered up by the time I drove over there.
The real story starts at 4am. I roll over and untangle my self from the covers as the room drifts helplessly out of my control. My stomach churns with acid and alcohol a combination that doesnt seem to be agreeing with me at the moment. I crawl over my sleeping friend and make a sprint for the bathroom. Vomiting seems like a very relieving option at this point. Unfortunatly my gag reflex seems to have fallen into dormancy. So I sit on the cold sticky tile floor straddling the toliet with my arms crossed on the seat and my cheek resting on my wrist. I casually noticed that no one had cleaned the toliet in awhile mold and mildew had made an advance around the rim of the bowl and the smell of it wofted up at me. I began to sweat and feel more dizzy. BLAHHHHHH! After a forced spit I wretched a series of times a nasty liquid that I could only assume was pure beer. Still horibly hot and dizzy I laied down on the floor. With my shirt off too weak to close the door. I made friends with a long dead rolly polly bug that had gotten entangled in my hair I nammed him bennie and noticed the rest of his family was lined up against the wall. This was gross. I was sticky, and smelly, and infested with dead bugs. I got up drank some water and went to bed.
5am. I saw that water again. Well I said to myself Im not going to drink anything more, and I went back to bed. 6am...bile. No more water in the brita I think Ill have some orange juice. 7am you know orange juice is acidic I must have forgotten but my body was kind enough to remind me. By this point a small forest fire was raging in my esophagus. my knees had bruises and I think the odd organic creations of my stomach had brought bennie and his family back to life. I will spare you the rest of play-by play but the bile-then liquid puke-fest lasted untill about 10am.
So what have I learned from all of this. 1.Dont make out with strange ugly guys your friends will make fun of you. 2. Clean the bathroom of where ever you are staying before you go out. 3. Crackers are a food resource that no college student should be without. 4. Oh yeah and maybe YOU SHOULDNT DRINK SO MUCH YOU DUMB SHIT!
I am not unique people of my age all over the country, possibly all over the world cram into tiny damp basments for the joy of nasty beer and intoxication. Why? because we are bored, because we are sick of studying, because we think its more fun than it is. Its socially exceptable to get hammered in fact its rare if you don't. I dont think this is the best way to be starting out my adult life I think I liked saturday mornings better when I was watching cartoons rather than cuddling with the shitter.