First of all, let it be known I had a fucking blast at a reaaal fun party last night.
I showed up with a 12-pack of bears and began my journey toward inebriation, when all of a sudden, on my way to the bathroom, I see legs and shoes, connected to a human life propped against a door in a hallway.
I’m normal, so I investigate. Come to find out this little drunken girl (who can’t be more than 17-ish) has been abandoned by the friend she arrived with. Just drunk and nauseous and uncomfortable slumped and leaning against a door that she thinks leads to a bathroom.
I help her get to the actual bathroom, hold her hair back while she pukes and wonder who the fuck brought her here and doesn’t feel remotely responsible or obligated to do what I’m doing.
After the vom, she says she’s ready to go home and I ask, “Who did you come here with?”
She tells me and I proceed to hunt this girl down. I say, “Hey. Your friend is sick and wants to go home.”
The girl looks at me like I just farted in her face.
Is this real life? You drag your friend to a party where she clearly knows no one and you just fucking let her get tanked, and you’re INCONVENIENCED that she needs to HYDRATE AND GO TO SLEEP?
What the fuck? Not to mention later some dude cornered this drunk little girl and tried to hook up with her in his car. Why do I have to tell someone, “Lay the fuck off, she’s drunk,” and “From now on, don’t let your friend get in a car with someone she doesn’t know.”
I feel like all the things I did were normal common sense things to do.
But just in case you guys didn’t know already, take care of your fucking friends at crazy parties, ‘cause there’s not always an observant, well-meaning human like myself to do it for you. You could be the reason someone doesn’t get molested in a fucking car, which I imagine inflicts some pretty irreversible psychological damage when you start piecing the night together the next day.
Once again, after this ordeal, everything was fun and hilarious. Also, how does pizza always find me when I’m drunk?