With a Sense of Poise and Rationality

Monday, November 15, 2010 || 12:28 AM

I have less than two days to turn in a set of logs I haven't been able to finish, or I won't pass Cualitative Methodology. I've gone through the usual self-destructive routine, indulging in escapism via my accepting every single invitation, regardless of the purpose, and pretty much delaying work out of an irrational fear I won't finish it anyway.

There was an incident recently which was sort of really funny to me, where we went to the inauguration of some restaurant-bar at some hosh-posh shopping mall. I'd spent the whole day in school, not really doing anything, just accompanying a designer-major friend print something, and took the walking route home because it's something I'd never done, and felt like doing.

And so I get home, and I see my cousin rushing back and forth, blow-drier on, and what have you-- dressed pretty damn nice for a Tuesday. I don't even know why I went into his room (curiosity?), when he yells at me, asking me why the hell I'm not dressed up.

Mind you, it's a Tuesday evening, it's 6pm, I just got home, and to my knowledge, there were no plans.

My cellphone never rang, and I make a point of always having my cellphone with me.

No time to explain he says, I need to be ready in 10mins. Formal-- stilettos, hair, red lipstick, red nail polish, the works.

So I'm rushing back and forth between my room and his to figure out what dress to wear, because I tend to want to go at the same level as my female cousins, lest I stand out due to being overdressed, or underdressed.

He chooses a skin-tight little number-- a tube dress with checkered top and black bottom-- from the array of options I was holding, and so in 10 freaking minutes, I was done washing my hair, putting on the clothes-- no garter belt, which meant I had to watch out for my stockings riding down-- and doing my makeup. Nothing complex. 50's look. Cat eyeliner, thick mascara, red mouth, a bit of blush.

And so I'm actually holding on to my favorite pair of stilettos, running around the house, trying to get into the car, because everyone is already there, and I'm the only one missing, so I get in the car, and finally put the shoes on.

We pick up my cousin's girlfriend, we make a stop at some printing place because my architect-major cousin had to print something, and they're all complaining that they're late, that the party began at 6, that it was 7, and that it would end at 8.

We print, then rush to the place.

Ends up being it wasn't formal at all.

People were walking in freaking sweats.

Well, my cousins and I decided we were just 'dropping in from another event', so we took a place at the bar, only to find out we'd missed everything, but they were still serving drinks, so my designer-major cousin and I decided to get very drunk. She chose tequila, I chose vodka. There were no cocktails.

Now, once you've mastered dancing in high-heels, which is how I learned how to wear them first-- learning tango--, walking in them becomes very easy, once you've broken them in properly. Given the constant nightclubbing we used to partake in, I managed to break in my favorite pair rather nicely.

Still, when you're drunk on vodka and cranberry juice, certain things begin to happen. Movements become more fluid and exaggerated; your balance certainly becomes compromised. So there I was, parading about the place with my drink held in hand, and... as anyone who's been around me drunk knows, I tend to give lectures with what people describe as 'more coherency that usual'. Never mind that my articulation becomes exaggerated, as does the flow of words and the fluidity of sentences.

It's still pretty damn hilarious. And so I somehow got into a conversation with someone about how universities drive students to engage in vices as a coping mechanism for the amount of stress they're constantly put under. Then something about diagnosing some mental illness or another in some such movie.

Pointless Trivia: I should never watch a movie while drunk. Much silliness and semi-coherent nonsense ensues.

There was some drama with my designer-major cousin and some guy who used to hit on her, then we decided that we'd had enough to drink and would like to eat, so we went a couple places next door.

We all grab a table, I'm drunk, my designer-major cousin is drunk, and even our mutual friend, the psychologist-major is drunk. My architect-major cousin and his girlfriend are not, though my cousin has had a few drinks, and we begin to order.

I forget how, but somehow, we find out nobody brought any money. My cousin's friend has 20 bucks. My architect-major cousin has just enough for his girlfriend and himself. The rest of us were in such a rush, we couldn't even bring a purse, just the loose lipstick I ended up stashing inside the top of my dress.

A fight ensues between my two cousins about my uncle giving my architect-major cousin money to pay for all of us, but he refuses to acknowledge it, so my designer-major cousin calls him to complain. Meanwhile, I can't even move. I'd already come into the restaurant prancing about like a drunken gazelle singing lyrics to the song 'Let's Misbehave', giggling like an idiot at absolutely everything.

My architect-major cousin finds it hilarious that we're all dressed up like we're filthy rich kids, and our psychologist-major friend first orders a bottle of water, but upon realizing the gravity of our dilemma, calls the waiter back and asks him to switch the bottle to a glass of water on the house because 'we're on a tight budget due to this economy'. That send all of us into a fit of choking laughter. Partly because we're drunk, partly because of the way she said it, and partly because the sheer incongruence between clothes and manner, and the amount of cash we have to spend on a meal is just surreal to us.

In the end, we just order a pizza and drink water, while my architect-major cousin and his girlfriend give themselves the luxury of drinking soda.

We talk and eat and laugh, and I'm still singing 'Let's Misbehave', as though I'm a broken record-- We're all alone, no chaperone can get our number. The world's in slumber, let's misbehave!-- and by the time we get the check, it ends up being we only spent half of what my cousin actually had in his wallet.

So yeah. Getting drunk on a Tuesday sounds a bit sad, but getting drunk on a Tuesday in such 'style' was just priceless, and a wonderful way to begin the week.

I'm getting those logs done because there's really no way in hell I'm retaking that class. The self-destructive phase is over, I suppose. It has to be after a weekend spent drinking and tanning and riding on the boat.

Back to reality.

Rock & Roll.
Deal with it.

You can tell I've been reading 'Rules of Attraction'...