Sometimes I'm "That Girl"

You know "that girl." You see her at parties and slyly comment to your friends: "God, I HATE that girl. Look at her! She is just a mess." It all culminates when she gets up on a table shouting "SHOTS!!" and then falls over when her legs turn to jelly because she was wearing 9 inch heels all night and dancing like a slut- a lethal combination.

But I am not "that girl" in the traditional sense of the term. Instead of turning into a giant whore everytime I drink, I merely become unhinged. All that concerns me is entertaining the people around me. So imagine, if you will, the hamming it up that occurs when inebriated because even during everyday life, I pander to my audience. It's probably a sickness that I inherited from my father but, I digress.

Let's talk about the crazy that occurs when I drink. One of my first times that I realized how ghastly my behavior is was during a weekend out on Fire Island with some of my co-workers when I was 17. I don't remember much but, what is clear is that I did everything I could to get a laugh. The pinnacle of the evening being when I started to do interpretive dance. I can confidently point to this moment as the beginning of the end. I drink and I interpretive dance. It's a vicious cycle. This isn't something that I'm proud of or something that I plan to do every time I drink. It just happens. All of a sudden the sounds of Vanessa Carlton's song "White Houses" starts and all those plans fly out the window.

If you have ever seen the video for this song you might remember Vanessa wearing some sort of unitard, dancing around like a weirdo while singing about losing her virginity. Well, in simple terms, I try to re-create that dance after about 5 cups of Skippy's and 4 Busch Lights. It's terrible but has provided my friends with some entertainment- and thats all I care about. I always laugh at the beginning of the night, swearing that I won't dance later on, "I'm 23, guys. I can't do that anymore." By around 2:30, all control is gone and I'm writhing around on the floor.

Needless to say...I'm ashamed. But if you give me a few drinks, I'll probably interpretive dance for you until I hear you laugh.