It's All Over-Rated Except Drugs and Alcohol - Part 7

It's the eve of New Year's Eve. The New Year is supposed to be all about awakening, resolutions and positive changes. So, I've written a story bearing that in mind. This is one about a not-so-positive change, but hey, this series hasn't been positive in the least thus far. Maybe, and just maybe, to ring in the new year, I'll post something positive to get off to a good start!

8. Viva Italia!

On a school-sanctioned trip to Italy one year, a girl got bored of following the guided tours around the historical landmarks, of little to no significance. So, naturally, she did what any other bored teenager would do - ask Siri to list the best clubs in her vicinity in Rome. Siri, obedient as always, spewed out her favorites. Now, going to a club by herself (or rather, with only Siri by her side), would be un-cool, so the girl was first going to have to befriend some locals.

She arrived at a fountain. It was one of those typically Roman ones with baby angels spitting out water through conchs. Nearby, just lazily enjoying the sun, were a few hot Italian ladies, who seemed to be about the same age as our dear protagonist. She walked up and said "Ciao!". Through Siri, she expressed the desire to get wasted at a Roman club because, well, "when in Rome". Keenly, the girls accepted the offer, and asked for the location of the girl's hotel. She gave it. They agreed on a time. The blueprint had been laid.

There was one small issue. This being a school-sanctioned trip, there was supervision. Unlike our darling alcoholic-on-vacation from story #7, this girl did have some elders to report to. Upon arrival to the hotel, the girl began drafting plans for how she would escape the hotel past curfew. She painstakingly did this, failing to realize that the supervisors here were on vacation themselves. Sure, the adults in the hotel were supposed to make sure that the students were safe and sound, but they weren't going to make their own lives more difficult by standing over each student like a hawk. They trusted that the students present on this excursion were A) Too fearful of the system to try anything. (By "fearful of the system", I mean phased by the simple notion that adults were "watching" them). and B) Old enough to safely and securely manage to survive the 10-day trip, without too much assistance. After all, why would you destroy your own vacation by making yourself a surveillance device, just to make your students lives miserable?

So, all this girl's planning was irrelevant. She walked by her supervisor's room to hear if she was asleep, and instead heard laughter and clinking glass. The teachers were having just as much fun. The girl walked down to the lobby at around 10pm and found her new friends waiting for her in skimpy clothing. She wasn't dressed like a nun herself. They headed out into the Roman night. It was beautiful. They arrived at some nearby club, where the girls knew the bouncer (lucky for the girl. How did she manage to make such suiting friends?). They went in, and it was everything our sweet girl could've hoped for. She was content. First thing was first - sex. No, no, not sex per se - sex on the beach: the cocktail. They ordered a few. Down the hatch they went. Then a few more. Then a few more. Eventually, the girl lost count.

Regardless, she kept dancing! After a night well-spent, she had to get back to the hotel. 9am was the time of the next guided tour that everybody had to be present for. By this point in the cocktail-count, the girl didn't care for going back to the lame hotel, but her adoring new friends did. They, being more stable, decided to take her back and drop her off. They lugged her through the beautiful, moonlit streets, where she broke both her heels. The entire time, she gushed over how exhilarating the night had been.

They made it to the hotel. The Roman girls brought their Asian-American friend to the reception and asked for her room number. The fine Italian gentleman at the desk looked at the situation in front of him quite normally. He asked if the girl was part of the Canadian excursion. That she was, and the Roman girls knew it, so they answered the man. The receptionist thought that his task of finding the exact room of the girl would be easy. He told the Roman girls that he would just look for a Chinese name on the list - a "Ching or a Chang or a Wang". (Living in Vancouver, I have a lot of exposure to Chinese culture, so this man sounds like an idiot to me, but perhaps Rome is lacking in Oriental flavors.) The task was much more difficult than he had imagined since everybody on the list had a Chinese last name. The school that had arrived on the trip was from my city of Vancouver. It was from my school. At my school, the population is predominantly Asian. He asked if the part-conscious girl had a first name. They weren't sure, but they tried to recall what she had said. After a few failed guesses, one Roman bambina, remembered that, on one of the texts she had received, the girl had written her name. She scrambled through her phone and found it. They now had the name, and resultantly, the room number.

The receptionist, highly understanding, handed one of the girls a set of keys to the room and requested she return them later. They got in the elevator, dropped the girl on her bed, and left after scribbling a quick little note to her about what happened.They gave the key back to the receptionist and left.

In the morning, the girl was awoken by a banging on her door. Another classmate had been sent by the teacher to awake her. She got up, scrubbed her face with a wet towel, threw up once, slipped on some less-tattered clothes and exited. No one noticed anything. One teacher called her "sleepyhead" and blamed the inability to wake up on jetlag. And it was just that easy.

With this night, our dear protagonist discovered that, as she would later confide in me, she was a "heavyweight". She explained how grateful she was to the Roman ladies for helping her and being so caring and attentive, and how grateful she was to the fine, Italian gentleman-receptionist for not saying a peep to a teacher.

She referred to that night as her "alcoholic-awakening". (Get it? There is a "sexual-awakening", but this is with alcohol. Ha-ha!)

It's All Over-Rated Except Drugs and Alcohol - Part 6

I'd like to make this day sound special, but it isn't, so I won't try anything. No fancy introduction today since I'm actually going to hang out with some friends, and I'd like to get to them ASAP. I'll stay true to my word and continue with the series today though, so here's the post:

7. Planes, Trains, and Hallucinations

During one fun summer, a few (5 or 6, this is an old story, so I can't recall exactly) friends decided to getaway and hopped on a plane to get to a nice, little resort town somewhere in America. Here, they shared a hotel room and a lot of laughs. Everyone was nice and gentle, except for one of the travelers. She was close to an alcoholic. During a dinner one night, as the story goes, the friends found themselves a bottle of wine. With parents in a completely different country, the kids saw it as the perfect opportunity to sample this magical drink that they had never had the chance to sample before. They left the drink at the hotel, and all vowed to each other to not open it until dinner time. Not knowing what to eat, or how to cook, they walked down the city streets in search of food. Somewhere amidst the bright lights, they found a pizza shop and ordered two pizzas. They got back to the crammed little space and opened their bottle.

One girl advocated for drinking abstinence, and refused to try the forbidden fruit, blindly trusting her parent-ally-imposed initial denial of alcohol. The rest of the group decided that they would only drink if everyone else drank too, so the bottle got re-capped, or, re-corked, I should say, without a missing drop.

After dinner, the lot decided to take a walk around the city. After all, they wanted to see this new American city and all it had to offer. But the alcoholic friend just couldn't bear the sight of wasted wine. She insisted that the wine be brought along. One of the friends concurred, and the rest seemed impartial. So, into a backpack it went, and off the gang went. They walked around until they arrived at some pond, or lake, or river (I can't remember exactly what body of water it was). They decided to settle here. How romantic would it be to look on the body of water while the sun set, and watch the city go from dusk, to twilight, to dark? They sat down and the girl pulled out the bottle of wine and two previously-purchased chocolate bars. They opened the chocolate first and separated it equally.

The alcoholic wrestled with her desire to open the wine. She thought about leaving it in her bag and not succumbing to the temptation in front of her, but, with one small command from the other friend, the alcoholic had it out. Around the same time, three of the members decided to go for a midnight swim in the secluded body of water. Everyone was quite familiar with everyone so that fact that nobody had a swimsuit on hand was fine. The three went for a swim, and despite it being summer, the body of water was already cooling down. When they got out, it was a little chilly. However, by now, the two alcoholics were already a little warmer, so they offered up what extra garments they had on hand to the swimmers to keep them warm.

No one was in the mood to leave yet, so they all hung around the lake a little longer. The two drinkers offered wine to everyone, but the rest of the group felt too much of a loyalty to the abstinent-drinker to drink. Nonetheless, they didn't judge the two drinkers for choosing to drink themselves. One of the group members actually took a few swigs, but then got hit with guilt and decided to remain loyal to the abstinent-drinker.

As they sat there, a lot was apparently revealed about everyone. They consoled each other's grievances, and they cried. The abstinent-drinker complained and the alcoholic consoled.

Note that, of the two drinkers, one was normal and the other was border-line alcoholic. As the two of them passed the bottle between themselves, they were supposed to take a sip each. Naturally, it didn't work that way because of the circumstances. The normal girl would take a sip and pass it to the alcoholic, who would take a good 4 sips. So, the split wasn't equal, to say the least. Mind you, the alcoholic was also quite a bit shorter than her normal counterpart, so that probably affected the outcomes. Everything seemed fine while the group was sitting at the lake, but then it came time to go back to the hotel. A few of the people actually thought they would and planned on sleeping at the lake, but the abstinent-drinker declared a fear of being attacked by wildlife, and requested to go back. The two drinkers were in quite a happy state and so they agreed.

That's when things got more ugly. The two drinkers stood up, and the alcoholic almost fell back down. The normal drinker, being in still a normal state, realized what was happening and helped the alcoholic to her feet. That was the easy part, for now they had to all walk through the city back to the hotel. The stubborn and proud alcoholic insisted that she was fine to walk alone and that she didn't need the help of her less-inebriated friend. Her friend let her go, and as soon as she did, the alcoholic began stumbling on a tangent off to the side of the road.

The problem was that, to get back to the hotel, one had to follow a road which was right beside the body of water. If you veered too far on a tangent, you would fall right into the water, if you veered too far the other direction, you would end up on the road and get hit by a car. The better friend recognized this and immediately grabbed the drunk. The drunk kept insisting she could walk, and kept telling her friend to let go of her. At this point, the friend kept nodding along, but was certain that the alcoholic would not be able to walk unaided, and refused to take the risk of allowing the alcoholic to fall into the water. They made it back to the hotel, which is where the alcoholic's euphoric mood plummeted into one of depression.

The friends first line of action was to lay the alcoholic down on the bed, which was supposed to be shared by 3 people. They brought her to the bed, and like the girl from story #6, the girl flopped herself onto the bed in a starfish position (limbs extended to all sides). Here, she began a drunken rambling about the state of things at home and began crying intensely. All the friends gathered around and consoled their alcoholic friend, who was usually the one consoling them. They waited for her to go to sleep.

One of the guys took it upon himself to hide all the knives in the house, due to fears that the alcoholic may decide to kill herself sometime in the night. Once the alcoholic declared her desire to go to pee, the same boy felt inclined to follow her to the bathroom to make sure that she wouldn't try to kill herself there. She didn't and instead went back to the bed to pass out. Once she did, the two people who were supposed to share the bed, went to sleep on the floor. The alcoholic was left with a glass of water and a lot of hugs.

In the morning, everything was normal. The alcoholic woke up before everybody else, and went to buy everyone breakfast to make up for the debacle the night prior. She served it, when they all woke up, and no one mentioned the night prior. No one wanted to make the alcoholic feel bad. The exception was the other drinker who explained the whole fiasco to the alcoholic. Later that day, the alcoholic went to throw up a few times. The whole group arrived at a restaurant for lunch, where the waiter, not noticing their being underage, offered to start the whole group with drinks. With this, a burst of laughter and a quick "no". They ate, and that was the last of the mentions of the night prior.

It's All Over-Rated Except Drugs and Alcohol - Part 5

Happy 28th December! This is my personal favorite: A girl who is generally a good student - hard-working, diligent and more, went to a get-together one fine Thanksgiving. Innocent enough. At this Thanksgiving get-together the alcohol was flowing. Not just flowing, it was water-falling. It was a bunch of kids, one of whom was the girl from story #5. I think that there was approximately 5 kids present and drinking.

6. To Walk, or to Vodka?

This particular girl is a short, very skinny one. That means that her body probably has a low-tolerance to alcohol. No, definitely has a low-tolerance. See, my suggestion is to always take a good, hard look at yourself in the mirror before you go off into a hazed night of alcohol. This girl obviously didn't heed my advice. At this house party, she found herself with a bottle of something in her hands. After a little encouragement from her buddies to "chug, chug, chug!" She did. A solid 750mL of some vodka-like substance flooded her throat. It seemed fine at first, that is, until her bladder called. She announced "I need to pee!" This would be more OK if they were all still in the house, but they weren't. They had all decided to go on a nice stroll around campus. Now that she needed to pee, they had a challenge ahead of themselves. So they assured her that they would find a bathroom as soon as possible, but that wasn't sufficient in her drunken mind. To their consoling remark, she exclaimed "No! Fuck that! Fuck social norms! I'm gonna do it right here!" You can imagine the despair faced by her friends at this moment. How would they deal with a girl peeing in public, in the middle of the campus field? So they tried their utmost to assure her that she would be much happier in a bathroom. She told them to "Fuck off", but, with a little tugging from her friend, she got up and beyond avoided what could've been a highly awkward moment.

They dragged her along until they found a port-a-potty. Here, the girl from story #5, her best friend, told the group that she would go in with the currently drunk girl to make sure nothing goes too bad. Everyone agreed that that was a good idea. Then, as soon as the two girls went in, all that could be heard from the outside was a thump. Somebody had dropped. Inside, the girl peed after plopping herself down on the public toilet, and then began vomiting violently. As she vomited, her inhibitions were completely non-existent. As a result, she did what everyone has always wanted to do, but has been too bound by 'social norms' to actually follow through with - stick their head into the port-a-potty! She began burying her head into the literal shit in the toilet. Her friend tried to pull her head out, but she didn't want to leave. Miraculously, her friend seemed to manage to pull her head out of the toilet before too much of her head got enrobed in, well, in poop. She wrestled her out to where the others were waiting and explained the kerfuffle. The girl couldn't stand upright, so one of the boys had to pick her up.

Someone suggested they lay her down on one of the nearby benches, and so they did. One boy, who had been trained in first aid, did some tests to, I guess, assess the damage. He thus ordered another boy to go to the nearest store and buy water and straws. Once the materials were there, the first aid boy stuck a straw into the water bottle and insisted that the drunk girl drink. She refused. When the boy persisted, she still refused. Eventually, the group decided to resort to the seemingly more simple task of getting her to sit up straight.

After the strongest boy had lifted her to carry her to the bench, he had made out clear to the group that it was unviable to expect that he could carry her completely limp body all the way to get house. Everyone now knew that it was pertinent she be able to at least sit up straight so that it could be possible to get her home.

As soon as they got her to sit up, she flopped right over. The second time, they sat her up and got one boy to hold her from behind. Now, instead of flopping over, she was upright. The boy told her just how important it was for her to be able to stand up. To his remarks, she said "fuck off." The pain of no avail showed it's face.

Somehow, she managed to sit up herself after a lengthy time.

The group decided to port her to her best friend's house. The best friend called her mother and asked if it would be cool for her best friend to crash for the night at her house. Her mom was fine with it.

On the journey to the friend's house, the drunk girl was partially carried, partially walked and partially passed out. One Asian man, walking with his girlfriend happened to see the scene. He stopped and asked the group "It would be irresponsible of me to not ask if she's alright."

"Oh she's fine." Everyone replied.

"So, what is this? Molly or --" He inquired.

"It's just alcohol." They replied.

The guy seemed shocked by the response, but nonetheless felt his duty to help and offered to aid in carrying her. He did somewhat, but he wasn't Hercules himself, so his efforts were fairly futile. After some time, he gave up and went home, leaving the kids to fend for themselves.

With a stroke of luck, they managed to get her to the best friend's house. There, she dropped herself onto the bed without restraint. In one straight, matchstick-like position, she dropped, and the lights in her mind went out too. The group called her sister to pick her up, and left before they could see the final product of the whole event. The girl was fine afterwards: this is a fact.

It's All Over-Rated Except Drugs and Alcohol - Part 4

I get it. You're coming off of your Boxing Day high. Yesterday, you were likely attacked by a mob that didn't like you taking the last Super-Ultra-Mega-Tronic Game Master 6000. Now, you're lying on the hospital bed with nothing to do. I know you've probably scrolled through your Instagram feed over and over, hoping that someone will post something new to no avail. It's boring, isn't it? That's why I'm here to help! Today, instead of posting just one thing, I'll post two stories of Drugs and Alcohol mishaps. This way, you'll have a little something to busy yourself with for the rest of the day. Ok, scratch that, for the next 5 minutes. Enjoy. And, don't worry, unlike part #3, these two are short. 

4. A Hundred Messages

I was on my way to bed one night, and as I was setting my alarm for the next morning, I got 6 rapid-fire messages in quick succession. All said the same thing: "Nat!" It was midnight. Getting such messages was terrifying. Terrible thoughts flooded my mind. Why would this boy, who I had met only a few months ago, send me these messages so late at night? Was he getting kidnapped? Oh gosh. What could be going on? I would quickly find out.

The next messages were things asking why we weren't married yet, telling me how beautiful I was, and explaining to me that I was a goddess who should be dating him. Fun. He had no recollection of such messages in the morning. None. At school, he seemed completely normal and then, when I jokingly mentioned the night, he was terrified. Poor boy. He explained to me how much he had drunk, and I understood. All of a sudden, things were very awkward between us.

5. Age is Just a Number

Once upon a time there was a girl who really wanted to go to a rave. It was the goal of her life. She found me and, naturally, since I seem to be the biggest drugaholic (drug addict, plus alcoholic), asked me where she could go to one. She had been begging me for a while to take her along to any party I get invited to. Wow, that's desperate.

Eventually, she decided to go to a rave by herself. There she took God knows what. (Likely ecstasy, though - that's the rave drug of choice.). She took a few shots, or rather, a few 10s of shots. And her night ended really well. That's sarcasm. Because she ended up making out with a 22-year-old (she's 17). Again, wow.

Merry Macarons!

Well, the festive season is one famous for bringing about change. People make new year's resolutions; they try to fix the supposed ills in either their characters or their bodies or their lives. Now, you probably think that this post is going to be one that explains why I'm so irked by new year's resolutions, but you're wrong. No, I am irked by new year's resolutions, but I'm not going to write about that particular subject right now.

In light of the holiday season, I'm going to do something out of the ordinary myself! I'm going to share something more than grievances with you! I'm going to share the sweeter, more-human side with you, and I hope you don't mind it.

It may be hard to believe that even I have a soul, but it's true. Sometimes, and only sometimes, I like to put criticizing aside and do something cute, like bake! Actually, at one point during this summer, I strongly considered going to Paris after high school to become a chef. That is a true fact. And, well, after I look at how these turned-out, it might just be a good idea!

Often, I actually cook huge (like, 10-course) meals for my family or friends. You can see proof of that on my mom's blog. But, last night, my mom informed me that she had bought almond meal. Being that it's the prime ingredient in Macarons, I decided to try my luck by making them! And, I'm quite pleased with how they turned out. Macarons are difficult to make, but these turned out surprisingly well. I found the recipe on the French cooking site "Marmiton". That's where my knowledge of French came in handy. I was able to correctly read and interpret the recipe to make the beautiful macarons I did!

So, to break the saturation of whining posts here, here's a glimpse of what I made! Note that I put great effort into both the making of the macarons, and the photographing of the macarons. I tried to make them look very magazine-esque.

Now the recipe said to use red food coloring, but being the radical rebel I am, I used blue! Blue has zero to do with the filling flavors I chose. Oh yeah, here's a note: macaron shells are all the same, what differs them is the filling.

Now, I tried to make an Earl grey filling because that happens to be my favorite. Unfortunately, I failed at doing so, so I resorted to safer options. I made three different fills and they all turned out pretty good. The fills were: Lemon Curd, Chocolate and Blackberry.

I've made lemon curd before, so doing it again was no fuss. Making the chocolate filing was super easy because I just tempered some chocolate. And, the blackberry filling was actually making use o the blackberry jam I made over the summer. Right! You probably don't know this! Every summer, I go to Stanley Park and I pick blackberries. I make a jam out of them, and I preserve it in Mason jars. My father loves the jam because there's no nothing added. Literally, it's just blackberries. I made a lot of jam in the summer, so I still have jars left in the fridge. Yes, it's almost January, but my jam is a well-made preserve, so it is still good. Yesterday, when I took it out of the fridge, it was perfectly tasty. The macarons were delicious with it.

There was only one problem with the entire thing, and that was baking time. I made three batches of macarons, and one batch ended up a little over-done. Nonetheless, it was a quite a good little bake, and it was highly therapeutic to me to busy myself with such whimsical sweetness!

Thanks for reading! Maybe I'll post some more stuff like this here later.

It's All Over-Rated Except Drugs and Alcohol - Part 3

Now, today is Boxing Day, so you're probably very interested in the sales and the deals, but, these stories are my gifts to you, so please, read up. Going to the store to buy an X-Box almost guarantees you will end up in the hospital because you got trampled. Oppositely, reading my blog from the safety and comfort of your own home almost guarantees you will end up still at home, unmoved, because you didn't get trampled. 

3. Drunk and In the Trunk

It was a dark and stormy night. It was summer, and those beautiful summer rains were falling. It was the night of a school dance. Everyone was having fun and enjoying the loud pop music and intense strobe lights. How wonderful! I was expected to stand in the bag-check line with my friend for about half an hour. Uh, no thanks. So, I found a friend at the front of the line and budged in with him. Behind him in line was the stoner group of guys. One said "hey! no budging" in a joking sort of way. That was the extent of the comments and we waited to be let through. After passing the most halfhearted inspection ever, I was let in and able to begin dancing. The stoners got in shortly after us. They all had weed in their shoes or boxers, but no one could ever catch them because, well, the searches were there just for show.

The stoners never showed up to the school dances but they did show up to this one for some reason. Needless to say, they weren't amused by the top 40 music and lack of smoke-clouds, so they decided to leave half-way through to -yes, obviously- get higher than the empire state. I didn't notice that they were gone until I went to sit on the couch that they had been sitting on. Quickly, I got back up to dance. About an hour passed, and one of them came back. He texted me to tell me to come outside. I got my friend to dance with someone else for a while and I went outside. I didn't have my things because they had to stay inside if you wanted to come back in later. So, I was in a tanktop and shorts. Luckily, it was summer, but unluckily, it was raining.

Outside, a very intoxicated stoner was waiting for me. He started mumbling some stuff about how much he loved me. I helped him get to a bench nearby and lie down. That's where he suggested we go back to the dance and dance together. Gladly, except that it isn't the best idea for me to be carrying in a half-conscious body through the bag-check area. Instead, I countered his offer by saying that we should dance right there together. Happily for both of us, he accepted. He said that we should play some music, and promptly handed me his phone. I scrolled through the playlist, and announced all the options I could, "Sublime? Tupac? Biggie? Mac Demarco?"

"No! No! Fuck, man, I thought you had taste in music!" He exclaimed, upset the same way a 2-year-old is after getting the cookie jar taken away.

"No? So what music then?"

"The song by the Pomegranates."

I was briefly confused. I had a hard time believing I had heard him correctly in his drunken stupor. But, nonetheless, I looked for the Pomegranates in his list and found it. There was only one song. So, I pressed play on "Anywhere you go" and he kneeled down as to offer me this dance. We danced through it and as we did, I realized that his phone could be more useful to me. I could find the contact information of his buddies, call them and help both of us.

After the dance, we went to sit on the bench. He had some trouble sitting, so he decided to lay his head down. As he did, his neck touched my legs. As he put his head down, he made a disgusted face and said "Ewww! You're so slimy!" I smiled and said "Yeah, probably because I was dancing and now I'm sitting in the rain!" At this, he laughed and uttered "I'm singing in the rain!" I said "Yup!" Then, his face quickly changed into one of deep concern, and, like a man possessed, he shot upright and sat on the bench. "You're gonna catch a cold!" Quickly, he took off his t-shirt and held his arm out to offer it to me. I laughed and told him to keep it, and put it back on. He looked at me almost angrily and told me to put it on. So I covered my legs with it like a blanket. His face changed to one of approval. Then, he put his head down and stated just a few grievances about his mom. Then he made the statement that he was being a "pussy" and that that wasn't why he called me out. Instead, he kept on telling me about my fantastic-ness, and about some other girls and how annoying he found them! Well, thanks.

I took the opportunity to ask him for his phone again. He gave it to me without question and quickly found the song "My Friend" by Paper Lions and played it. I pretended to be searching for the next song, even though I likely didn't need to make excuses to a inebriated guy, and instead found the contact of his friend. I sent him a text explaining the situation. The stoner kept blabbering. He talked about how he planned on walking across the ocean to leave Vancouver in favor of his mother-country. He invited me to walk across with him. Oh, I was flattered. I promised him that I'd go with him in the morning, since we couldn't leave immediately because we needed at least a few granola bars for the trek. Furthermore, he said "Nat, I know you think I'm a fuckboy, and I am. But, check it out: I'm not gonna do anything stupid tonight. I'm gonna keep this encounter so PG, you're gonna be shocked." Oh, that's excellent news!

His friend replied to me at this point and said that he would be there in 10 minutes to pick him up.

I told my unwell friend that he should go to sleep, so that in the morning we would be well-rested for our journey across the Atlantic. He almost did, until he remembered that he hadn't yet completed the task for which he had called me out. Then, he stood up, and fell over. I thought that he had hurt himself, but he assured me that he would be fine as long as I was there. Then, he instructed me to play a certain song on his phone, explained that he had learnt it for me, and that he was going to sing it from the asphalt because he couldn't quite stand at the moment. He pretended that there was a big crowd around him and said "I'd like to dedicate this one to Nat!" and began singing!

This is, to this day, likely one of the best moments of my life. It was like someone took the best parts from Adventureland, The Spectacular Now, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, and every other great teen movie, and mixed them together to create the scene that I was not only beholding, but participating in too.

After finishing the song, I helped him go lie on the bench again, and he asked me if I liked his song. I told him that it was the best song I had heard in my life. To that, he proclaimed that he was a happy man and that he could now sleep! He almost did pass out, as I helped him from the asphalt to the bench, but he had just enough breath left to request that I lie down beside him. I brought it to his attention that there wasn't enough space on the bench for the both of us. Upset with his un-chivalrous action, he rolled off the bench and offered it to me. I accepted it with a "thank you". Even in his delirium, he recognized that, if I was on the bench, I couldn't be next to him because he was on the ground. Coyly, he asked if I'd be willing to lay beside him on the ground. So I myself rolled off and laid down on the wet ground. I folded his shirt and put it under our heads, he touched my hand and everything remained very "PG". I kept his music playing and checked the messages. "Sorry, traffic... Be there soon." Well, there was no traffic in my line of sight, but I wasn't going to make a fuss. This boy was after all saving me from a night that could escalate.

My unwell friend passed out into what to me seemed like a coma, while MGMT music played. It was a very deep sleep. I saw his friend's car on the horizon and got up to flag it down. When his friend got out of the car, he said "You know, there was no need to flag me down. It's not like there are two people laying in the rain at every corner, you know?" I ignored his remark and said "Cool, you're late." He smiled and said "I know, I'm sorry. And I'm also sorry for whatever stupid shit he did. I'll keep a tighter leash on him next time he's off." I said "It's fine, not your problem. What's the plan?" He said "We'll pop him in the trunk and take him to my place. He'll sleep it off and have no idea what happened - the usual." I said "OK fine. Are you OK to drive, though?" His friend rolled his eyes and said "Bro, I made it here, didn't I? Don't worry bout it. Go back to your stupid dance and chill out. Your friends are probably worried." I agreed.

One more guy walked out of the car. I looked in the back seat and there were a few other people who looked similarly messed up, so I understood why my dear Atlantic-Ocean-Voyage-Buddy was required to be placed in the trunk. The two boys looked at me and stated "You're gonna have to help here unless you want him to stay here." I asked what they needed. "Grab his legs!" So I did. We carried him to the trunk and they calmly dropped him in. He didn't budge. His eyes didn't flutter. He was completely out of it. I asked for reaffirmation of his well-being and they assured me. They drove away and I went back to my dance. I went to the bathroom to come to my senses. Rapidly, I got back to dancing and it was as if no one had even noticed my absence. Awesome.

I feel like it was as a result of my friendship and association with this guy that everybody thought that I was also a stoner, and thus confided all of their own drug-a-riffic secrets to me.

It's All Over-Rated Except Drugs and Alcohol - Part 2

Today, after all, is Christmas, so I won't bombard you with a long one...

2. Petrifying Pot

One day, in grade nine, when I was brand new to my school, a group of stoners asked me if I wanted to go "blaze" with them. (What is it about my face that just screams drug-abuser and alcoholic?) I said no, and they were very accepting of my answer. In fact, even with my rejection of their drugs, they still stayed very close to me and were always very nice to me. Anyways, after some time, they came to talk to me about a friend of mine and his terrible reaction to smoking marijuana for the first time. He had supposedly begun screaming and panting. I found it hilarious, and so did these fabulous stoners. Now, this story isn't all that interesting until I point out that the screaming subject in question was a 13-year-old. 13 is pretty young. I didn't think that pot was something that started so soon.

It's All Over-Rated Except Drugs and Alcohol - Preamble and Tale #1

First, let me give credit to the duo Cherub for the excellent lyric, from the song Doses and Mimosas, which has come to be my title!

No, it's not my opinion, but it is the opinion of many of my peers. And it's so sad.

To wish everyone a very Merry Christmas, I will be posting a series of Drunken Tales. Each day, until the end of my break, I will be releasing a Tale of Intoxication to tickle your fancy this festive time of year. Surely, a few will induce laughs, a few will induce shock and a few will induce a delectable mixture of both. So, the next time you are stumbling on your walk of shame in the new year, think back to one of the stories you read here - it might just make you feel a little better about yourself!

Before Tale #1, I've written a preamble, so read this first, then enjoy tale #1.

About a week ago, Winter Break started here in Vancouver. I'm in grade 12. This is the last Christmas Break I will ever get to have as a high-schooler. One would expect for this to be the best Christmas Break ever! I should be out there partying, enjoying various activities and spending dear times with dear friends, who I may not get to see around the same time next year. Except I'm at home, rotting away. Actually, I'm blogging, but it's not like that is so much better. 

I have successfully managed to alter my sleeping schedule to the point that I am basically nocturnal. I go to sleep around 3am and I wake up around 1pm. It's not hard to do that here in Vancouver: the sun hasn't showed it's bright face in this city in a while. It is fair, at this point, to say that the sun does not rise in Vancouver. All 24 hours of our day here are dark and grey. The sky is grey, and all it does is cry. You need to have the lights on all the time because you can't see in the light. I feel like I'm living on the set of some murder mystery, like True Detective. It's ugly. Naturally, it impacts mood greatly. Lack of sun has been scientifically proven to lead to terrible things - more car crashes, more suicides, more tears which mimic the ones falling from the clouds above. People become sadder. What escalates the sadness? The fact that there isn't much to do; you can't break free from your misery by busying yourself with some activities because there isn't much to do.

From what I've heard, the situation is different in other places. Some cities really come alive in the winter; in this festive time. New York is famous for having a great set of things to do lined up in the cold months. Shops stay open for a while, people go and pass the time in an almost mesmerizing way. The beautiful lights, the beautiful trees, and so on.

Vancouver shuts down in the winter. Store hours get shorter, so there isn't an ability to hang out in places past 7pm. It's too cold to sit outside, so that's not an option. No new activities pop-up during the season, so there is nothing to break oneself out of the mundane-ness of life.

Does this make sense?

The gloomy weather, paired with the fact that there aren't options to make your life brighter, makes everything all the more dull. You're stuck in a rut. Nothing new to do for fun. Weather that seems almost denouncing of fun. And, one very sad atmosphere. This is Vancouver in the winter. It is a city in hibernation. So, unless you yourself can dream up some incredible things to do, you are a forced to join the hibernation of the season. It's so depressing.

During school, the situation is a little better because, frankly, there is something to do. You must go to school, and therefore use approximately 6 hours of your day. Sometimes, you use even more because of after-school activities, such as clubs and sports. Once school lets out, you're on your own, though. There is no body to dictate what you must allocate your time to. It's completely up to you. And therein lies the problem.

When you're young, you don't ask for freedom and you don't care what it is you do. Everything seems brand-spanking-new and shiny. Winter break rolls around, and it excites you. Your parents give you a sort of schedule. Mom offers to take you skating, you set up a play-date with your friend, you sign up for some camp, or something else along those lines. You have something to do. As you get older, those things lose their luster. You no longer want to go skating with your mom because that's so lame. You have had so many play-dates with your friends by now that another one is just so routine. There aren't really any camps available to you, and even if there were, it would be so un-cool of you to take part in one. So, what is one to do? You have to find some way to break free from the cycle. You have to discover something brand-spanking-new and exciting that can transport you to the wonderful world you used to live in constantly as a young kid.

I know first-hand how boring it is to be on break.

A few days ago, my mom, after seeing me surf the web with the blankest of stares on my face, asked me why I wasn't maximizing the time I have on break. I told her I was maximizing it by relaxing. I was catching up on the sleep I had missed during school, and I was catching up with what my friends had posted on Facebook. Both my mom and I knew that this was just me living in denial. I was denial of the fact that I was brain-dead, and of the fact that I was allowing my precious and much-awaited 2 weeks of break to rot away. I was allowing the time to pass by, but what else was I to do? I explained that to my mom. I told her that my options were very limited. She told me that, when she was my age, she used to hang out at the discotek and dance. How enticing. My mom unfortunately seemed to omit one small detail - we're not in Europe anymore. I am a child and places like discoteks are strictly off limits to my age group. Mom found that notion stupid. I agreed with her. Why not let us teenagers let off some steam in clubs? Better we get out the desires now, than when we're older, right? Well, too bad.

In that case, she asked what I do when I go out with friends. I told her the truth - I have coffee. Seriously, that is what my friends and I do. My girlfriend calls me, and asks to hang out over a latte. I agree. My mom thought that this was for old women. Apparently, calmly sipping on a cappuccino, was an action reserved for senior citizens. I asked her to, in that case, offer me some legal suggestions (i.e. no dancing). That's when she started to think and arrived at a loss for words. She herself realized how narrow the scope of things to do for teenagers was. I told her that, to celebrate the last day of school, my friends and I had gone for a lunch at a nice restaurant in town. This was also apparently extremely unbefitting of my age category. "Since when to 17-year-olds dine out fancily?" she inquired. In all honesty, that dining out had been the best thing I had done in a while, simply because it was something a little out of the ordinary.

Regardless, yesterday, I went to my friend's house and I made banana muffins. We sat on her couch for a few hours and talked about random things. She asked me to read some stuff aloud to her and she fell asleep. She woke up and we ate some more muffins, watched some YouTube videos, listened to some of my music, discussed premonitions and our breaks thus far, and then parted ways. It was very relaxing. The day before, we had met up and sipped on lattes. I love my friend; we're very close. But, since we see each other so often, we run out of things to talk about occasionally. I know all about her, and she knows all about me, so there's not much to say that would be new. I see her everyday at school, so she can't surprise me with a story about a teacher, since I probably witnessed it firsthand. Our conversations now revolve around other people: Who said what, who did what, and so on. Luckily, we've known each other for quite long, so we can always mention past memories and laugh. Still, it would be better to make new ones instead. That's why we so eagerly hope to do things like go on 3 day vacations with friends to places like Pemberton. Pemberton, at least, is something that isn't so plain.

When my friend Nima had moved to Victoria a few years ago, people were sad. Nima wasn't the sexiest of guys; he was no jock. Nonetheless, every long weekend, when Nima was due to visit, people got thrilled. Just a week ago, Nima had announced his looming arrival to Vancouver for the break. I was giddy. I told my mom and sister how delighted I was with the news. My mom thought I was over-dramatizing, but the fact is that Nima is something different. The reason that people wait so anxiously for Nima's arrival is because it is something different. When Nima arrives, he has fresh stories; stories that we haven't heard before, stories that aren't being recycled for the 17th time. That's why everyone loves him (OK. charm and likability are also part of it).

So, finally, I'll write something here that will make my title, make more sense.

After hearing my mom's words, and thinking about all this, I began to wonder if everyone else was in the same predicament as me. Was everyone else stuck in a rut, and if so, what was the remedy? It's as simple as the title: drugs and alcohol.

Now wait: before you run off to call 911 and report underage drinking, hear me out: I'm not going to click the publish button on this post and then run off to chug down a liter of vodka, nor am I going to go and smoke a pound of weed. I'm probably going to go and have another London Fog Latte. I'm just writing about this to express the current situation in an average teenager's life through a series of examples:

1. Who Knew?

As school was winding down, one of our teachers gave us all a study block. He said that we had finished the stuff we were supposed to learn in the term, and that we were free for the next two classes to do as we pleased. This particular class happened to be one in which I didn't have many friends. In fact, I'm not sure of the names of the kids in the class yet. Being that the class is one I have a knack for, at the start of the year, a lot of kids wanted to sit next to me. One boy successfully elbowed his way to being next to me, and throughout the term, we have gotten to know each other. So, on this free day, we decided to go to the library and just sit. He wanted to introduce me to some music he enjoyed, so he gave me one of his headphones and played me some songs. I gave my opinion about each after he played it, and our time passed by nicely. So far, so good. Then he asked me the perfectly normal question of what I had in mind for break. I explained that I would like to go to Pemberton again, as I had done in the summer, and that I'd like to hang out with friends and catch up on sleep. He looked at me almost inquisitive. I ignored the look because I knew what it meant (I'll explain later), and proceeded to ask him about his plans for the break. This is where I was shocked.

This boy was not the "bad apple" kind. He was a good kid, who did his homework, cared about getting into university and payed attention in class. He was a little different in the sense that he was a little more chilled out than the rest of my super-intensely-academically-oriented school. I just hadn't expected such a strong response from him to my question: "I'm just gonna get completely fucked up. Smoke some weed, maybe do some molly, LSD, a little cocaine, you know..."

Well, shit. Have yourself a merry little Christmas, eh? Who knew? I didn't think that even good kids did this kind of thing. But hey, I guess I was wrong. School is so dull; why not brighten it up a little with a selection of uppers, downers and hallucinogens?! I didn't realize that even these types of drugs were used by youth. I thought weed was the only thing.