Condolences to my dignity

(Names have been changed for the sake of privacy and for the sake that no one involved can search for this entry.)

Granted I am in college and I am therefore allowed one truly shameful and humiliating night every now and then. Last night, I was the epitome of emotional wreckage. Never ever make friends that are legal to drink and when you do, never ever seduce them into buying you as much alcohol as you can afford.

After taking six large swigs from a handle of Sailor Jerry (chased with questionable cranberry juice), my feeble self couldn't hold any of it gracefully. I was already stumbling before we had left the dorms. On the other hand, my friend Erin possesses a much higher tolerance for alcohol and was hardly persuaded. She, unfortunately, had to be the one in the front seat to my spectacular shit-show. I really felt bad for her.

By the time we made our way to Del Playa, we realized we really had no plans for the night and would probably have to bum addresses off of other people. But I was feeling lucky. In my drunken confidence, I told Erin to quit her fretting and that we would have the time of our lives. Afterall, I had a phonebook fat with party enthusiasts and surely one would prove useful in my situation. I texted a handful of people and waited for their replies as Erin and I continued our way up DP. By this time, I'd unknowingly crossed over to the dark side and I never came back.

My first grievance of the night was Matt. My feelings for him had been colder than tepid and the way he constantly begged for attention was starting to grind at my patience. But desperate times called for desperate measures. Matt was my final resort. Meanwhile, Erin and I found ourselves a little party on Sabado, small talking with Idaho. Matt showed up a few minutes later with Vivian and Clara at both of his sides, as smug as ever. That son of a bitch. He wanted Vivian. Hard. I knew this not because I could see that Matt was really bending backwards for her attention, but because I caught him ogling lustfully at her multiple times, back when he was steadily hooking up with me. Thinking I've analyzed enough, I marched over to the bar and had a shot of cheap vodka.

After little deliberation, Vivian came up with a better plan for all of us, "CALL SAM, MATT." She had been trying to make it happen between Sam and me for weeks. I didn't object, of course, because I had a fat crush on him that was bordering "stalkerish". Vivian had been egging me on AND if I remember correctly, he had, on two occasions, asked about me to my friends. So, more or less, feelings were reciprocated. Matt, catching on with what's about to happen, pretended to act cool, although I could tell he was seething with jealousy. "You should TOTALLY hook up with Sam," he suggested, dripping with fake enthusiasm. As I normally do, I ignored his stupid comment and had him get down to business. He made the call and soon we were staggering our way into the seedy depths of Isla Vista.

We finally reached the party, overcoming our difficulty with the latch on the front gate. There were about a dozen people that I didn't know, drinking and conversing nonchalantly despite overwhelming strobelights and bass. I decided to stay out of that unwelcoming environment and stick close with the crashers. We continued to look conspicuously out of place. Erin and I were feeling uncomfortable. She started to talk about leaving when I noticed two people behind her, engrossed in some sort of sexy staredown. I tapped her urgently so she wouldn't miss what was about to happen. Her jaw dropped. Surely enough, Vivian and Matt were passionately making out in the dark of the kitchen where Vivian had left us for drinks. Erin let out a laugh to ease the tension because she didn't know what to say. I had nothing to say either, so we sipped in silence, shocked that Vivian would let her guard down for Matt.

Vivian later joined us. Erin and I were still by the door, looking awkward; Vivian was still trashed, looking red. It was then I realized where her sudden loss of restraint had come from. Spiced rum. Trying to mingle smoothly back into our conversation, she asked me about Sam. I told her it wasn't going very well. At this point, I was thoroughly irritated with the night, and Vivian, and Matt, and Sam. Feeling a little apologetic, she decided to talk to Sam on my behalf. She was running on volatile liquid courage, promising things she probably didn't mean. I tried to stop her, but I couldn't completely reject the possibility of a hook-up. She kinda owed me, anyway.

While Vivian went off to play cupid, Clara was starting to feel the alcohol. She started throwing up and I ran upstairs to get her water. I passed Sam, Matt and Vivian, pretending to be a good friend and pretending not to know what was being discussed. In retrospect, I must've looked like a complete ass. Vivian came back with information, "I have bad news." My heart sank. "Sam has a girlfriend." I raised my eyebrows. I didn't buy it. She tried to lessen the blow with, "but he still thinks you're hot?" I remained skeptical. I mean, it would have been nice if he'd let me down on with the truth, but to have come up with an excuse? He must've found me repulsive at the very least. My night was ruined and my heart was broken. I had to stay poised, however, because we were leaving the party with Sam. There was no way I'd let him know he had the slightest effect on me. I kept composed and led the way. Matt was on the side reveling in my humiliation. God, how I hate him.

As we neared campus, I got the usual drunken text greeting from Eric. This time, though, there were some changes: "Hey, you should know that you're pretty and I don't think you should be so self-deprecating all the time." I stopped in my tracks, "WHATTHEFUCK?" There was a follow-up text from Mark, "You and Eric would make beautiful babies. Lolz." Then, Eric called me. Thinking I had the situation handled, I cut right to the chase, "Do you like me or something?" He replied with, "I don't know. Do you?" I couldn't believe my ears. He had the nerve to try to get me to engage in some sort of flirty banter with him. I was revolted. Still not in my right mind and a little bit drunk, I saw this a perfect opportunity to make Sam jealous and I desperately wanted his attention, so I threw a fit. I squatted on the pavement, head in hands, repeating "Fuck my life," over and over again. I wanted to show him that I was hot shit, too good for Eric and certainly too good for him. That was my fucking logic. Whatever slim chance I had, evaporated fast with my pride.

My chance to redeem myself came quickly after my text message debacle. By some divine miracle, Sam and I ended up walking side by side while the rest of the gang trailed behind us, singing pirate songs and generally enjoying each other's drunkenness. For this second time, I decided to take the sympathy route. Totally unelicited, I delved into a personal story about my asshole father. He could not have cared less. My pride was hurt one last time. At this point, I realized enough was enough and trekked the long way back to my dorm in my lonesome, accompanied only by the clacking from the soles of my boots against the cold, moonlit pavement. It was probably the most pathetic I've ever felt.

The next morning, I woke up to a soft pounding in my head. The curtains were wide open and the sun greeted my eyes with magnificent hostility. I shuffled through the covers, forcing myself to get up when suddenly, regret reared its ugly head in the form of an unwanted flashback. I sank back into my bed, recalling the night in the garish light of day. My self respect was still nowhere to be found. Needless to say, brunch in the same cafeteria with the people mentioned above, was the hardest thing I ever had to do.