The Sloppy Sad Drunk

I still remember the first time I drank alcohol. I was still in high school but my sister (Val) let me tag along with her college friends for a beach vacation. I was feeling just swell after two Milwaukee's Best in the hotel room. I figured if I drank more I would start feeling not just swell but super-duper. After four beers, I kept reminding my sisters' friend to make sure I'd changed my tampon before I went to bed because I didn't want to die of toxic shock syndrome. I don't remember much after that but I continued to drink.

I guess after six beers, I decided I would go running into the ocean and drown myself. I didn't make it that far, I fell down some stairs and sprained my ankle. I was crying my head off before I even fell down. My sister who also was drinking too much, was blubblering and trying to drown herself in the swimming pool. Everyone had to babysit us. They decided that night they weren't letting "the sad drunk sisters" drink anymore on that vacation.

I thought it was very bizarre that both my sister and I turned into these depressed, suicidal people when drunk. When I asked her about it, she said my oldest sister did the same thing. That's why she never would drink. (I just thought she was too uptight) I was hoping that my emotional outburst was just a fluke, a first-timer's flaw. I was wrong.

When school started, my Mom was away with her new boyfriend most weekends. I decided to have a party. I invited about eight friends over to stay the night and drink. I got into my parents liquor cabinet and starting drinking Southern Comfort. The first sip burned and tasted like crap but after sip #10, I could drink rubbing alcohol without a problem.

Around sip #20, I thought that painting the boys' fingernails with hot pink polish would be fun. They didn't want any part of it. I chased them with my polish brush. I wasn't very good with hand-eye coordination at this point of drunkenness so most of the polish ended up on the staircase walls.

After sip #35 my suicidal Sybil self emerged again. My best friend Zoe had to take away my Southern Comfort and sit with me on my bed. She said she wished she had a straight jacket because I was acting so sad. I eventually passed out. When I woke up the next morning, not only was my head pounding but my stomach felt like it was full of battery acid.

I swore I'd never drink Southern Comfort again, I haven't either. Then, I walked upstairs and saw streaks of pink nail polish all over the white walls. I thought nail polish remover would do the trick. I was very wrong, it just smeared the pink streak into a pink blob. My Dad was picking me up for dinner that night so I had to think of a story, pronto.

My Dad noticed the pink wall as soon as he arrived. I told him I was on the phone, painting my nails, walking down the stairs. I tripped on Sam's bone and polish splattered on the walls. When in doubt, blame the dog. My Dad taught me that trick. When he'd fart, he'd always blame it on poor Sam.

My drunk Sybil personality departed after Don and I were together after about three months. The first time I got drunk with Don, I went crazy and tried to drown myself in the bathtub. He didn't want me to drink for a long time, it scared the shit out of him. Who wants to be in a relationship with a secret nut-job? It really would upset people when they'd see that psycho side of me. I've always wondered about this though. Why would all these depressing emotions come out when my sisters and I drink?

I'm a creative, happy drunk now. Thank God because I love my gin, lime and club soda. Val still will get very sad if she drinks too much. It happened last year at the beach and her husband won't let her drink to get feeling good anymore. He 86'ed her for life. I've never seen my oldest sister drunk, she's smart. She's also the superstar of the family. Look who I found on CNN last night? My oldest sister!