Drunk Girl
There are certain songs that make you feel nostalgic. Pop punk was the thing back in the early 2000s. I mean, Lauren Conrad from Laguna Beach is married to the former frontman of the band Something Corporate. That’s what I call a throwback.
Anyways, they had this song called “Drunk Girl” that reminds me of my first high school party… that I wasn’t even invited to.
It was early 2003, the second half of my freshman year. I had made friends with a girl who had transferred to my school because her stepdad was in the military. We both needed a foreign language credit and neither of us wanted to take Spanish, so we chose German.
Imagine living in San Diego and not wanting to learn Spanish. We were stupid 14-year-old girls.
I was acing German and ended up tutoring my girlfriend in that class—just like I did in Algebra. But because I was actually doing well, that made me prime target for the cool upperclassmen to make fun of. Also, I wore glasses. I didn’t wear makeup. I didn’t wear clothes that showed off my figure—because I felt like I didn’t have one. And even if I did, I looked so young that no one would have noticed anyway.
Needless to say, my friend was the opposite of me. She was the hot one. Filipino, hair down to her ass, mini skirts up to her ass, and heels to school. She knew how to apply makeup. She was everything I wanted to be. Guys actually looked at her—for what I thought were good reasons, when really, they just saw her as easy.
One of the guys invited her to a “party,” and she asked if I wanted to come. I said, “I wasn’t invited. They don’t want me there.”
She said, “But I want you there. You’re my best friend.”
I looked at the Bob Burnquist poster in my locker (yes, he was my crush freshman year—stop laughing), shut my locker, and gave in.
“Ok…I’ll go,” I said hesitantly.
Since I wasn’t invited, I decided to drag other people with me. I figured more guys might show if more girls came. So I brought my cousin (who was also desirable) and a neighboring girl who was a little on the rotund side—to make myself look better.
Again, stop fucking laughing.
My Filipino girlfriend wasn’t giving the guy who invited her any attention. I guess he was drowning his sorrows in Smirnoff when I walked into the kitchen. I didn’t know how to pour myself a drink—it was my first time drinking aside from a couple shots of Bacardi 151. I saw him slumped over by the counter as I mixed vodka and 7-Up. We started casually talking, and when he found out I liked football, he said (with slurred speech):
“You’re not as lame as I thought you were.”
Brutal.
We kept talking. Then we kissed. And for a second I thought, maybe he’s not an asshole after all.
WRONG.
“I kissed a drunk girl.
Why do I do these things I do to myself?
I kissed a drunk girl.
Now, I’m sure I could have been anybody else.”
We went back to school after this wild 7-person party (that I’m pretty sure was meant to be a teenage orgy). Of course, I went right back to being the butt of their jokes.
I had homeboy’s number, so I called him. I thought, Maybe he secretly likes me.
No. He liked my friend. She rejected him. He got drunk, and I was the nearest unsuspecting soul.
But of course, that was too much for my 14-year-old brain to comprehend. I gave up after a few ignored calls.
Sometimes, I still see myself as that awkward, uncool, 14-year-old girl with glasses and no boobs. Eventually, I’ll shake that image of myself.
Granted, I’m still awkward AF—just now, I embrace it instead of run from it.
See me, love me. Take me as I am or not at all.
He wasn’t the first guy I liked who didn’t like me back, and he wouldn’t be the last.
I have a penchant for it…
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