Sometimes you just want to find a warm body at the bottom of that $10 pitcher. And if that's the name of your game during a night out, there's a chance that at least once in your life (unless you are Wilt Chamberlain), you will find yourself in a post-midnight tailspin due to the perceived inability to find that special someone. At the bar. Silly! Nevertheless, of the many kinds of alcohol-induced meltdowns out there, this is the one that most closely adheres to the Kübler-Ross grief cycle.
Sure, you've had a few cocktails — but it's not like you are drunk or anything! In fact, you feel amazing — you are the best version of yourself. Everything you say is hilarious, everyone in the bar wants to have sex with you, and your hair is just so incredibly shiny. Some might say that because you are gushing to a complete stranger while continuously touching them somewhere near their elbow, you are intoxicated. You laugh in their faces. This isn't called "alcohol." This is called "confidence," people. Get with it.
You've been throwing quite a few back tonight, and you've grown belligerent and paranoid. EVERYTHING IS SO ANNOYING. When did this bar get packed with stupid people? Why isn't that guy coming back over here to buy you another drink? And when did this damn bathroom line get so long? What the hell are women doing in there? Are they having in-depth conversations with their vaginas about how they're so drunk? Why did your friend tell everyone about that fight you had with your boss? Is she secretly trying to sabotage you? Maybe you should just go storming out of the bathroom and tell her how you really feel.
Okay, yes, you should probably wrap things up. Just one more drink before you head home. You don't want to suddenly sober up while taking public transportation. And hey, one more drink might actually make this place fun again. Frankly, your dance moves are heating up and all they need is a little liquid fuel to propel you towards lift off. Do you really need to leave? Sure you haven't met anyone you like. Yet. It could still happen. There are still men in this place who aren't leftover desperate creepers. If you just hang out by the bar making sexy faces for another 20 minutes, the person of your dreams will probably come buy you a martini.
You will never get laid. You should have just stayed home. It would have been cheaper and you could have caught up on your Netflix. Work tomorrow will be a complete disaster because you will have a post-bender stroke, which will prevent you from being coherent when it matters. You can barely afford the round of shots you bought, because you're a loser who doesn't have a good job because you're a drunk.
Okay, so you didn't wind up mattress-wrestling with someone tonight, and you're probably going to vomit in a shopping bag in a stairwell at the office tomorrow, but we've all been there. At least you had fun with your friends. You successfully executed the worm on the dance floor without giving yourself a traumatic brain injury. There's a pizza place around the corner and a DVR full of unwatched reality shows waiting for you at home. And the icing on your let-it-be cake: You didn't even lose your phone.
Sarah Hall lives in New York and swears this post has nothing to do with her weekend, nope, no siree! Follow her on Twitter: @sarahh314.
Image via Rachel67/Shutterstock.com.