Blame it on the Alcohol
blame it on the vodka, blame it on the henny
Your twenty-first birthday is supposed to be a blast.
It's made out to be this wonderful night, when you let loose, do things that you normally wouldn't do (sober), and if you're lucky, you won't remember a single detail in the morning. You just have to take shots (and take them off of every person in the room) and you just have to make a fool of yourself doing drunken karaoke or table-dancing or taking your clothing off in public places.
I wanted to be far away from it all, but no one would allow that.
"It's your birthday," they said, "Have fun. Go crazy." Hands tugged on my wrists, giggling sailed to my ears, beer wafted up to my nose. Just one push and I was leaning on the bar for support, a few shot glasses being shoved at my face and chants for me to drink began.
The night would be over soon. I wouldn't have to endure it for much longer, before my friends were too inebriated to control me.
One shot, two shots, five shots, eight shots. Raspberry vodka, coconut rum, peppermint schnapps. Every flavor of every type of alcohol that my friends could get their hands on, I was made to drink it. No one listened to me, no one heard the words I was trying to say about why it was generally a bad idea for me to be drinking so much. All they wanted to see was me downing drink after drink.
The lights in the bar were too bright, blinding my suddenly-sensitive eyes and causing my head to spin painfully. A stumble or two later, I found myself in the bathroom, throwing up everything that my friends had pratically force-fed me. Just like that, the raspberry vodka, the coconut rum, the peppermint schnapps - everything was gone.
A knock on my bathroom stall caused me to turn around and face the music. He was there, a smile as a peace offering.
"Okay?"
"No."
"Happy birthday."
It's made out to be this wonderful night, when you let loose, do things that you normally wouldn't do (sober), and if you're lucky, you won't remember a single detail in the morning. You just have to take shots (and take them off of every person in the room) and you just have to make a fool of yourself doing drunken karaoke or table-dancing or taking your clothing off in public places.
I wanted to be far away from it all, but no one would allow that.
"It's your birthday," they said, "Have fun. Go crazy." Hands tugged on my wrists, giggling sailed to my ears, beer wafted up to my nose. Just one push and I was leaning on the bar for support, a few shot glasses being shoved at my face and chants for me to drink began.
The night would be over soon. I wouldn't have to endure it for much longer, before my friends were too inebriated to control me.
One shot, two shots, five shots, eight shots. Raspberry vodka, coconut rum, peppermint schnapps. Every flavor of every type of alcohol that my friends could get their hands on, I was made to drink it. No one listened to me, no one heard the words I was trying to say about why it was generally a bad idea for me to be drinking so much. All they wanted to see was me downing drink after drink.
The lights in the bar were too bright, blinding my suddenly-sensitive eyes and causing my head to spin painfully. A stumble or two later, I found myself in the bathroom, throwing up everything that my friends had pratically force-fed me. Just like that, the raspberry vodka, the coconut rum, the peppermint schnapps - everything was gone.
A knock on my bathroom stall caused me to turn around and face the music. He was there, a smile as a peace offering.
"Okay?"
"No."
"Happy birthday."
♠ ♠ ♠
Lyrics from "Blame It" by Jamie Foxx. XD