blogging

Withdrawal madness

Raise your hands if you’ve been affected by mental health problems.

If your hand’s up, you maybe know that medication can do a great deal – just by giving you the possibility of functioning like a normal human being, you know, people you don’t have a full-blown meltdown when they’re listening to a (semi) sad song.

At first I thought, I’d be fine. Which is the usual approach of a psychologically damaged brain. Better even, I was proven right, since I was doing so much coke that it actually did trick my brain brain into being happy for another two weeks. But then I stopped the hardcore partying and I felt like shit after my last “enhanced” night. And being the wimp that I am, I actually considered calling an ambulance when I had the impression that my head would explode (no exaggeration here, it really felt like that), so fun pills or powders aren’t really my thing, even though I love the aesthetics. I mean Heroine Chic is somewhat to die for. Pun intended.

Anyways, the last couple of days were rough, like really rough. I felt like a Dementor had sucked all will to live out of me. And since I didn’t have a new prescription for my FDA approved drugs, I did some self medication. Spoiler: It wasn’t too efficient.

I honestly thought that my brain had a kind of a restart thanks to all the coke. I was under the impression that it understood for once how to react to happy hormones. After my coke adventures it seemed like everything was normal. I didn’t have a crash, before this day with crazy headaches, I just felt normal. Btw, I still think that micro dosing could be super helpful, so I can’t wait to see where studies are going with this. (Even though honestly, why wait for the fucking studies? Let’s just find a couple of voluntary guinea pigs to test it out, just like we did with the most controversial vaccine there is right now.)

However, since I, like most depressive people, am bad at keeping track of time, I have no ability or patience to plan ahead. Logical consequence, I ran out of meds, but it still took me by surprise.

I’m not great at adulting in general. Actually, I really suck at it. It’s now been the umpteenth time that I ran out of antidepressants without having a new prescription ready to use. And even though I’ve been fine for almost three weeks, I’m now experiencing pretty bad withdrawal symptoms.

Weirdly enough, though, there’s something funny about this situation. Maybe you’ve heard of the podcast The Hilarious World of Depression. The host always asks people on the podcast if they think that depression can be funny. At first, I thought “What a dumb question”. But now, I find it rather funny when I just start crying without any reason. I went to see my therapist today. You can’t deny the comedy of me starting to cry at random questions. If I was a candidate for the elections, nobody would vote for me even though my program would probably be one of the best. No external determination, just self determination. But then I think of possibly having to reveal my thought process, and that’s just a very personal question that I’m not sure I wanna get into. In addition to that, my mind is usually all over the place, so I can’t even put two cohesive sentences together. How would I write about society or even politics? But I digress, as usual.

Anyway, I’ve been pretty emotional this week, Emotional enough to learn that going through self-inflicted withdrawal is an interesting experience. At least that’s how I see it, looking back on how this last week went. It started with very apparent body dysmorphia – which I experience constantly, but it got especially intense these last days. I found myself and my body just horrible, and it’s safe to say that it was definitely the lowest my self-esteem has been so far. Even when I had a phase where I was fantasizing about chopping off my saggy boobs, my overall opinion of my body was still better. It didn’t help that people confused me with a dude.

I mean yes, I’m freakishly tall, you should probably put me in a museum just to make future parents be aware of the horrible consequences an overuse of milk can have, but being seen as a completely different gender still hurts. I mean I’ve been stripped of all my feminine attributes in just one sentence. All that’s left is the freak.

As a natural consequence, I fell back into binging and purging. Even though I had many friends confirming that they very much perceived me in my real identity, I didn’t believe them. So now, I have an appointment for lipfillers which I’m actually looking forward to and a couple of evenings that I can write down as transformative crying in my diary.

To end this post on a positive note, I should probably add the following. A few weeks ago, a friend asked me what I’d do with my life if I could do anything. My reply was “End it”. My demented humor kicked in, sorry, not sorry. But now that I have these aesthetic procedures planned, I’m thinking “Why having all the work done for nothing? This shit is expensive”. So everyone can rest assured that I’ll stick around for a while, for better or worse. And I’ll still grace you with my stunning Halloween costumes, of course.

Standard
blogging

Exciting news

I don’t even know how often I’ve been writing this in the last couple of years, but: I know I haven’t been very active here lately, and I’m planning on changing this.

Those who have read my ramblings and bitchy texts for a while now will probably think “Yeah sure, tell us something new.” Well here it is:

This blog will soon be a project which I’ll do together with a very close friend of mine. Not only that. In addition to writing blog posts, we’re also working on a podcast!

The podcast will be in German, but the posts will continue to be in English as well as in German. Expect to learn about my friend’s and even more about my personal life and dating mishaps, fun anecdotes, and critical views about the world we live in. More, we’ll cover topics that I haven’t really addressed yet here, such as feminism and of course my current obsession that is astrology.

Of course, you will be the first ones to know when we launch and I hope it’ll be very soon. So far, we’ve advanced really well with making podcast episodes, and we’re currently working on creating posts for the blog.

We would like to hear what kind of topics you’d read and hear about. So please let us know in the comments and type in your suggestions. We’re super impatient to finally go online with all the content we’re now creating for you, but promised, it won’t be too long. Until then, check out Instagram to see what’s new.

Standard
https://www.highsnobiety.com/p/valentines-day-gifts-under-50/
blogging, relationship

Happy Valentine’s.

Oh hey, it’s this time of the year again. The one “holiday” that creeps up on you like that weird uncle you try to avoid at family reunions. It’s Valentine’s Day!

To be honest, I’m feeling pretty indifferent towards Valentine’s Day. It’s a little like New Year’s Eve. After you’ve had a ton of expectations that were never met, you sooner or later end up being happy with some booze and a box of noodles and falling asleep at 10pm. Valentine’s is exactly the same. I think the last time I was let’s say somewhat hopeful someone might send me a card was when I was 14 – naive, with braces and a chubby face. Of course, back then, the guys my age weren’t exactly effigies of Greek gods, so I have to admit that my disappointment was very limited when no one asked me “Will you be my Valentine?”. After that, I stopped caring. And I would probably even forget about the date if other women (the cliché seems to be true for some, unfortunately) didn’t talk about their non-existing plans.

Cliché aside, I have as many female friends who (are not single and) absolutely hate this day, claiming it’s way too commercial, and they don’t need a special day to remind them of doing something romantic for their significant other. I never really agreed with that. I mean of course it’s commercial af. But so is literally any other holiday. And yet, I never heard anyone bashing Christmas.
Also, who says you have to buy into the whole flowers, chocolate, dinner bullshit instead of simply viewing Valentine’s Day as the opportunity to plan an extra date night and simply make time for someone you love? And when it comes to romance, I’m not convinced that many people in long term relationships make that much time for it. Even people who are not in a relationship could probably be a little more expressive and tell their loved ones more often that they’re grateful they’re there.

That’s why I send out Happy Valentine’s messages to family and friends, even though it may seem a little weird. But then again, how often do we tell people close to us that we’re happy to have them in our lives? Though I’m not sending out cheesy stuff like this last phrase, I prefer awkward gifs.

Other than that, I always use February 14 to treat myself. Just because I like getting stuff. So I went shopping and bought a bunch of skincare products today (I’m not in a relationship, but I still wanna stay fuckable).

And to my surprise, I saw lots of guys carrying flowers. Flowers! In a day and age that seems to be determined by swiping and dick pics. Now isn’t that romantic?

Standard
blogging

Dealing with a fuckboy

I’ve done quite a bit of online dating in the last couple of years. Most of the time, I felt like it was not worth the hassle – I would go on dates and think: “I put on a bra for this???”; and only sometimes, it was intriguing, not always in a good way though.

So one of the good times were when I met up with someone smart involved in the fashion industry. We had quite a few things in common and I liked his approach on life – not a goody two-shoes at all, which I liked a lot. We had awesome conversations, about everything and nothing and I felt great to see that I’m not the only one with a twisted mind.

However, I soon noticed that there was a price to all the excitement, great conversation, and general coolness, because in his core, that guy was still a child.

After date 2, it became impossible to actually make plans. It would be like “Let’s meet up next Saturday”, but then when I wouldn’t hear a peep for the weeks(!) to come. Not even the original date was confirmed. It was highly annoying. Until I started making plans nonetheless, and then I got like a 20/80 chance that my date would remember that we had a date. LOL. Typical fuckboy.

At first, I was kinda upset by this, no likes to be stood up. I mean just imagine the level of entitlement necessary to think that another person is pretty much there to your disposal – without being a sex worker. (I honestly think that if the fuckboy hired a sex worker, that would be so much more noble.- He’d get to jerk off with no restrictions, and they’d make some money, without feeling used. Wouldn’t that be great? It wouldn’t be like one of those Tinder meetups, where one party is always expecting more than being a human Fleshlight for the other person. No it would be way more respectful, more real, even more natural than that.)

But girls, don’t put up with fuckboys, they’re not worth your time.

So how do you recognize fuckboys?

Well they make promises they can’t keep. They only make non-binding plans that can change any minute. They will ditch you in a second if anything “better” is waiting up around the corner. They’re only there for the attention you give them, the fun, the feeling that they’re oh so cool. They couldn’t care less about you as a person, you’re just a mirror to reflect their supposed awesomeness. And they’re sure not down for any sort of commitment. In short: They’re just a bunch of douches inconsiderate of your time and just not worth it.

So how not getting involved? The only general rule that helps most with not getting involved with a fuckboy is to stay yourself – only do the things that you want to do, and don’t put up with disrespectful behavior. You don’t have time for this. Don’t be a doormat. Simply stay true to yourself – that’s the biggest power you’ll ever have.

Standard
blogging

Dating sober

It’s been a while since I wanted to write this article, actually since I listened to an episode of This Is Why You’re Single where they discussed the exact same topic.

So for everyone who doesn’t know my background: I’m from East Germany, where people drink a lot. Then I lived in France, where people drink a lot. During that time, I worked in a bar, where we used to drink a lot. And then I moved back to Germany, worked at a bar and got re-engaged with a student’s initiative where we do an exchange program with France – and of course, drink a lot. So as you can maybe tell, I’m not the perfect candidate for dating without booze. In fact, I’ve always dreaded it. I mean, no matter where you live, if you’re really not lucky with the weather and if you’ve already brought your date to all the places where you can play darts/bowling/table tennis/ minigolf, there are not that many options left. Well, there’s the movies, but going to the movies on a date is like already telling your date that you rather won’t hear them talking and are only willing to meet them in the dark. Not so great. Then there’s the museum. Oh sorry, I was kidding. I guess I don’t even have to talk about going to the theater/ a poetry slam/ anything in a shabby basement where you’ll either get murdered or endure a horrible date.

The only cultural activity on my list of possible places for a date would be a comedy show. Just to make sure that my date had the same twisted humour as I do.

However, all of these activities are so much better when drunk. Especially the (pseudo-)cultural stuff. I remember when I went on a date watching the latest Hangover movie. I brought tiny bottles of wine which we snuck in, and I just got trashed. It was awesome. (L’abus d’acool est dangereux pour la santé.)

However, as much as I love the mind enhancing liquid, I’ve had a few sober dates, lately, which was nice, just to change things up a little.

No seriously, it was really nice to feel more in control. Not that I don’t usually feel this way, but there’s still a difference between the sober me and the me who’s had a few glasses. For the record, without the booze, I’m also probably more of a critic. So the fact that the dates went well is actually pretty surprising to me.

However, having to plan a sober date is suuuuper tough. I mean where would you go? The shitty theater or poetry slam only gets funny with booze – as does the weird art exhibit. You can’t check out the latest, most hyped cocktail bar, because it’s a cocktail bar. And going to café just seems like badly spent money.

To me, the only options you can do with anyone anytime are dinner and brunch. If only I didn’t have a ton of food allergies. Besides, who does brunch without having mimosas?

So, even though I acknowledge the advantages of sober dating – wait, did I say advantages? No, it’s just one advantage. Your ability of correctly assessing a situation will maybe be more accurate. (Depending on your general ability to connecting with people.) But yeah, that’s pretty much it. Also, seeing people drunk reveals an awful lot about their personalities. I’d say get your date shitfaced.

Verdict: There’s no point of dating sober. (Unless if you’re a former alcoholic of course.) Let your freak out! You only live once.

Standard
blogging, lifestyle, relationship

The Front Porch Test

If you’ve watched How I Met Your Mother, you probably know Lily’s Front Porch Test. If you don’t, go watch it right now, because you’re missing a huge part of pop culture and also a great deal of life advice. Honestly, even after rewatching every episode at least 4 times, I can’t argue that pretty much everything in the show is somewhat applicable to my life. Well, except maybe the goat and getting injured by my friends.

Anyway, there’s this one episode that I’ve been thinking about a lot lately, it’s The Front Porch Test. If you haven’t seen the show (watch it!): The Front Porch Test is basically an estimation of how well your date will integrate themselves into your group of friends and how well they will interact with them. The ideal is that the entire group grows old together and spends fun afternoons together playing a fictive card game on someone’s front porch.

Also, two of my closest friends are getting married this year, and so thinking of who would be fun and suitable enough to bring to the wedding has become my very own Front Porch Test. No one wants to look at photos and say, “Oh, there’s the […] people I love most in the world. And Bob.” So now I try to imagine who would be a great wedding date (even if I won’t bring a date – I’m writing this for the bride to be and who’s probably been like “Wtf, you’re not getting a + one!” this past minute. I love you. :*)

So as you guessed, similar to the show, my friends and I are super tight. And for some outsiders, we may come across as this weird community with funny rules that don’t match conventional ways. Sometimes, we joke about creating a cult which promotes an alternative lifestyle, similar to some in the 70s. In short, we’re a weird but very loving and loyal little bunch and especially during this last year, I’ve realized that my friends truly are my second family, as cliché as that sounds.

However, I also know that our group dynamic might not be for everyone and that some people would probably feel a little overwhelmed. And so with that in mind, whenever I was on a date, I started trying to imagine what would happen if I threw my date into this group.

Most of the time, things have ended way before the question of meeting the other person’s friends has even come up. But for the other times, it’s been interesting to watch. Though, I’d say that except for one, most of them managed rather meeehhh – which wasn’t a good sign, of course.

Sometimes, I imagine having people meet my friends who probably won’t be that comfortable with their openness and absence of polite filters. And just for the sake of my own entertainment, I actually invite them to everything. But then I think of how well they would actually fit in the group, and let’s say that I’d rather be surprised if it was a good match.

Now that could be a very conclusive assessment about my personality and my romantic choices. But this text isn’t about me, at least not primarily, so fuck that – I’m perfect.

Yet, I haven’t really met anyone who was comfortable enough with my friends. And since they’re the greatest part of my life, I would never want to date anyone who doesn’t fit in our cute little special group.

Because in the end, if there’s no one to count on, you can always count on your friends.

Standard
blogging

Don’t you wanna follow me back?

I guess it’s impossible to run out of topics when you write about online dating, for the better and the worse.

One thing I always found very amusing was the moment when you exchange socials or even a number. When I gave out my number, most of the time I’d be like “Please no dick pic, please no dick pic.” Btw, I don’t understand why guys would send them in the first place. Why not start with other body parts instead? If a pic of your dick is all you have to offer, then I’m just not interested. Or is the dick pic the result of a long time of reflection, where the guy asks himself: What do I have in common with a Greek god? (If you didn’t get that joke, just google Greek god statue and have a look at their penises.)

So, I’m usually not giving out my number very easily. Instead, I like to go with my instagram account. Which is perfect actually, because that way, the dude sees that there’s less of a chance that I’m a 50 yo dude and because that even without adding each other, you can text.

But sometimes I get the feeling that some people aren’t totally easygoing when it comes to staying in touch with someone via instagram. And funnily, the ones who only have like a handful of followers seem to be the thirstiest and the most eager to gain more followers. So what usually happens is that they follow me – which I never asked them to do, I just gave them my handle so that they can stalk me as much as they like, but that doesn’t mean I’m engaging. It’s like doing the starfish in bed, just that it’s on social media. And then, I can honestly just wait for the question: “Don’t you wanna follow me back?” …. And me like:

Seriously, why would you even ask that question? It’s like asking: “But why haven’t you said anything about my new haircut?” Well, it’s ugly af, I’m not to look at that more often than I need to. So sorry, not sorry, I’m not going to follow your shitty insta account. Otherwise, I would have hit that button already. But I didn’t, so just draw your conlusions from that.

But keep sending me nice messages, please.

Standard
blogging

What would you do if you died tomorrow?

I know, that’s such a corny question. So corny that it’s close to having a tattoo that says Carpe Diem. So corny that Nicholas Sparks would answer with a poop emoji if you texted him that question. And yet, that question popped into my head yesterday. (Well I guess I have a predisposition for corny stuff, I do love romcoms after all.)

Before I’m getting into details, it’s maybe a good idea to give you some background information first. So for a few weeks know, I’m noticing once again that I probably can’t eat all types of food. I’m sparing you the details, but I think it’s pretty safe to say that my intestins are not reacting well to wheat and/or gluten. And maybe some other stuff, too, since it’s been almost impossible for me to eat anything without some sort of complications. Of course, I’ve already seen a doctor and am currently doing all the exams to know what exactly is causing problems, but so far, there hasn’t been anything conclusive. But I was asked if we there were cases of cancer in my family. My doctor has such great humor.

Now I don’t think that I have cancer or anything severe, but I still asked myself: If that were the case and if I died tomorrow, would I be satisfied with my life so far? Would there be anything I regret? And even though I don’t have any regrets, my answer to the first question would be “It was ok.” Just that, nothing more, nothing less.

Have you heard of the marshmallow experiment? Where kids receive one marshmallow and if they manage to wait for a certain amount of time without eating that marshmallow, they receive another one? The marshmallow experiment supposedly shows who’s going to be successful in life (people who can make sacrifices for now to have a better result later) and who isn’t. I alsways thought I would be part of the latter. Though I would have done pretty well on the marshmallow experiment as I find marshmallows disgusting. But as for everything else, I find it incredibly hard and unnecessary to make sacrifices. My mom would say that’s because of my astrological sign, but I just think, if I can have something right now, why wait? However, I’ve tried to make some responsible choices, and since there’s no one else but me who’s paying for my fancies, holding back on certain things has become rather easy.

I’ve postponed travels because I thought it would be smarter to wait and really plan everything instead of just going somewhere, I’ve partly sacrificed my social life because I want to be successful in my work (and ultimatively earn a shitload of money of course). However, when thinking of the very abstract idea of dying tomorrow, these decisions, as smart as they may be in the moment, don’t seem smart at all. On the contrary.

If I was on my deathbed tomorrow, I would definitely be sad about not having spent enough time with my friends and not having travelled to all the places I wanted to. Also, it would also suck to acknowledge that I haven’t found a person to travel with, yet. I mean it’s awesome to be independent and stuff, but if it means doing stuff alone most of the time, it’s not always that great.

So what’s my verdict from this thought experiment? I sure don’t want to reverse my entire lifestyle. My work and professional success will always be very important to me as will be my independence. So to find a balance between me being somewhat of a workaholic, I will also focus on keeping my friendships strong and building new relationships as well. And I’m also planning my next vacation.

PS: Leave a comment if you recognize the featured image 🙂

Standard
blogging, relationship

Sexy talk

Quite recently, I had a conversation with a firend about what makes good sex. And the thing we agreed on – and which is also common knowledge tbh – was that communication is key. So far so good. But how do you get there?

I couldn’t count the numbers of articles I’ve read on that subject. I mean I’ve been reading women’s magazines for more than a decade now. And though back then, some of them passed on rather outdated views (which they of course later rectified once people reme,bered feminism), there was one general advice: Just be open about what you want and what you don’t. And in theory, that’s great advice. But what do you do if you just have no clue how to address the subject at all? Or if you only know what you don’t like? I guess no one would be happy about hearing “No, not like that.” “Not like that either.” “Stop, that’s too…” and “Well, I’m all dried out now.”

Also, not all people are cool and open-minded, and not everyone has had the luxury of having people appreciate when you tell them what you like/dislike or even how you feel – not even if it’s in both of your interest. I was actually surprised how much shame people can feel about what turns them on: they’re afraid of being seen as perverts or gay or simply weirdos. (Somehow I thought only women have this problem of being super self-conscious, sometimes. Which is BS of course.) Also, I have a real question here: Since most of our sexual desires somewhat stem from childhood, aren’t we all weirdos? I mean what makes one thing weird and not another?

Anyway, when we talk about sex, I think that most of us believe that unless if it’s a random hookup, it should feel special and intimate. And as cliché as it sounds, maybe sex should be something you only have with a very special someone. But then again I’m sure everyone likes to think of themselves as special – though that doesn’t mean that they’re special for you. You might just find them meeehhh, and that’s ok, too.

However, it doesn’t matter if it’s just a hookup or something more serious, I always thought that saying what you want in bed can be a little daunting. Especially when it’s more serious. (If you already know that you’re never going to see that person again, who cares?) But tbh, I find it just as daunting even if I already know it’s nothing serious and nothing that’ll last. Have you ever found in the situation where you wonder “Is pulling hair ok?”, “How rough or gentle should I be?”, Is it ok if I don’t engage in oral sex immediately?” without really daring to ask a single one of these questions? Or am I the only neurotic person here?

We only learn about sex in theory. And though everything else would be super weird (hello ancient Greece), the fact that we don’t get any practice before actually practizing it is very annoying. There’s no chance to learn how it’s done but try and error. How frustrating is that? Especially since everything you thought you knew can change completely with a different partner. Besides, all of that kinda means you also have to know what you like yourself.

Some of the articles I read gave the advice to just “show your partner” what gets you going and just masturbate in front of them. In theory, that’s no bad advice. But in reality, how many people find it creepy if you watch them sleep? So what makes watching someone masturbate any better? Besides, I would feel like something private is being turned into a show where I need to perform. And guess what, it would do absolutely nothing for me. Instead, I’d think “Can he please cum from watching me so that I can be done with this?”

Btw, while I’m writing all this, well aware that I sound like the prudest prude who hates sex, I’m actually wondering how it’s possible that my subconscious seems to focus on the guy getting off. I mean with feminism being trending, there’s also a bunch of media which state that society focusses on the desires of hetero men / male ejaculation. And I never thought that I would fall into this pattern, but apparently I do. Or otherwise I wouldn’t have this “let’s get this over with”-mentality.

Though one important point is that I’m really tired of explaining things to people. Until recently, I worked as a tutor. The last thing I wanna do after finishing work is explaining to someone how to do stuff.

So, as a solution to all this, I guess I’ll just do some name dropping and mention Kenneth Play to everyone I’m getting involved with. (As for finding out about the guys preferences, their shyness never really lastet longer than the two minutes of saying “I don’t know, maybe you’ll find that weird/gay/perverse..”) And I will continue to listen to The Prude and the Pornstar and This is Why You’re Single.

Standard
blogging

“Being drunk adds value to everything else in life.”

That is by far my most favorite quote from KUWTK! You cannot imagine how much I love Khloé for saying that. As soon as I heard it, I decided: “That’s going to be my motto.” Though tbh, it’s already been my motto, I just never put it in these words.

Funnily, I started drinking kinda late. When I was 17, it was a very good year… No, I was 18, actually. But since I didn’t do the whole take shots-drink-alcopops-and-use-funnels-thing (except for 1,2 occasions), I actually learned how to appreciate wine. Especially because I lived in France during that time.

Not that we don’t appreciate drinking in Germany, we mainly just use less sophisticated beverages. Think about it: Drinking beer at 10 AM is trashy AF. But having mimosas for breakfast is perfectly acceptable. Same goes for wine vs beer at noon.

Besides learning how to appreciate wine, I also noticed that it makes everyone’s company so much more enjoyable. Therefore, I wasn’t surprised when a former boyfriend told me that his family would pretty much empty an entire cellar during one family meeting. And I could totally relate – my family does exactly the same. But it’s not only your family that gets nicer with a few more glasses. I always find myself in way more interesting conversations or situations. After all, alcohol is a social lubricant, why else would they offer it en masse on The Bachelor? Though maybe I should add that I’m very friendly when drunk, I don’t get aggressive, unless there’s a chair I can fight over. (There was one funny incident in a bar. A good friend and I were sitting at a table with 3 chairs and since the bar was still empty at that time, I just put my bag on the third chair. One bottle of wine later, some dude came over and just wanted to grab the chair without asking. So I made this huge fight out of it and ended up yelling at him. I also think my friend was terrified.)

And I rarely get sad, either. On the contrary, I’m usually a little funnier and even wittier, or maybe it just seems like it because my senses are dulled, but I think that I’m at least a little more entertaining in one way or another. I also think that wine makes me more creative. It shuts up the inner critic. That’s why I barely ever write without a glass or two. (Or three, or four, or five…) Also, even though I would never consider me a writer, I’d love to be one. And the great ones, Ernest Hemingway, Edgar Allan Poe, Truman Capote, Hunter S. Thompson weren’t known for their healthy lifestyle and their addiction to juice cleanses. Well, except grape juice.

And aren’t the crazy things you think, feel, say, do while being drunk what makes a great story?

Standard