Wednesday, November 17, 2010

turning eighteen in october

Trying to do my research paper was killing my brain cells and I wasn't feeling very good so I did a spoof introduction about myself that turned into a strange story into what I felt about growing a year older last month.

oh welly boots, enjoy!

Hi, my name is Bridget Jeanne. I just turned 18 last month. According to the local legal system, I am legal and I can buy alcohol and cigarettesn as much as I would like and watch M18 movies. I am really pleased about expanding my film horizon. Once upon a time, I did look forward to drinking alcohol. You see, I didn’t really like myself or what I did (to be honest, what I hadn’t done) and so I thought alcohol was the solution to all my problems. I would drink and all my inhibitions would fall apart and finally, I would be a free woman but alas, things aren’t always as they seem. The first time I drank, I turned very red and my face let out a funny warm feeling. It wasn’t bad but it good either. The second time was after a rehersal for a production, I didn’t do very well that day and I was down so I went to the stupid 7-11 at the station and bought a can of Japanese peach liquor that only contained a neglible amount of alcohol. My face turned red within minutes and I felt completely sober at the end of the can. I rode home, my dad driving the car. Once my dad had dropped my friend off at her house, I slept like I hadn’t slept in months- no, years. I suffer from terrible, terrible spouts of insomnia. Anyway as I was saying, I slept really deeply. I reached hope, dwasn’tragged myself to my bed only half-awake and collasped on the bed without showering or even changing my clothes- something I did for the first time. I awoke in a daze at 3 in the morning, rolled on the floor because I felt like barfing and I don’t like the feeling of barfing and the icy cold sensation of the floor always made that feeling better and in more cases than one, put the idea off from my stomach. Ever since then, I have ingrained into my brain that alcohol in asians equals to redness on the face, a funny warm sensation and barfing. It does nothing good to those without the stupid enzyme, the one that breaks down the stupid ethanol quick enough. Basically, the moral of the story is that alcohol doesn’t solve your problems because you are still stupidly sober at the end of the day.

Smoking? I could never be bothered. I didn’t want to die of lung cancer, golly gee, no way. Though I did have a dream about smoking and liking it but this only heightened my fear of cigarettes and the second-hand smoke.

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