Going out with a bang

So last night was The Business School banquet. I wish I could say I kept my composure. I didn’t.

When I arrived at the banquet hall, I realized that they were frisking us and checking our purses for alcohol. I had, unluckily, brought with me two (250ml) bottles of alcohol. I chugged one and hid another one beside a vending machine, which I planned to retrieve later. Chugging a 250ml mixture of vodka and coke (mostly vodka) at 6pm was not the smartest decision I’ve ever made. Within 20 minutes, I was undeniably drunk. Luckily, and let me just throw this out there because I am quite certain of this, I am the best drunk in the world. When I am drunk, I can act completely sober. As in, no one at my table knew I was drunk (other than the one person I told), not even my accounting professor, who was sitting with us. I talked to her for a good 15-20 minutes about the course, designations after the course, and career prospects. According to the one person at the table who knew I was drunk and witnessed all of this, I made some very sensible comments. He was in absolute shock of how composed I was. No one realized I was drunk – much less how drunk I was (the room was spinning and I probably could not walk in a straight line if I was asked to). Ergo, I am the best drunk in the world.
But because I couldn’t keep it to myself, I let a few more people into the loop about my drunken state. Since they were so shocked at how composed I had been throughout dinner, the word spread quickly, and soon, half my class knew I was anything but sober. While this was funny amongst ourselves, a few professors overheard, and my operations professor (a very old and pervy man) came over to talk to me. This was weird, obviously, because when I see him outside of class, we never exchange more than a courteous “Hello.” For most of the conversation, he was looking down my dress (I was sitting and he was standing, which was probably not a good call, but I didn’t trust myself to be standing) and had his hand on my shoulder. May I remind you that the man is a million years old?

But drunk me brushed it off as no biggie – everyone knew our ops prof was pervy – and I continued being overly happy. Although drunk me is great at saying sensible, sober-sounding things, drunk me is also a lot more friendly. Sober me probably would have made small talk with a good number of people, but drunk me was flying around the banquet hall, saying hellos and giving hugs. Yes, I give a lot of hugs when I’m drunk. I am also a flirt when I am drunk (the only time I seem to pick up on flirting, apparently), and DEB honed in on that fact right away after I hugged him and cooed “I’ve missed you since Boston!” He told me he had missed me as well. Another hug. Then he asked if he was going to see me in the summer – he was working in The City after all – and I said, absolutely, we can lunch! He made me check his phone for my number, and I confirmed that he had the right number. In the middle of whatever he was saying, I exclaimed, “You have beautiful eyes.”
“Thank you! I get that a lot.”
“I never noticed.” – a lie, obviously, since his name is DreamyEyedBoy. I squinted my eyes as I stared into his. “What colour are they?”
“I don’t know, they change.”
“My eyes don’t change colour. I have boring eyes,” I stated, matter-of-factly.
He laughed and his eyes twinkled. “You are unbelievably cute.” Another hug. We must have hugged four times in the span of four minutes.

I exchanged the same sort of banter with NB. Since those were the only two boys with whom I had had legitimate flirting history, I felt like I had accomplished my mission for intoxication by the time I returned to my seat.

I flirted with a few more boys that evening. Not flirting with words so much as with photos. I didn’t even have a camera, so the photos ended up in the possession of a variety of people. In some photos, a boy and I would embrace passionately as if we had been separated by a long war. In some photos, a boy would give me a piggy-back ride, as if I was a little kid. In some photos, a boy would kiss my hand on bended knee. This was all unplanned. For some reason, the boy just got down on one knee, took my hand, and kissed it. It’s surprising how gentlemanly my classmates are when they flirt with me. I guess I come off more feminine than I feel – or maybe it was the pink dress I was wearing that night. In one picture, a boy even picked me up (he is 6’5 or something ridiculous) and spun me. This scene was so cute that we had to do it several times for the benefit of everyone with a camera. My flirty photography was getting a lot of attention, and the girls in the room got a little jealous. One girl even asked the boy to do the same lift-and-spin for her. Except she is not a small, Asian girl, and the boy politely refused.

Which made me realize: I have really underestimated the power of being cute and small. I mean, the slightest bit of boldness and there were boys lined up to take pictures with me, scoop me in their arms and twirl me.
I can’t believe how clueless I was about this phenomenon. It turns out being cute, small, and Asian is an automatic “in” with the majority of guys in the room. Being outgoing and silly just made it that much easier. I have never had to work less to get the attention of an entire roomful of people. I felt fabulous.

I ended up going home early with CBA. I had gotten as much fun out of my intoxication as I was going to get. Nonetheless, it was weird to be leaving at midnight; in first-year, a night like this would not end until 4 or 5 in the morning. But if there is anything I have learned from my wild nights out, it is to get out while the going is still good, because it only goes downhill from there.

Thus, I ended my first year in The Business School, not with a whimper but a bang.