I Don't Need Pants

Before I regale you with my next tale of complete embarrassment I feel that I need to make a little bit of a disclaimer. Parental units, if you are reading this I’m sorry for bringing shame upon the family. My bad.

When I was the young age of 23 I decided to explore this big world and participated in a study abroad program. My decision was completely last minute so it had to be somewhere that primarily spoke English. I originally thought Germany, I grew up there, was a native speaker when I was younger, and had family there. However since moving to the states when I was 12 my German was limited to “Ja,” nodding and smiling and eavesdropping on other German speakers. London was crazy expensive but just three hours away was a small country called Wales.

A few months into my new adventure my new friends and I made plans for my 24^th birthday. It involved seeing Beauty and the Beast by some touring company and then enjoying the bars on Wind Street. So, I’m going to skip the blah blah blah part. The play was awesome and a few peeps had to go because they were all responsible and had homework to do. The rest of us though, drank. And I mean we drank A LOT. By The time we decided to go home the bars were shutting down and we had to walk up this small hill to the taxi station. Since there were four of us we tried to find other students that lived in the student village so that we could save on the cab ride. And by find other students I mean drunkenly harass them. And by we, I mean me. It kind went something like this:

“HEY! HEY! HEY KID! Are you going to the village?” I’m also pointing at this kid even after my parents repeatedly told me that pointing was rude.

“Oh, uh, no,” He says as he’s ushering this tiny, skinny blonde chick into a cab.

“What?! You liar! I see you there ALL THE TIME!” Still pointing and now accusing someone I don’t know of lying.

“Oh, no you must have me confused with someone else.” Now he’s trying to get in the cab without me and friends.

“But duuuuuuuuuuuude! The cab ride will be soooooooo cheap if we share it! It’ll be split 6 ways!” I try to reason with him but instead I sound like a whiny baby. A drunk, cheap, whiny baby.

At this point he jumps in the cab and closes the door with such force I’m a tiny bit offended. One of the girls says “whatever” and that we can totally find more students from the village over at the taxi stand by that other club that’s a few streets over. We stumbled for what seemed like an eternity until we made it to the next taxi stand and guess what. There were NO STUDENTS. None! I bet that one guy texted everyone else to watch out for gaggle of drunk girls, 2 American, 1 British and 1 Welsh.

After we get a cab and make it the village we decided that we’re totally starving. Lucky for us there was a tiny fast food place right in the student village. Unfortunately for us it’s on top of the tiny convenience store with this stairs that are so steep that even sober people trip up and down them. I don’t remember the next part. Apparently I made it up the stairs, ordered food, took pictures with random kids I didn’t know, ate my food and made it safely down the stairs. This next part I do remember.

I made it back to my room and didn’t realize how loud I was muttering to myself until my dear, sweet roommate told me the next day. I walked into my room and was suddenly hit with Africa in the middle of summer heat because my bi-polar heater randomly turned on while I was gone. And here is a summarized version of the conversation I had with myself while stumbling from my door to the window.

“Oh my GAWD! It’s soooooooooooooo fucking hot in here! Why is it so damn hot?!?!”

Here is where I managed to open the window, turn the heater off and stumble back to the door, lean on it a little bit and realize I had my heavy pea coat on.

“WHY AM I STILL WEARING THIS?!!” I say this completely amazed as if it magically appeared on me out of nowhere.

I spend the next 5 minutes trying to unbutton my jacket only to become frustrated and pull it over like a hoodie and fling it across the room. Next, I kicked my shoes off and tore my shirt off. It was still Africa hot in there. I tried to take my jeans off but only ended up lying awkwardly on my side on my bed and kicking my legs in the air. Basically, I looked like I was riding an invisible bike when I was trying to take my jeans off. I eventually got them off and sat upright, in my underoos and tank top, hair a mess while loudly wondering, “Where are my fucking pants?” When I say pants I mean the yoga pants that I use to do yoga sleep in.

This then led me to kind of sort of stand up and throwing my blanket off my bed and still muttering, “What the hell. I need my pants!” I staggered around a little before leaning against my door and whining about how I couldn’t find my pants. 20 minutes later I gave and proclaimed, “Fuck it, I’ll sleep in my undies. I don’t need PANTS!”

Yeah, this was me.

     

When I woke up sometime that afternoon I looked around my room through squinted eyes and a painful headache and thought, “What the hell happened in here?” My window was open and half of my pea coat was hanging out of it, one sleeve blowing in the wind as if waving, hey! A drunken idiot lives here! One shoe had knocked my textbooks off my desk and the other shoe sitting was sitting on the window sill. Shirt was haphazardly on the floor; jeans crumbled by my bed and right next to them were my black yoga pants. It was then I heard the soft knocking on my door and my roommate quietly asking if I was ok, did I need some water and did I ever find my DAMN pants.

There’s another story, years later about me waking up to a bed covered in chicken nuggets but I’ll save that for another day.

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