The United States is only the Land of the Free if you are a heterosexual Caucasian male.
Minorities experiencing racism does not say freedom to me. Anyone who thinks racism does not exist, just because we have a Black president, has clearly never walked in the shoes of a person of color in a predominantly white neighborhood.
Allowing the government to tell women what they can and cannot do with their bodies, just because “the Bible says so,” does not say freedom to me.
Telling same-sex couples that they cannot get married or adopt children, just because “the Bible says so,” does not say freedom to me.
When the law does not protect the LGBT community from discrimination in the workplace, that does not say freedom to me.
When the so-called “Land of the Free” is home to the world’s largest prison population, that certainly does not say freedom to me.
If I, as an atheist, cannot walk in public without Mormons shoving the teachings of Jesus down my throat, and then judging me for not believing in god, that does not say freedom to me.
I could probably go on about why I cringe whenever people refer to the United States as the “Land of the Free,” when in reality, it only exists if you are a heterosexual Christian Caucasian male, but one thing is for sure: I am grateful that I, as an American, am able to practice my freedom of speech by voicing my frustrations with this country.
Happy 238th Birthday, America!
Wow, this is a hard one because a lot of my friends have taken such amazing care of me when I was drunk. Whether it was carrying me back to my dorm, giving me water and putting a garbage can by my side, offering their couch, or sticking by me whenever I was throwing up, all my friends have been amazing.
But if I had to absolutely pick one, it would be my good friend Alden.
Him and my other good friend, Eddy, were throwing themselves a birthday party because their birthdays fall within the same week. Once again, I got trashed, but instead of leaving me by myself, my friend Alden stuck with me through most of the night. Alden was the birthday boy, it was his party, and he could have been socializing with all the other people who showed up, but no matter how many times I insisted that I would be fine on my own, and that he should just have fun with everyone else, he insisted on staying by my side. He took care of me when I was puking in the bathroom, he carried me around while he was drunk himself, and he set up blankets and pillows for me to spend the night in.
All my friends do such an amazing job at taking care of me when I’m drunk, but what Alden did, took “showing how much you care for a person” to a whole new level, and it’s a feeling that I don’t get to experience that often, so it meant a lot to me.
With all this talk about people turning 21 and getting drunk, I feel like sharing my top three worst drunk moments… especially since some people tend to get amused by my drunken misery.
So, here are my top three worst drunken moments in order from the worst to the least worst of the worst:
1. Halloween 2012.
Three of my gay friends and I decided to celebrate Halloween in the bars in the Castro - San Francisco’s gayborhood. I do not remember which bars we went to or how much I drank, but I do remember that everything was running smoothly until we got on the taxi to head back to our dorms.
The taxi was a Ford Escape and as we were driving through the winding roads of one of San Francisco’s highest hills, I remember sitting in the backseat and turning around to puke in the trunk.
Needless to say, the taxi driver was pissed. Right away he pulled over, yelled at my friends and I, and demanded that we pay $160 for the damages done to the carpet rug in the trunk. Because we were broke college students, I pulled the carpet rug out of the trunk and threw it onto the road, hoping it would solve the problem, but it didn’t.
My friend talked our way out of having to pay the $160, but the taxi driver left us stranded on the side of a quiet road. Because there was a slim chance of a vacant taxi passing through this quiet road, we had no choice but to walk two miles back to the Castro to catch a different taxi.
We eventually caught our second taxi, but I threw up in that taxi as well.
Luckily, my friends spoke to each other loudly to hinder the sound of my puking.
As soon as we got back to campus, we paid the driver and ran before he turned around to find the throw up.
2. My 21st Birthday
I thought it would be extremely cliché to get trashed on my 21st birthday, but when you turn 21, there is no escaping getting wasted.
It was 2012. Not only did I turn 21, but it was my first time moving away from my parents, so that I could go to school in San Francisco. As a matter of fact, when I celebrated my 21st, I had been living away from home for only a week. Needless to say, the odds of me getting trashed were in my favor.
Before hitting the bars in the Castro, my friends and I pre-gamed with two shots of Vodka. Everything was fine, I was on a great level, and then everything came crashing down when I got to the bar. Literally.
I remember having my own cocktail, but when my friend let me try his AMF (Adios Mother Fucker), I knew I just had to have my own because it tasted good. As soon as I got my AMF, I downed it in one sitting. Because of the events to follow, I understood why they call it an “Adios Mother Fucker.”
As soon as the alcohol hit me, I could not even sit straight. I remember walking across the bar and collapsing right in the middle of the floor. Before I knew it, the bouncer was kicking me out of the bar. To make matters worse, all this was happening within 20 minutes of being at the bar.
I remember throwing up everywhere that night: The sidewalk, in front of a gas station, in the train station, in the train, in front of campus, and in my friend’s living room. There was even a moment when my friends had to hide me in a bush because the cops were driving by and I did not want to get cited for public intoxication.
Luckily, I threw up so much that I was not hungover the next morning.
3. Super Bowl 2013
Basically, I got overexcited.
Anyone who has drank with me, knows that I am a lightweight, and on the day of Super Bowl XLVII, I really pushed my limit, which was seven shots, and that limit is probably even lower now since I do not drink as often as I used to.
I took shots of Vodka, rum, whiskey, chased everything with beer, and then had some Bailey’s.
I was so drunk, that I was passed out by halftime show, and all I remember was throwing up in my friends’ bathroom.
To get me back to my dorm, my roommate had to carry me up a flight of stairs (I don’t know why we didn’t take the elevator?) and across the hallway… which could have gotten us in a lot of trouble because we lived across from the RA.
When my roommate and some friends laid me on my bed, I threw up all over my bedsheets. I was so drunk, that I could not even turn my body to puke into the garbage.
I know this may all sound bad because it seems like I get trashed and puke everywhere, but I am better now :)
Hopefully my parents never read this.
I’m doing my research on the public transportation system in D.C. (my boyfriend and I are going in August) and 18 minutes on a train takes you 4.30 miles.
Here in San Francisco, 18 minutes probably takes you 1.5 miles - at the most - because the trains in this city are so damn slow.
San Francisco, please do something about your shitty ass public transportation system because I honestly believe Muni is the worst in the country.
The temperature reaches 78 degrees and everyone is fanning themselves and seeking shade.
Then here I am, the person from L.A., who’s like, “78 degrees? In L.A., we call this winter!”
I was looking through old albums on my Facebook last night and it really made me miss the life I had when I lived in L.A…. besides the fact that I was living with parents, of course.
I miss being a little younger and feeling like I had the world at my feet because there was still so much in life to look forward to. I miss being unafraid to dream big because I was oblivious to the obstacles I would have to face to achieve my dreams. I miss the thrill and excitement of every new experience that life presented me with. Most of all, I miss my old friends.
Back in L.A., when I was having crappy days like I did yesterday, I would know exactly who to turn to, and that person would have the perfect recipe for making me feel better. It’s like my old friends and I were so perfectly connected and knew each other so well, that being there for each other when we needed someone most, came naturally.
Within the almost-two-years that I have been living in San Francisco, there were two occasions where I felt incredibly lost and lonely, and last night was one of those occasions. I was having a shitty and stressful day, and worst of all, I had no idea who to turn to. I can deal with feeling sad, stressed or angry, but what hurts is not knowing who you can rely on to go out of their way for you, thus adding loneliness to the pot of crappy emotions.
Back in L.A., whenever I needed someone most, there was someone there who would try their absolute best to go out of their way for me, just to be there for me, and I would do the same for them whenever they needed a friend. It’s like we genuinely cared and loved each other so much, that when someone was having a horrible day, our only instinct was to make that person feel better, regardless of what it might take.
I remember times when a friend would call me, and the moment I sensed he/she was on the verge of tears, my first response was, “I’m coming over and we’re going on a long drive.” And I would just make it happen, regardless of what my parents thought I was doing leaving the house at night. I remember other times when my friends would just sit with me in their car for more than an hour, just to make sure I was feeling a tad bit better, and they did it without complaining, and they made it happen without any excuses.
There are many things I miss about my life in L.A., but having at least one person I KNOW I can rely on to turn to on a crappy day is what I miss most.
1) When you’re waiting to board a train, wait for passengers to exit the damn train before you barge your way in. On top of that, keep to the side of the train doors so that you don’t block the way of passengers trying to exit.
2) If you’re sitting in a seat that is designated for seniors or those who are disabled, give up your damn seat for them or don’t sit there at all. It’s common courtesy AND the bus driver and/or other passengers don’t have to waste their time telling you to give it up.
3) If the train is packed, move in more so that other passengers can board the train. If you’re worried about personal space, don’t ride public transportation. When it’s rush hour, everyone is trying to get to their destination just as quickly as you are, so you’re no one special.
4) If the train is packed, the seat next to you is not your personal storage for your belongings, so give that seat to someone who needs to sit.
5) When exiting the subway station on an escalator, keep RIGHT to RIDE the escalator and keep LEFT to WALK up the escalator.
All you suburban people who act like you’re city boys and city girls, are not REAL city boys and city girls if you’re unaware about these basic socially accepted rules for riding public transportation. Don’t believe me? Then you obviously don’t use public transportation in cities like Chicago, New York and San Francisco. And you were obviously born and raised in the suburbs. And you should observe the behavior of people who ride public transportation every day.
I miss it so much, that I created an “I Love L.A.” playlist and have had it on repeat all day… even though the playlist only has four songs: We Run L.A. by Dr. Hollywood, To Live and Die in L.A. by Tupac, I Love L.A. by Randy Newman, and Los Angeles by Sugarcult.
Five more days and I’m back in the city of 70-degree winters, AMAZING food from ethnic enclaves you can’t find in the average city, beautiful sunsets, boulevards lined with palm trees, great beaches, and so many other great things that make L.A. home!
I love L.A.