At approximately 11 p.m. on Saturday I realized that I was hammered. I had already drank about my body weight in Keystone Light, which is saying a lot for my liver considering I only weigh about 100 pounds.

The rest of the night is all a blur of black light, faces and lots of giggling. I’ll admit, when I’m sauced, and even when I’m not, I’m quite the giggler. I can’t help it; somehow after nine drinks everything just seems much funnier.

Except my roommate’s boyfriend. He is never funny. When we are drinking together I let my feelings about him be known, to all who will listen and even those who don’t want to. Everything about this kid is just wildly inappropriate. I am a firm believer that your true feelings are often expressed while drinking, so I thought it would be a perfect time for me to tell her how I feel about him.

But it wasn’t a good time.

I proceeded to berate her for 10 solid minutes about why she should dump his sorry ass and hook up with other fine men. It’s a good thing she’s forgiving and didn’t sabotage my life, as I would have done had our positions been switched.

Also, do not pour me a foamy beer. Ever.

After pre-gaming, we went to a frat party where the pledges were in charge. This was entirely unacceptable. If you don’t want to experience my wrath, learn how to pour a beer properly. If you can’t, I will suggest that you be ‘fired’ from your fraternity, which I have since discovered is not actually possible.

Then came the dancing.

I love to dance, especially with a few drinks in me, and since I had already had more than a few I was set to rock the dance floor. Unfortunately, some of my dance moves were misconstrued by a friend who asked my boyfriend if he ever I thought I was a lesbian. For the record, I am not a lesbian, never have been and don’t foresee that changing. If it does, I will be sure to let everyone know – probably while I’m drunk.

My friends then decided to ditch the party and move on to a drunken hotspot – Kimmel. Word on the street is I ordered tacos and mashed potatoes with a lemon iced tea, but the next thing I remember is heading back to Watson.

While using the facilities there, I discovered I was bleeding profusely from my right middle finger.

At first I thought maybe I had gotten in a knife fight, but I felt like I would remember that – and have gotten many more cuts. So I went back to my friends with my finger in my mouth to prevent massive blood loss and possible death, and declared it was time for bed.

It was only 1 a.m. and I was ready to pass out. So I did as I always do: threw my jewelry and clothing on the floor, pulled the nicely laid out covers over my head and plopped in the middle of the bed – too bad I was supposed to be sharing it with someone else.

What I have learned from all of this is that you should not drink your body weight in beer, or any alcohol for that matter. You will do and say ridiculous things – such as writing this column.

Elyse Andrews is a sophomore newspaper major. E-mail her at ecandrew@syr.edu.

Published on March 3, 2004 at 12:00 pm