I will admit it, I’m an awkward girl.  I’ll say goodbye to someone and then walk in the same direction as them with a stupid grin on my face.  I’ve messed up high fives more times than should be legally allowed.  I’ve called my roommates good friend (whom I’ve known for months) “Tyler,” when his name is “Lucas”…HOW DO YOU MESS THAT UP?  I’m able to take a perfectly normal moment and transform it into a typical scene in any Wes Anderson film (it’s a gift). The trouble is, I don’t realize how incredibly dorky I must look until looking back, and slapping my forehead accordingly.

So by the rules of physics (which I am unsurprisingly sucky at) it would only make sense that I would take this persona I’ve been cursed blessed with and apply to almost every sexual encounter I’ve experienced.  Well, of course, the beginnings are more of learning experiences rather than “fun timez.”   Now let’s time travel back 7 years when it all began…

Cue the hazy flashbacks and dream-like sound effects.

It’s 2002.  I am 12 years old and in 6th grade.  According to the more experienced middle-schoolers on the playground, I had a “boyfriend.”  This boy would talk to me on AOL (yeah…old skool), but we wouldn’t dare even look at each other during school.  I was so nervous to have a boy like me, I was completely unaware of how I should act around him.  Even at school basketball games together I was so scared just to sit by him because maybe he’d put his arm around me! (OMGG!!)  So one day I decided I needed to break out of my shell a bit.  My good friend lived by his friend, and on weekends I naturally spent most of the weekend there trying to make plans to have us all meet up and hang out.  For the 4 months we supposedly dated, this “weekend hang-out plan” worked literally 1 time.

That night my mom called me asking me our plans for the night, and I told her we were going to see a movie (lie). What I was really doing was sneaking out with my one friend to meet up with my “boyfriend” and his friend.  This rush I got from lying to my mom for the first time sent me on this adrenaline high of “I’M SO EFFIN’ COOL I CAN DO ANYTHING! I’M A REBEL!”  Later that night we eventually met up, and, as was naturally destined for me, it was awkward.  I’m pretty sure there was an unspoken agreement between the group that me and my “boyfriend” should seal the deal and KISS!

I can definitely say that feeling “nervous” was an understatement.  We stood there in the backyard in the dark for what seemed like hours in the middle of an mid-April night, as our friend sat on the curb of the street under the streetlight patiently waiting for the deed to be done.  It was chilly and I didn’t have a sweater, so I decided I was sick of being cold and waiting for my first kiss, so I leaned in so he’d get the idea.  He definitely got the idea, and as I was slowly ready for my first kiss to happen, even schizophrenically hearing the tune to “Dreams” by Cranberries in my head, that record scratch sound came into play at that very moment.

Instead of demonstrating a sweet (and normal) peck to be given, I felt something wet.  Huh? WTF David Blane?  He. Licked. My. Mouth.

He didn’t even start with a normal peck and move his tongue around, like an inexperienced 6th grader might.  He straight up licked my mouth like a melting ice cream cone in August.  Maybe he was expecting a sexified makeout session, or maybe he was expecting a normal kiss but started it off wrong?  Was it wrong that I was expecting just a peck?  So as a mature middle-schooler I was, I decided to stop… and start screaming.  I walked out of there wiping my mouth and ran to my friend so she’d get the idea that we had to leave NOW. 

I realize this story should be called “Seven Years After” instead of “The Morning After,” but I also know that first kisses tend to stick around in everyone’s memories. And this one just had to be shared. Anyone else have some first kiss horror stories?

As much as I would love to silently judge your drunken mistakes, I can’t help but  laugh it off, talk about you to my friends and hope that I just caught you after you had a horrible week (which is slightly understandable, right?) However, in most cases, I caught you in your element, flashing the party your new bedazzled thong while sloppily trying to climb up on the beer pong table to dance.  Ohh, here we go…

There are a few ways that you can tell you’re “that mess” the entire party is talking about (but you can’t hear because you’re busy screaming the lyrics of “If You Seek Amy”).

- Dancing with your arms above your head…to every song…on a table.
- Tossing your cookies on people or just barely before reaching the bathroom.
- Falling down (or even up) the stairs in front of everyone.
- Crying over…literally anything and everything
- “Oh my goddd i lovvee you!”
- Not being afraid to make out with that random guy (or girl) for a few pictures.
- Passing out in random places and finding “please insert here” with an arrow pointing down on your stomach when you wake up.
- Slowly disrobing at a rate of… every five minutes or less.
- Finding yourself hugging the toilet bowl at the end of the night tighter than when you hugged your teddy bear a decade earlier

Well, home girl, don’t sweat your already smeared makeup off, because I’m not criticizing!  This letter is for you drunkies who have taught me many valuable lessons from you’re absolutely annihilated nights.  After much observing of your dazed decisions, I don’t want to say “WTF is wrong with you!?” What I really want to say is Thanks.

Thanks for making me look so much better, mature, put together, and all around sexy while standing next to your drunk ass.

Thanks for being brave enough to steal that 40 oz. from the fridge, and then dumb enough to hand it over to me, FO’ FREE!

Thanks for running down the street screaming with just a tank top and jeans on (in 30 degree weather), allowing the cops to easily spot and tackle you before they get to me.

Thanks for leaving your jacket at the party. I love my new fleece!

Thanks for passing out in the bathroom so I could start flirting with the guy you were falling all over all night.

Thanks for drunkenly opening a tab and offering free drinks to everyone standing around you.

Thanks for giving me and my friends something to laugh at that night, and days later.

But most importantly, Thanks for teaching me how NOT to act at a party.

7 a.m.: Wake up. Still drunk from the bar last night? Mayyyybe.

9 a.m.: Arrive at the football stadium; crack your first beer.

9 a.m.-Noon: Tailgate your face off. Tailgating activities may or may not include: Beer pong, funneling, shotgunning, and general raging.

Noon: Kickoff. You’re highly buzzed, but still careful not to spill your overpriced stadium beer as you shake your foam finger at the other team.

7 p.m.: You pass out. Hey, it was a long day, man.

Now that’s what I call a waste of a Saturday night. I know that rallying for almost 12 hours straight can take its toll. Especially when you’re running on a few hours of sleep after a killer Friday night. But if you pace yourself, and plan your evening effectively, there’s no reason that you can’t take in both the football game and a killer kegger (or two).

1. Don’t Chug, Chill.

Get too drunk too quickly, and you’re likely to pass out before halftime, let alone make it till midnight. Tailgating festivities often require heavy drinking, so if you find yourself partaking in a shotgun contest, follow the beer with a water. Spreading out your alcohol intake will allow you to last longer. Afterall, following a tailgate with a party is like a party marathon. And don’t they tell marathon runners to pace themselves so they can make it to the finish line? Oh, the things college kids could learn from athletes.

2. Counteract with Caffeine.

Pound a Redbull on the way to the game, or start your bar night with a vodka and Redbull. Still chilly in your student section hoodie? Bring a thermos of coffee to the tailgate…then spike it with Bailey’s. Yum! Even if you’re really tired, however, monitor your caffeine intake. One or two cups of coffee or one energy drink should get you through the day.

3. Keep the Adrenaline Pumping.

If the excitement level declines, you’re energy is bound to follow suit. Your adrenaline is rushing as you cheer on your football team, and then you lose momentum in the downtime between the game and the party. Arrange a rowdy post-game dinner of wings and pizza with your fellow tailgaters, so you can recount all the great plays. It’ll keep you pumped, and you won’t even realize how much time has passed between your first beer and your last shot. Then, when you get to the party, keep yourself going by chatting up a hottie or signing up to be on the first beer pong team.

4. Steam Up Your Second Wind.

You’ve been up for hours, hanging out in the cold (and possibly rainy) weather. Beer is seeping out your pours. Take a long, hot, steamy shower. The hot water will wake you up and make you feel clean and ready to go again. Besides, staying fresh and clean might also help stave off the germs that’ll take their toll in flu form come Monday. AND you can always chug a beer in between shampooing and conditioning.

5. Powernap…Before it’s Too Late.

Positive you’re not going to make it? Throw in the towel early, and salvage the rest of your night. Taking a nap at 5 or 6 leaves plenty of time to sober up, recharge, and get ready to rage. If you keep drinking and try to make it to the post-party kickoff, you might crash at 9 or 10, only to sleep through the night and kick yourself in the a.m.

Wow, so how about Medium last Monday night, huh?

The premiere episode was just OK, but with this one I could tell that Glenn Gordon Caron and the writers have really shot straight back up to the level of tension, mystery, and all-around awesomeness they had reached at the peak of last season.

I loved seeing more about Ariel, especially now that she’s blossoming into the snide teenager that everyone hates. After that episode, I’m beginning to think she should have been born in the ’70s, because the huge hair and earrings the size of small yachts really suited her.

I’m still not sure about Ameritips Woman, though (what the hell is her name, anyway? Cynthia or something old-ladyish like that?). Anjelica Huston is a great actress, no doubt, but whenever I look at her, all I can think about is how strongly she resembles a horse.

Is that wrong? I’m sorry, but every time she’s going on about Missing Person #3114, all I can think is, “Horse! Horse! Horse!” Oh, well. I’m sure I probably look like a furry animal, too, so no hard feelings.

Any other Medium fans out there? Hit me with your thoughts on the season so far!