November 27th, 2016

So you know how sometimes you and I compare childhoods and our teenage years and what we each were like as individuals and how much we’ve changed or have not changed? You know? Sometimes that’s a thing we do?

Usually the biggest difference we compare is how innocent, nerdy and dull I was compared to you.

Y’know, a crazy night out with my friends consisted of going to Steph’s house to bake cookies and making sure I was home by 9:30pm. Which, I was ALWAYS home by 9:30pm because I was not allowed to start driving until I was at least 17 years old and so one of my parents would have to come pick me up from Steph’s house.

Innocent baking

The first time I ever drank to truly drink (as in, not under the supervision of my parents) was about a week before I turned 18 – the age at which I could legally drink in Alberta, Manitoba, and Quebec. But I was not drinking in any of those provinces, nor had I even turned 18 yet. This means I broke the law, Lina.

I was being a rebel.

So I actually wasn’t as innocent and naive, and doe-eyed as we like to say I am. No, I was daring, wild, nuts, a cool kid, even.

And once I started, no one could stop me!

That first time took place in Sauble Beach, but it’s a story for another day. Maybe. Instead, I’d like to share this story of the second or third time I got drunk. Actually, I should clarify: now that I know what being drunk truly means, I can’t honestly say I was really all that drunk in this story I’m about to tell you. But I was new to the whole alcohol thing so I felt I was drunk. And now I let my younger self have that and hold dear to it, because otherwise, I really would have been a terribly boring high schooler.


So the setting: Vic’s house. When: the tail end of grade 12. Who: Tcrew, of course. What: baking cookies and drinking – so a nice little crossover from our innocent days to our more adult days. Why: why the hell not?

I will tell the rest of this story through pictures and captions.

The beginning of the night, innocently baking cookies, there I am, getting ready to lick the bowl clean. I am wearing my famous Catstreet Boys shirt from Northern Getaway. I was wearing it ironically long before hipsters started doing things ironically. Ergo, I am the original hipster. Probably not something to be proud of, but there you go.
This is me wearing a hat that matches my super cool shirt. I had been drinking at this point. This is the last piece of evidence of any sobriety I might have had that night.

Because I then progressed to this:

Me crawling under the table because I was pretending to be like Vic’s dog? Or something? But this is still pretty tame because then my friends and I got REALLY WILD!
I let them draw on my face! Not sure what it says, giggle? Maybe hello? Oh wait… I’m looking at this and it suddenly flashed into my memory: oh god, no, I drew that. Yep, I drew that on myself while looking in the mirror. This is what you’re dating.
And then I ate a cupcake. Clearly drunk.
Just gonna take a quick little nap here at the table with the evidence of my godawful taste in booze right there next to my elbow. Yep. Pamplemousse Rouge Woody’s.
I don’t really have record of any more of the night. But I’m sure it got a whole lot crazier! Like maybe I had another cupcake! Oh boy! And the next morning I woke up looking like this. Like maybe I had a hangover. But really I think it was just a sugar crash. I now know what a true hangover feels like.

So now you have proof that I was also a crazy kid back in my youth.


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