Mereja

Author: Rachael- University of Miami

  • The Sober One

    It took until the middle of my junior year of college, but I finally went to my first frat party. Well, a fraternity’s semi-formal, anyway.

    It’s not that I haven’t been invited to these parties before. I nearly went to one during the first few weeks of freshman year, but decided last minute not to go when I realized that my denim mini skirt was about three inches longer than anything the other girls were wearing, and that, considering drinking really wasn’t my thing, I probably wouldn’t be comfortable.

    Yeah, I know. I’m from a city that has more bars than traffic lights and go to a school that was ranked number one on Playboy’s list of top party schools, yet I don’t drink. Or party – in the traditional sense, anyway.

    I’m not opposed to drinking,  I just never really saw the point and never liked the taste. Apparently, that’s not the point either, but I digress. I’ve been around friends drinking and had just as much fun without the liquor as they seem to be having with it. Hell, sometimes I even end up acting a bit crazier than they do. Like last year’s end-of-the-semester/good-bye party for a friend of mine who was studying abroad in the spring, where I had cranberry juice instead of sharing the wine and vodka. By the end of the night, I’d joined in the crazy dancing, given my friend (who’s gay) a lap dance, and was cuddling with said friend on his roommate’s bed. I also go out dancing most weekends and after about three hours of shaking my bon bon, the only drink I want is a tall glass of water.

    But, like I said, I’m not opposed to it; I’ve tried it a few times, usually with the same results. It often just tastes like really bad medicine to me and I can’t see why I should choose that over my favorite fruit juice or water. I can have just as much fun as anyone else without the booze, and, as I like to remind them all later on, I remember everything the next day.

    With some friends, this isn’t a problem. We can hang out with some people drinking, some not, and no one will care; everyone has a good time, and that’s all that matters. Others are apprehensive about drinking around me; they almost seem to think that I won’t approve of their choice to “indulge” (as my semi-formal date put it). The worst, though, are the people who give me a hard time.

    “What do you mean you don’t drink?”
    “You just haven’t had the good stuff. Try (insert drink here).”
    “Just wait, one of these days we’ll get you drunk.”
    And when I started at UM, I received countless renditions of: “So, are you a raging alcoholic yet?”

    Even my “sober buddies” from high school eventually started drinking and now go on (and on and on) about how lame my life and weekends are because I don’t get drunk, and all the fun I’m missing out on as a result.

    The worst is that I’ve been dealing with this since the first time in high school (or maybe middle school, as sad as that is) that I turned down a drink. People never seem take no for an answer, no matter how polite or forceful I may be, or how many times I say it. And my refusing the drink is always some sort of personality flaw, a problem with me that they need to fix. I need to “loosen up,” “give it a try,” “have fun,” “just cut loose and get totally sh*tfaced.”

    I really don’t understand why my deciding not to drink is viewed as this horrible thing. It’s not like I sit around and refuse to participate in anything my friends are doing just because I’m sober; when I’m around and friends are drinking, I’m fine. Actually, I’m more than fine. I’m fun! But while some friends have learned to accept that, others consistently are trying to “fix” my “problem.” Because, obviously, I’m atypical for a college student, and being so is this horrible thing that needs to be corrected.

    But really, it’s unfair. Do I go around telling people to stop drinking? Or pulling away their cups? No. I laugh, I dance, I hang out and have a good time. In fact, the only times I’ve every done that is when people needed it (usually when they reach depressed drunk/projectile vomiting/their fifth drink on a school night). Otherwise, I have my cranberry juice, clink glasses, and have a good time.

    And maybe take a few pictures.

  • The Forbidden Words of Dating

    I’m just going to be blunt here: why do we feel the need to pretend we don’t know what we want?

    I’m serious. Whether we’re looking for friends with benefits or a one night stand or – worst of all – an actual relationship, we’re terrified to openly admit it. We don’t want to be viewed as clingy or slutty or any other label that will send the guy running for the hills.

    Because that’s what it comes down to, isn’t it? The reason we’re so scared to say what we’re thinking? That once we do, once we admit what we’ve been praying they’ll pick up on telepathically, the guy in question is going to reject us so quickly we’ll practically see a blur as he leaves?

    Not that we should want to be with a guy like that anyway. But the problem is we do want this guy – in some capacity – and we don’t want to know if the word “boyfriend” is repulsive to him. And society (and possibly some past experiences) has taught us that the words “relationship,” “boyfriend,” and “girlfriend” are instant boy repellent.

    I’d been sort of seeing a friend of mine for about a month-and-a-half and before we left for winter break, I tried to be honest with him: I couldn’t deal with the crazy back-and-forth anymore, with him acting like we were in a relationship one day, then actively avoiding me the next. Or hugging and kissing me around strangers and my friends, but literally dropping my hand and stepping away when we saw one of his. I was so proud of myself for actually having the nerve to tell him all of this, and to go one step further and flat-out tell him that I wasn’t sure what he wanted, but I wanted a-

    That word. The forbidden word we dare not speak. Even, in that vital moment when I was laying my heart on the line, I couldn’t bring myself to say the word “relationship.” I danced around it, alluded, gestured, everything but actually saying it. Imagine how ridiculous I looked…

    And the reason was as simple as it was ludicrous: I was worried that since I genuinely had no idea where he stood – and even though I was essentially saying I wanted a relationship – if I actually said the word, he’d immediately reject me. As it stands now, whether I said the word or not probably wouldn’t have made much of a difference. We both knew exactly what I was alluding to, and our decision for him to take the winter break to decide what the hell he wanted probably wouldn’t have been any different had I just used the damn word.

    But why are we so hung up on these words? Why do we believe so deeply that they’ll destroy our careful cultivation of anything substantial with a guy? I have tons of close guy friends and I know that plenty of them are perfectly fine with it; hell, one of my friends was smiling for weeks when the girl he was seeing finally agreed to be his girlfriend. And yet, when it comes down to actually using the words with a guy with whom I was personally involved – even though I know he’s a lot like the guy friends I have, seeing as he’s technically one of them – I couldn’t do it. It’s so ingrained in us from an early age not to use the words that it’s almost impossible to overcome.

    Not that it would have made much of a difference in this situation; even with my game of charades things turned out to be a total bust. But maybe I would have figured that out a bit sooner had I not been so afraid to say the words.