December 3, 2012 by fatcai
My dick of an ex-boyfriend happened to have a very insightful phrase that I now wish to refer to.
“A drunk person’s words are a sober person’s thoughts.” This is nothing new. Obviously he just read it somewhere and started repeating it in his very particular way that implied he was in fact the fountain of all the knowledge in all the world. But it was he from whom I first heard this phrase.
Sometimes I find this concept to be confusing. During my time in Leipzig, I went through a phase of speaking French while drunk. Just to clear one thing up: I do not speak French. However, I lost count of the amount of times I woke up in the morning to someone telling me they weren’t aware that I spoke such wonderful French. I would stare at them with my barely open hangover-glazed eyes and inform them that they must be mistaken, that I do not in fact speak any French whatsoever.
“Don’t be so modest Nicky, you were speaking French last night and it sounded pretty fluent to me!”
For the first six months of this phenomenon I didn’t worry too much. Those who were claiming that I had an incroyable grasp of Français were fellow non-French speakers. I came to the conclusion that I was obviously just saying all the random French words I remembered from school or picked up from my roommate one after the other, something like,
“oui le chateau bon dans le lointoin mais oui oui oui ou est mon taille crayon donc fenêtre d’accord, regardez, oui oui!”
and to the untrained ear, this of course would sound remarkably sophisticated and intelligent. And I was happy enough with this explanation until a very good friend of mine remarked on my excellent French that she had heard the night before during a particularly debaucherous and prolonged drunken session where I nearly took a shit on some poor Norwegian guys doorstep because we hated an English girl so much. I explained to her that this was a gross recurring misconception and that I actually did not speak French beyond a charming song my roommate had taught me about raping corpses like dogs.
“No no,” she insisted. “You were speaking French with French people. We were sitting in the hall together then that French girl came along and asked you a question in French, you answered her in French, had a small conversation with her in French and she went on her merry way. After she was gone you turned to me and explained that you always spoke to this girl in French because she thinks you are one of her fellow Frenchwomen.”
WTF???? I really do not speak French. And I don’t know how the hell this story even happened. And what do these drunk words say about my innermost sober thoughts?
Anyhoo, yes there are many times like this where the drunken self is quite simply mad, maybe is exhibiting some deeply hidden inner desire to be French or is simply just being an idiot with a few less brain cells than before. However there are other times where drinking really does clear the mind, the alcohol burns all the background noise away and in some kind of drunken haze you only see the few big important parts that most things boil down to. And I swear I have made all my best decisions drunk.
In my last year of high school, I had no idea what the fuck I was going to do so it seemed a Gap Year was in order. I got drunk, found a programme online to volunteer in Ghana, filled in all the forms and emailed them through. Barely knew what or where Ghana was before I drunkenly clicked that send button. Two weeks later I get a phone call, I am going to Ghana for four months, I never looked back, it was the perhaps best thing I ever did.
After finally getting the balls to end it with aforementioned dick of an ex-boyfriend, I was super drunk for weeks, my friends were great in joining in with the drunken chaos. I suddenly found I had quit my job and booked a one way ticket to Germany. That summer I made it from Belfast to Bucharest and back all by myself, met a bunch of amazing people from all sorts of exotic countries doing all sorts of interesting things that no-one would ever do in Northern Ireland because we are all too busy being sheep, had an incredibly passionate affair of the kind not even possible on my tiny island with its limited gene pool, felt sorrow so overwhelming I didn’t speak a word for a whole day, shaved my pussy bald for the first time, went to nudist beaches and saunas, climbed a mountain in a pair of flip-flops, got drunk in a playground with the Romanian police and more, oh so much more.
I am pretty sure that every big life-changing decision I have ever made, every spark of an idea that became something big was all under the influence so to speak.
A drunk person’s words are a sober person’s thoughts. Alcohol gives you balls.
So it was only natural that last weekend on a trip to visit a buddy in the Netherlands, I invoked a few drops of that auld Dutch Courage and made an unexpected decision to quit my job on the spot and do something else. Except the decision wasn’t unexpected at all, not really, once I had made it, it suddenly made perfect sense and I wondered why I hadn’t thought of it months ago. Mustn’t have been drunk enough.
So here goes, now I am going to be a professional office monkey and teacher monkey instead of a coffee monkey. I decide my own hours and who I teach. I get to paint each one of my nails a different colour every day and I will never work another bloody weekend again (fingers crossed!) So here’s to me being professional, I already got the glasses for it! Sexy square tortoiseshell ones in fact.
And so my dears, should you have any big life-changing decisions looming over you or you are just stuck in a rut and fancy a new and exciting adventure, get some buddies, get as much booze as you can carry and go get utterly fucking shitfaced.