Because I, counterintuitively enough, feel that shame shared is shame halved, and also desperately need some handholding from ya'll, here is an example of why alcohol is bad for you.

Yesterday, I meant to go to the gym. Instead I got very, very drunk.

Earlier that day, I'd received a message from the would-be fuck-buddy I mentioned a while ago, asking me to come over. As I was getting my drink on, he texted me and told me not to come after all because it was stressing him out and he had work to do. Granted, this was annoying, especially since this wasn't the first time he'd pulled this. We had a short text exchange, closing with me expressing my frustration with his fickleness.

As I crossed the line from tipsy to drunk and to completely wasted, I decided to pretend like the texts never happened. Instead, I ran out into the freezing cold and started walking towards my fuck-buddy's office. I called him to let him know I was on my way. He said the situation was really stressing him out and he really didn't want me to come. I can't remember what I told him, but I'm pretty sure it included the word "immature" and telling him to stop standing people up. I do remember dramatically wishing him a nice life before hanging up.

...I barely know this guy! I feel I am now living proof that OKC is full of crazy ladies.

But this was just the start. The feeling of rejection was the catalyst in a perfect storm of hormones (ovulation time -> brain shuts down and groin takes over), insecurity, my usual lack of filter between my brain and mouth, and of course a ridiculous level of drunkenness.

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I was hanging out with four males from my program. Two of them I'm fairly close with, two of them are acquaintances more than friends. Friends or not, I subjected all of them to a goodness-knows-how-endlessly-long bout of verbal diarrhea. I screeched about how I'm totally hot and why oh why can't I get laid. I told them to tell me exactly how hot I am to make me feel better about myself. I told them I'm amazing in bed, even in dealing with my fuck-buddy's performance anxiety. I shared all the sordid details of me hounding the fuck-buddy despite his avoidance tactics, causing my self-proclaimed big brother friend to explode in rage because he's so tired of me banging my head against the wall and then whining to him about it.

And then I asked one of them to come over to my place and have sex, despite my adamant belief that sleeping with your colleagues is just begging for a disaster. Then we had sex, during which I rambled incoherently about the dating life of our mutual friend until my partner got mildly creeped out by it.

Now I have a headache, supplemented by toothache from a particularly intense session at the orthodontist this morning. I know this is not the end of the world, but all I want to do is curl up in a ball of shame and vanish. Help! I need a reality check.

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Here, I'll do some self-soothing:

+ the OKC guy I had my crazy fit on is not a part of my life nor do we have any friends in common -> it's a fairly self-contained disaster

+ the sex was pretty nice, and we were safe

+ I quizzed the guy as I was having a fretful meltdown this morning, and he is not taken nor in any way messed-up by our little roll in the hay

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+ everyone in my program pretty much already knows all of my business and that I'm a total mess sometimes, so they will probably take this with a shrug

+ I have the day off. Which is frustrating because I meant to do work, but at least there's nowhere I need to be.