Don’t Tell My Grandparents

But I May or May Not Have Been Drunk Last Night.

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I don’t know what it is, but the world has a wonderful way of giving you exactly what you need when you need it. Not always, but every so often when things are the absolute worst, you’re given not only what you need to make it through the day without dying, but instead receive everything you need to actually be happy. Because, you know, it’s been a rough week.

Anyways, last night I got to experience a different side of Nakuspian culture. I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with the folks my grandparents tend to hang out with, but if you remember from by previous post, they tend to be the Church-Going-City-Senior types. Which is completely fine. They’re mostly nice people who tick me off I don’t mind having around, but hall they talk about is who’s Whats-His-Face’s-Son’s-Name, and how all their friends can come over at any time because I’m going to solve all their tech problems for them.

The thing is, they’re all just petty little people living their petty little lives, pretending that everything’s always fine and dandy all the time. And here I’m sitting here like “hey guy’s so I’m kinda trying to deal with my rape trauma and major depression with a side order of suicidal thoughts and you’re trying to tell me about all the trees you’ve planted around town like I actually give a shit.”

But here I’m talking about the other side of Naksup – the rebellious side. I guess. If you can really call getting drunk with friends at pubs rebellious.

These are the real folks – the people that remind me of what it was like back in England. Where people are out to be the best they can, live solid lives, move forward from tragedy, and have fun while they’re doing it. It’s actually incredibly inspiring, and to be honest, I haven’t felt like I belonged anywhere better than where I was last night. If there’s somewhere I’m going to be getting involved with in this community, it’s going to be there.

So after hanging out all day, smoking for the first time in my life (which is really gross), and getting to know some really amazing people, we all headed to the pub. I’m talking me, my boss, his girlfriend, my future roommate, and my boss’s son. Which is really cool, because if I had been hanging out with my boss from back at the tea shop, I would’ve been fired pretty darn quickly.

Anyways, they’re incredible. Buying me drinks, involving me in everything as if I actually knew them for more than a few weeks – offering to teach me silly games like pool and helping me finish tubs of ice cream. That was great.

But here’s the fun part – the bar was filled with screwed up teenagers and drunk old ladies. The band was rocking – all these middle aged guys just jamming out to old style rock. The lines were long, beer flowing endlessly, and man, let me tell you about this dance floor.

The most happening people there were these senior ladies, and they only stopped dancing long enough to buy another drink. They were absolutely bonkers. Braless, drunk (and maybe a bit high), hitting on men half their age, and just having a freaking wonderful time.

You know what my grandparents would have said about that? They’re not living a “Christian life style,” as if the Bible didn’t make it clear that Jesus himself would have been in that pub instead of the churches anyway. Honestly, look it up. He had a reputation for being a drunk and hanging out with hookers. He was a party guy.

The point being, is that these are my people. I fine them in the biker dude who’s wearing an American flag and eagle on the back of his leather jacket – who goes up to the band and gets them to do a wonderful rendition of Sweet Home Alabama while he sings. Like you can possibly get any more small town than that. It’s in the old ladies who are dancing around having the time of their lives, in the drinks and the fun and the freedom. 

I guess, growing up, I always thought that things were only strictly good or bad. It’s been honestly really hard for me to shake that mentality. Sure, I don’t see a problem with drinking and staying in pubs until one in the morning, but maybe I still saw those things as ‘not okay,’ or something.

But places like these – in the small town partiers, you find the realness in life. You find authenticity, honesty about the shit life puts you through, but the desire to keep dancing, to have fun regardless, and to not let anything conquer you. To say ‘to hell with it,’ and enjoy your life regardless of circumstances or where you’ve come from, void of judgments or conditions.

With my grandparents, and so many other people I know and have grown up with, it’s all about doing the right thing, hiding what’s going on with you, and never doing anything outside of the norm. And I’ve never really fit in with that. At all. But with these random strangers I met in the pub and will probably never see again, I found acceptance, love, and a place to fit in. Because I’m okay. I’m not some girl who’s gotta hide what happened to her behind a smile, lie and tell everyone that I’m alright, but I’m someone who can be loved with my history, instability, and tendency to enjoy a drink.

Now I might be wrong, but I think that, that’s what small town living should really be like.

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