We've all heard the devastating facts and statistics that are brought up daily about people coming home from parties who have been under the influence of alcohol and deciding to drive. According to http://www.learn-about-alcoholism.com/ it's approximated "that eight teens die everyday in alcohol-related car crashes." Following that, "nearly 13% of all fatal car crashes involve alcohol, and of these, 40% involve intoxicated teen drivers." With these statistics alone, they do not provide optimistic views on teenage partying. It then begs the question of whether or not the party's host is responsible for the control of alcohol and the safe mode of transportation home.
To be a proper h0st you must take on a responsibility of who is there, take initiative to call a taxi or an alternative mode of transportation and to ensure their safety. Although it is the individual's personal obligation to ensure their own safety, matters must be taken into the host's hands. After all, is it not a reflexive reaction to protect the people close to you? Even if there is a situation where the person is not a close friend, does that justify an absolute abandonment of another human being? There will be a litter of excuses thrown at the host by drunken guests such as:
"I drive better drunk."
"I live right there."
"I have no money."
"I can't leave my car here."
"I've only had a couple."
"I'm d-ood to g-rive! I mean, I'm good to drive!"
Etc.
All of these "reasons" why the guest should drive home while intoxicated must be shot down by the host. It's only a burden for a minute or two to call a taxi, spend ten dollars, and to potentially save someone's life.
http://www.learn-about-alcoholism.com/underage-drinking-statistics.html
June 5, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
The Cinderella Story: Stepsister version
As her delicate size seven feet slipped into the glass slipper all four of us held our breaths. I knew in an instant that the shoe would not fit because it was mine. Gustaaf designed it especially for me, Drizella. I remember him saying, "Ella dahling, this will drive the men wild!" Her tiny feet could never fit into my seven and three-quarter glass pumps. I remember last night like it was yesterday. In fact, it was yesterday...
His hand was placed easily at my waist spinning me closer and closer as the sounds of the violin's waltz encompassed us into a dream-like state. Faster and faster we spun until I realized my motion sickness had gotten the best of me and I needed to rest. A girl can only spin so long in heels. He politely got me some peach punch with a hint of citrus. We chatted about things like the crystals in the seventy-two year old chandelier given to him by his grandmother, whether Monsieur Richard's toupe was visible to the naked eye and how when the light hit me just so, I looked remarkably like Drew Barrymore. It was an enchanting evening with lots of flirtation and courteous gestures. After all, he was The Prince. He didn't even need a first name that's how prince-like he was. I stared in awe as he talked about how cream of broccoli was his favorite type of soup and that he was a huge cracker fan when it came to crushing them up and creating a thick, viscous-like mixture. During all this, I counted flecks of green in his eyes and wondered how long it would take for me to win his heart. He had most assuredly had won mine. Hopefully it would be a speedy engagement and we could then live happily ever after. He took me outside to further discuss if I was capable of creating such a mixture in the kitchen when I began to sneeze not once, not twice, but three times. Immediately I knew it was because of that cursed Cinderella. It was because of her horrid perfume in which she knew I was allergic. Sure enough, I saw her creep up and start to chat up my man, The Prince. Just as I was about to tell the Cinderella who was boss, the clock struck twelve. My mother hated it when I was late and quite frankly, I was a busy woman who had many things to do. Like finish her English blogs, for example. My English teacher would be furious if they were not done. So against my better judgement, I hurried home leaving Cinderella and my Prince to flirt and converse amongst the stars. However, in my frantic hurry, I lost my shoe! Don't tell Gustaaf about that because he'd be furious if he knew. So that night, I lost my love, my shoe and a little bit of my dignity.
So that brings us back to the present. As Cindersoot's delicate foot slips into the glass slipper, I am more than delighted to see her face when her foot does not fit. My Prince will then turn to me and we will undoubtedly live wonderfully and happily ever after. But what is this?! Her foot fits just fine! It isn't big for her at all! Gustaaf promised that he only made one pair of glass slippers and I am most assured that he would not lie to me! And there my prince goes, sweeping Cinderella off her feet and living my happily ever after. I scornfully turn and wish them a terrible life and just as I turn back to see my glass slipper on her foot, I notice two small, white and round globs of Winterfresh gum glued to the bottom of her foot. Cheater. There goes my happily ever after...
His hand was placed easily at my waist spinning me closer and closer as the sounds of the violin's waltz encompassed us into a dream-like state. Faster and faster we spun until I realized my motion sickness had gotten the best of me and I needed to rest. A girl can only spin so long in heels. He politely got me some peach punch with a hint of citrus. We chatted about things like the crystals in the seventy-two year old chandelier given to him by his grandmother, whether Monsieur Richard's toupe was visible to the naked eye and how when the light hit me just so, I looked remarkably like Drew Barrymore. It was an enchanting evening with lots of flirtation and courteous gestures. After all, he was The Prince. He didn't even need a first name that's how prince-like he was. I stared in awe as he talked about how cream of broccoli was his favorite type of soup and that he was a huge cracker fan when it came to crushing them up and creating a thick, viscous-like mixture. During all this, I counted flecks of green in his eyes and wondered how long it would take for me to win his heart. He had most assuredly had won mine. Hopefully it would be a speedy engagement and we could then live happily ever after. He took me outside to further discuss if I was capable of creating such a mixture in the kitchen when I began to sneeze not once, not twice, but three times. Immediately I knew it was because of that cursed Cinderella. It was because of her horrid perfume in which she knew I was allergic. Sure enough, I saw her creep up and start to chat up my man, The Prince. Just as I was about to tell the Cinderella who was boss, the clock struck twelve. My mother hated it when I was late and quite frankly, I was a busy woman who had many things to do. Like finish her English blogs, for example. My English teacher would be furious if they were not done. So against my better judgement, I hurried home leaving Cinderella and my Prince to flirt and converse amongst the stars. However, in my frantic hurry, I lost my shoe! Don't tell Gustaaf about that because he'd be furious if he knew. So that night, I lost my love, my shoe and a little bit of my dignity.
So that brings us back to the present. As Cindersoot's delicate foot slips into the glass slipper, I am more than delighted to see her face when her foot does not fit. My Prince will then turn to me and we will undoubtedly live wonderfully and happily ever after. But what is this?! Her foot fits just fine! It isn't big for her at all! Gustaaf promised that he only made one pair of glass slippers and I am most assured that he would not lie to me! And there my prince goes, sweeping Cinderella off her feet and living my happily ever after. I scornfully turn and wish them a terrible life and just as I turn back to see my glass slipper on her foot, I notice two small, white and round globs of Winterfresh gum glued to the bottom of her foot. Cheater. There goes my happily ever after...
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