drinking games, public restrooms, and four months later i’m actually following through on my idea to let my Twitter followers plan my life for a day

Somewhere over the past three and a half years since I graduated from NYU, I stopped playing drinking games.

And by drinking games, I clearly just mean Kings Cup because that’s really the only drinking game I ever knew how to play except actually, I don’t think I knew how to play at all and I don’t think anyone else knew how to play either because every time we sat down to get a game started someone was always like, “Wait, what the fuck are the rules to this game again?” and we’d have to write out all the different types of cards and assign rules to each one and the rules were never exactly the same as the time before or the time after because we were all too drunk and stupid to, you know, SAVE the list of rules.

I loved that damn game though, because once the rules were written out, you didn’t have to think anymore. Someone picked a four and the girls drank, someone picked a queen and you did that weird question asking thing, someone picked an ace and started the drinking waterfall where you couldn’t stop drinking until the person next to you stopped drinking and this was my least favorite one because I didn’t drink beer in college so everyone would play with PBR and I’d be playing with vodka cranberry and halfway through the game when other people were getting tipsy I was getting naked and oh man it’s just now becoming clear to me why I made so many bad decisions in college and why even the thought of vodka cranberry makes me want to stab a baby panda.

ANYWAY, revisiting the glory of this game has me thinking of making a set of arbitrary Kings Cup style rules for my day to day life, only instead of them being rules that I have to abide by, they’ll be rules other people have to abide by because I’m tired of people doing weird shit around me all the time. Like, okay, a few months ago when I was doing the nomadic lifestyle thing I was in a public restroom in DC and this girl crawled under the door and into my stall while I was peeing and I know you’re thinking that she was like 3 years old and she was in the next stall over with her mother but she was actually more like 12 years old and she was in the bathroom alone and she just crawled under and I was like, “Um, the fuck?” and she’s all, “Hi!” and I’m like, “No no no no no no.”

So not doing this is going to be my first rule. My other rules, from unfortunate personal experience, are that you’re not allowed to bring raw chicken on the bus. And that you’re not allowed to run your fingers through my hair if you don’t know me. And that you’re not allowed to continuously resend Facebook fan page invitations to me for the same shit over and over again because if I ignored your first request to become a fan of your garage or whatever the whatever you’re trying to get me to promote for you, chances are I’m not going to see the second or the tenth invitation to become a fan of your garage and be all, “THANK GOD YOU INVITED ME AGAIN YES PLEASE ACCEPT ACCEPT.”

Wait, WAIT. Speaking of rules and deciding other people’s actions: remember back in November when I was drunk in the JFK airport and I had that wondrous idea to let my Twitter followers plan my life for a day? I just realized that I never did it and that it really is the best worst idea ever and if my vodka cranberry baby panda stabbing days mean anything, I love best worst ideas so hell yeah let’s get started on this with you commenting and telling me what you want me to do on this day and then I’ll take all of the suggestions that are awesome and put together the most ridiculous day ever and you’ll get credit and photo evidence of the thing you picked and maybe even video evidence if I can figure out how to record a video and are you ready to start suggesting things? Make sure you’re following me on Twitter if you’re making a suggestion because that’s how this entire thing is going to be documented and planned. And make sure your suggestion doesn’t interfere with my being totally broke and totally scared of jail, herpes, clowns, and bicycles. Yes, bicycles. Don’t ask. Or do. Or use that as your suggestion, me telling you the story of why I’m scared of bicycles on camera while wearing a bumble bee costume and drinking tequila and gargling the ABCs.

I’m so good at gargling the ABCs.

Fuck, shut up Nicole, stop giving away all your secret talents.

And stop talking in third person.

And stop wearing leggings as pants because it totally violates your about page.

(Except don’t stop that because OH MY GOD THE ACTUAL ACTUAL ACTUAL COMFORT.)

Wait, is your suggestion going to be for me to get rid of my leggings? God, I can’t believe I’m really doing this. I’m basically going to be Twitter’s bitch. Or your bitch. Or someone’s bitch.

DON’T DROP THE SOAP.