My sister is a sloppy drunk.

But, unlike other sloppy drunks, and much like her approach to every other irresponsible developmental stage she's careened through, (anorexia, bulimia, depression, precocious sexuality) hers is carefully designed and contrived.

She was not as drunk as she wanted to appear.

But she was drunker than she should have been.

And I'm pretty angry, irrationally so. But somewhat rationally so. I'm going to need to talk to her, but it will do nothing. My sister, you see, has this habit of getting very drunk, and flirting, hardcore, to the level of dancing and rubbing, with vastly innapropriate men that she has no interest in. Which, in general, is a bad practice. Because it leads, at best, to misunderstandings. And at worst, it can lead to terrible consequences.

She doesn't know any better. And no one can teach her to know any better. I can't sit her down and say "Listen, you really have to think about how you're acting when you drink, and how much you're drinking in order to act that way". Because, if I know my sister, and I do, she's drinking too much in order to act irresponsibly, rather than the other way around.

Because you can't say "Please, don't become impaired and put yourself into bad situations" to a rape victim. Which is something that she certainly has integrated into her identity. And, to imply that something bad can come from getting drunk and flirtatious is to imply, people say, that the victim is somehow responsible. And that "blaming the victim", thus, is the worst thing that anyone can do.

But really, if all that is yielded from feminism is the right to have too much to drink and dryhump strangers with impunity, then perhaps feminism was misguided. If not, perhaps we should leave behind the notion that to imply that on occasion, certain patterns of (by definition, voluntary) behavior may lead individuals to be mistreated in a variety of ways, with great variation in severity, is to blame the victim

People need to become aware of what they are doing, and why they do it. And in that way, they can begin to act more like adults; i.e, weigh the possible costs and consequences of actions, rather than merely denying that unlikely and unfortunate results could be possible, merely because they should not be.

And I'm in a fucking hard spot right now. Because she's out with my roommate. And they're having a grand old sloppy drunk time. And my roommate's got a new boyfriend. And my sister is being flirted with by this gnarled, multiply tattooed, old old guy. And she can barely walk. But I'm supposed to be out with them, having a good time. But I can't stop remembering that memorial day weekend when my parents called to tell me that she'd been raped. And I can't stop remembering how she's acted, her entire life. And I can't stop being pretty fucking uncomfortable when she's having a really, really fun time being really, really stupid, and actually, fairly skanky.

It hurts, actually. Because it reminds me of high school. My friends would all go to these parties. And I couldn't go. Because I didn't do drugs, or drink. So they told me I wouldn't have fun. They had their fun time, while I had to be the fucking prude. And I'm not. But my sister, because she hasn't got a functional older brother, has forced me to be one. Instead of being co-conspiritor, I'm a chaperone. I can't get drunk. Because I'm thinking of what will happen if she tries to date this stumpy man, and my father has a heart attack, or, alternately, kills him. Or, if she decides that she's never wanted to flirt with him, and that she was terribly uncomfortable all night, and that the humping she seemed to enjoy, was assault. And needs therapy, and medication, and goes back to cutting herself.

And my roommate is no fucking help. Because my sister will get drunk, and go along with anything, my roommate has found the perfect friend. She doesn't care what could happen. She doesn't care who my sister goes home with.

And I'm all fucking alone again.

Old.

Frumpy.

Sober.