Friday Night Drinking
So on Friday I left work on time for the first time in six days and dashed into town in my finery to meet a number of friends for a number of drinks. My plan was to drink until 11pm then go home and get a good night's sleep, as I had to get up early to paint my slightly dingy bedroom (described by a recent nighttime exploration into the realms of Skanky Indie Boy as 'sort of shabby boho, yeah?').
I don't remember 11pm coming and going but it must have done, because the next I knew it was 4am and I was heavily involved with 'leaning' in a brave attempt to avoid the floor.
I woke up on Saturday literally feeling like death. I've seen friends on comedowns who weren't gurning and shaking as as much as me. Somehow, whilst asleep, I'd managed to lose my phone and in my 8am stupor I was frantically planning to cancel my phone because I had the IMEI number somewhere and I would have to get t-Mobile to send me a new SIM card because I couldn't cancel the contract but my phone wouldn't be insured because I cancelled that when they were so useless over the Thailand phone, but even though I could buy a cheap shit phone I needed to a SIM card to put in it because I would still be paying for the contract, and then someone phoned me and I realised it had been under my coat the whole time.
The cat avoided me like the plague on Saturday because as Donna enlightened me, once I'd managed to weave my way up the stairs to bed at 4.30am, banging into the wall on either side as I felt it necessary, I'd grabbed the cat (who'd come to investigate) and lain facedown on my bed cuddling (read: crushing) him and telling him I loved him, much to his distaste. She knew I'd been telling him such because she had been able to hear me through four feet of wall.
During the course of the night, I'd also managed to convince myself that the guy with the red tie and shiny red shoes that I'd met in Dogma was actually my soulmate and I was a total tosser to have let him leave without getting his number (even though I hadn't noticed him leaving because I was too busy flirting with the blond science teacher) and that the best ever plan of action would be to put his first name into Facebook and search through them all until I found a Joe who worked in Leeds, had a degree in English and Philosophy, ran a moderately successful small business and was prepared to listen to me slur about riot grrl on his birthday night out.
Luckily by the time I'd sobered up enough to work a computer (about 4pm) the internet was broken and I had time to realise what a genuinely stupid idea that was.
No painting got done. Zoe and I went to Asda for hangover food and I had to sit on the floor halfway round to avoid being overwhelmed by the noise and movement and general sense that I was putting in much more effort than the situation warranted.
Moral of the story: get business cards printed. Hand them out with abandon.
I don't remember 11pm coming and going but it must have done, because the next I knew it was 4am and I was heavily involved with 'leaning' in a brave attempt to avoid the floor.
I woke up on Saturday literally feeling like death. I've seen friends on comedowns who weren't gurning and shaking as as much as me. Somehow, whilst asleep, I'd managed to lose my phone and in my 8am stupor I was frantically planning to cancel my phone because I had the IMEI number somewhere and I would have to get t-Mobile to send me a new SIM card because I couldn't cancel the contract but my phone wouldn't be insured because I cancelled that when they were so useless over the Thailand phone, but even though I could buy a cheap shit phone I needed to a SIM card to put in it because I would still be paying for the contract, and then someone phoned me and I realised it had been under my coat the whole time.
The cat avoided me like the plague on Saturday because as Donna enlightened me, once I'd managed to weave my way up the stairs to bed at 4.30am, banging into the wall on either side as I felt it necessary, I'd grabbed the cat (who'd come to investigate) and lain facedown on my bed cuddling (read: crushing) him and telling him I loved him, much to his distaste. She knew I'd been telling him such because she had been able to hear me through four feet of wall.
During the course of the night, I'd also managed to convince myself that the guy with the red tie and shiny red shoes that I'd met in Dogma was actually my soulmate and I was a total tosser to have let him leave without getting his number (even though I hadn't noticed him leaving because I was too busy flirting with the blond science teacher) and that the best ever plan of action would be to put his first name into Facebook and search through them all until I found a Joe who worked in Leeds, had a degree in English and Philosophy, ran a moderately successful small business and was prepared to listen to me slur about riot grrl on his birthday night out.
Luckily by the time I'd sobered up enough to work a computer (about 4pm) the internet was broken and I had time to realise what a genuinely stupid idea that was.
No painting got done. Zoe and I went to Asda for hangover food and I had to sit on the floor halfway round to avoid being overwhelmed by the noise and movement and general sense that I was putting in much more effort than the situation warranted.
Moral of the story: get business cards printed. Hand them out with abandon.
posted by Lucy at 4:38 pm
2 Comments:
Why did the cat not try to scratch out your eyes?
Whenever I have a Africa-sized hangover, a part of me is secretly pleased that I cheated death (and personal violence)
That's my girl.
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