Roll up, roll up everyone and witness the fight of the century. That's right ladies and gentleman, in a no holds barred match, the spectacle of watching the Heart battle with the Head.
That's right people, step right up, come on now. Place your bets.
So. Friday. I went to a 'Grand reopening' of a local nightclub. A girl I recently met was staying for the weekend and had bought some people to stay too.
No, not like that. Get your mind out of the gutter.
Right, to start with, I'll cover a little background. I met her speed dating, her best friend is now seeing my housemate Ben after the same evening. Right. Sorted. Well, they came round and their friends needed somewhere to crash. So the house got invaded by girls, with all their giggling, excessive bathroom usage, and white wine in liver numbing quantities. My housemates and I decided that the correct course of action was to hide downstairs and drink whiskey. Which we did. For a long time. I ended up shit faced before I left the house, and have been reliably informed that I was seen on a few occasions stuffing handfuls of free 'nibbles' into all the available pockets in my DJ (Mmm... classy) I knew that I hit the free champagne pretty hard too. All I can remember of the 4 or so hours of being there is the first and last 10 minutes. Although snatches of it keep coming back to me.
It was odd spending a whole weekend with someone though, I wasn't really able to relax properly, so felt a bit jumpy really. Strange, but then again, that's just the type of thing to expect from me. But what're you going to do huh?
Apologies about the confusion with the last journal entry. I got wrecked on wine (I only meant to have a couple of glasses because I was using wine to cook with, you know, waste not want not and all that. But of course I ended up drinking 3 bottles of the stuff, and I awoke in the morning to find that *ahem* someone (Who? Me? Surely not!) had written some random gibberish So I was obliged to edit before that caused any questions about that arose.
That's right people, step right up, come on now. Place your bets.
So. Friday. I went to a 'Grand reopening' of a local nightclub. A girl I recently met was staying for the weekend and had bought some people to stay too.
No, not like that. Get your mind out of the gutter.
Right, to start with, I'll cover a little background. I met her speed dating, her best friend is now seeing my housemate Ben after the same evening. Right. Sorted. Well, they came round and their friends needed somewhere to crash. So the house got invaded by girls, with all their giggling, excessive bathroom usage, and white wine in liver numbing quantities. My housemates and I decided that the correct course of action was to hide downstairs and drink whiskey. Which we did. For a long time. I ended up shit faced before I left the house, and have been reliably informed that I was seen on a few occasions stuffing handfuls of free 'nibbles' into all the available pockets in my DJ (Mmm... classy) I knew that I hit the free champagne pretty hard too. All I can remember of the 4 or so hours of being there is the first and last 10 minutes. Although snatches of it keep coming back to me.
It was odd spending a whole weekend with someone though, I wasn't really able to relax properly, so felt a bit jumpy really. Strange, but then again, that's just the type of thing to expect from me. But what're you going to do huh?
Apologies about the confusion with the last journal entry. I got wrecked on wine (I only meant to have a couple of glasses because I was using wine to cook with, you know, waste not want not and all that. But of course I ended up drinking 3 bottles of the stuff, and I awoke in the morning to find that *ahem* someone (Who? Me? Surely not!) had written some random gibberish So I was obliged to edit before that caused any questions about that arose.
VIEW 16 of 16 COMMENTS
charley:
Poor you 
hearts:
ah, you and your alcohol-induced adventuring. 