Friday, November 12
Full Circle
Hurrah, I'm going out to get drunk tonight! And how! This time it's a cocktails party at a friend's place. I've bought some raspberry schnapps, Dooley's (toffee-flavour creamy vodka. It's amazing) and some lemonade. I'm all set.The reason that I mention this now is that I also went out last Friday and got absolutely twatted. Now seems the time to write about it, especially since I'm seeing a few people tonight who I (apparently) drank with last Friday. I still haven't found out all of the details concerning last Friday yet, so hopefully tonight will refresh / complete my memory.
Of course, I will then get drunk tonight and forget it all again. Shit.
As I mentioned in a previous post, myself and Jamie had planned an epic drinking session, starting early and finishing whenever we passed out. You've got to have a plan on this type of occasion, otherwise it all goes wrong. Ahem.
We met on the bus just before 6 in the evening, and headed into the Old Town. Jamie had a friend of his with him, Scott, who I believe goes to the same uni as Jamie back in England and is also somewhere in Germany studying this year. A nice guy.
We stopped off at the student union for a spot of dinner (line the stomachs and all that shite), before walking down to a great little pub called Sepp'l. It's a "historic student pub", which means that us lot have been drinking there for over 100 years. Of course, back in the day I imagine the clientele was a bit more civilised and discussed important matters of the day, rather than just drinking as much as possible as quickly as possible. Meh, I like my generation.
We cracked on with a Mass each. A Mass is a 1-litre glass of beer, and it's fucking huge. The glass itself is really thick and heavy, so it's almost a two-hand job to pick it up at the start. I love Masses, they're a great way to drink. Unfortunately, you do end up pissing like a racehorse all of the time, but such is life with a tiny bladder...
I had 3 of those in Sepp'l, whereas Jamie upgraded to a Steifel ("boot") as a replacement for his second and third. The Steifel is quite literally a big 2-litre glass shaped like a boot. I have a photo on my phone, I'll get that up on the PhotoBlog at some point. It's impressive to look at,
mainly because there is 2 litres of beer in it (just under 4 pints), and it's great because you're drinking out of a boot.
A boot!
A few others came down to join us, but not quite the rapid flow of people that I was expecting. This may be due to the fact that my phone battery died around 8, so nobody could get hold of me. This is in an important little piece of information, remember it. I'd texted loads of people during the day, and most said they'd ring me when they got into town. I woke on Saturday to find loads of messages on my phone, all saying "Just on my way into town, where are you all?" Stupid phone.
We then shifted on to iPunkt, for the first time in a little while, thank fuck. I'd been getting bored of that place, but at the same time it's good to go back, because it's a wicked place to get smashed. There were just the five of us at that stage: Me, Jamie, Scott, Janice (an American friend of ours) and Jillian (as previously mentioned here).
For some unknown reason, we got a jug of Long Island Iced Tea in. They're always a fucking killer, yet I seem to be forever mesmerisingly drawn to their charms. Damn those ultra-strong 4-litre bastards. I only vaguely remember drinking it, but I reckon we downed it sharpish. Well, I guess we downed it sharpish. iPunkt is a little hazy in my memory. Stupid Long Island Iced Tea.
We then strolled down to the bus stop to get one of the night busses back up to Bar Drei. Unfortunately, Jillian was more than a little inebriated by this point, so I volunteered / got volunteered to take her home, which involved a different bus than Jamie's. Dammit.
I'll spare Jillian's blushes here, and won't tell how she fell over numerous times on the 2-minute walk from her bus stop to her room, and how on most of those occasions I ended up on the ground too, since I was completely holding her up. No, I won't mention that.
Nor the 5 minutes I spent messing around with her bunch of keys, trying to get the right one in the door, before she produced another key from her bag. Nor the way she practically fell into bed. Nope, I'm a good friend and will not mention those things.
I was half-cut too, well on my way to being drunk, which led to me unfortunately addressing the note I left her to her friend. Freudian slip? Meh. Again, when I switched my phone on on Saturday, there were a good 3 or 4 messages from her, apologising profusely for something she had no memory of. Glad to be appreciated.
I then hiked through a building site to get to Bar Drei, including climbing through a fence and almost falling down a slope. It was so worth it though. Jamie had managed to get his hands on a table, and I plonked my ass down, after stopping briefly at the bar for two Vodka-Lemonades. I figured that it was busy, so it would be more time-efficient to buy two drinks at a time.
Of course, as The Streets so eloquently put it in 'Too Much Brandy':
Now getting to the bar’s gonna be trouble
So the Marlons’ll have to be doubles
Then you drink doubles
The same speed you drink singles
(The song came on my mp3 player earlier today...)
I thus became ever drunker. I remember chatting to a friend of mine from Italy, Maximiliano, about football on Saturday afternoon, and being a little disappointed when he arrived, since the friends that had told me they were out with him hadn't come with it. Females, you understand, including GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB. No, I still don't know if anything's happening there.
And that's about all I remember. I remember being quite hilariously loud (OK, so I thought it was hilarious, others may recall a different emotion) and talking non-stop, as per usual when I'm drunk, but not much more. I definitely don't remember leaving Bar Drei, or how and when I got home.
All I know is that I woke up slightly before 4 in the afternoon on Saturday, on top of my quilt in my boxers, with my bedroom light still on.
Damn, I must have been drunk. My clothes were all over the room, but they were thankfully all there, as was my coat. I always worry that I'm going to get too drunk to remember to bring everything home, but only once have I forgotten something. That would also be the night I knocked my two front teeth out, so it was a bad night all round.
I'd missed the 3pm start of football with Maximiliano and everyone else, which I was pissed off about, so I decided to go and watch the Arsenal match in the pub as a way of recovering. I tried to get Jamie to come down, but he was still feeling like shit, so I went by myself.
I stopped for a bite to eat on the way, at which point I promised myself that I'd try to go without alcohol until my parents arrived on the 17th of November. That would be a good 10 days of no alcohol, in preparation for my birthday on the 19th. That promises to be fucking heavy.
But yeah, no alcohol at all.
Imagine my dismay when, upon arriving at the Dubliner (again!) and being served by a waitress, my mouth operated wholly independently of my brain and ordered me a Murphy's stout. I didn't even realise I'd done it until she brought it over.
Ahhh, crap. My no alcohol pledge lasted a mere 15 minutes. That's a new record for me. Usually it's somewhere around 24 or 48 hours. 15 fucking minutes?! Fuck's sake.
I did only have one though, and it had the welcome effect of finally clearing the cobwebs away. I think I might have to partake of the hair of the dog a bit more often. Possibly starting tomorrow, when I shall be in the pub by 1pm for another Arsenal game. Considering the fact that I'll be drinking until sometime around 5 tonight, there is a distinct possibility that I will actually be still drunk rather than hungover. Hurrah!
When I was in the pub, I had a good look through the text messages I'd received overnight, since I'd only given them a cursory glance when I got them as I woke up. There was one from GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB at about 11pm, asking where I was, so I sent her one apologising for not replying last night. I asked if she had been in Bar Drei, kind of joking that I was piecing together my memories of the night. Well, not really joking; more actually trying to find out what the fuck happened!
She came back with the following:
Apparently me n helen ate sandwiches wi u in bar 3 but i also have little recollection of the eve... same time same place tonight?
Balls! So they were there last night! And I even had a decent length conversation with them, as well as munching sandwiches together. Incidentally, Bar Drei's sandwiches are fucking brilliant. Just what you need to keep drinking until dawn.
I hate to think how much my mouth could have been spouting shit, especially as I simply have no inkling whatsoever of what was said, or how long we were there for. That's what tonight will hopefully inform me. With any luck, I won't have disgraced or embarrassed myself, but I fear the worst. I know what I'm like when I'm drunk.
And so do you, judging by how many times I've posted here about being drunk. I've been going through my archives today, with the aim of adding a 'Best Of' post-it to my layout soon, and it's simply flabbergasting how often I post about being hungover or drunk. Anyone would think that's all I do.
He says, coming to the end of a 1,800 word post about a night out on the smash, and with another one looming large on the horizon. As in about 2 hours away.
Be prepared for another one of these tomorrow then. I pity my liver.
