Monday, December 13
Wearing Hotpants
And so I find myself once more having to clear a backlog of material, for the simple reason that I am so very, veryI shall begin, as is the fashion nowadays, back at the beginning, which is last Friday afternoon. You will recall that I'd spent the Thursday evening at a spoof cocktail party, where fun was had by all. That was with my usual group of friends, whereas I spent the Friday night with another lot. I shall commence... now.
I went round to Amy's place at lunchtime, to finish the work of art that was my t-shirt and hotpants combination. I managed to get a Union Jack drawn on the back of my hotpants, but figured that it would take too long to colour it in and then let it dry. I contented myself with merely writing 'The Crown Jewels' on the front. Well, Amy did it because my handwriting is atrocious.
After that, I put the two items ever-so-carefully into my bag and headed for the supermarket, since I needed some booze to take to Rachel's, where we were going to get set up for the party by drinking ridiculous amounts of alcohol in as short a time frame as possible. Because we do that kind of thing. You can take the us out of England, but we're still English!
I decided against wearing my hotpants over my jeans on the bus up to Rachel's mainly because I was on my own. Later on in the evening, I wasn't giving a shit, but at 7pm and stone cold sober, it wasn't happening.
I got to Rachel's everyone else started arriving, and we cracked on with the drinking. Oh, and the wearing of frankly ridiculous costumes. When I look back on it, and at the photos, I have to question what exactly the fuck I was thinking. White hotpants, about 3 sizes too small for me, over a pair of jeans, with a Union Jack on the ass and 'The Crown Jewels' written on the front.
At least I wasn't the only one looking ridiculous, and nor was I the only one in that outfit. I'm sure you've seen the photos on the PhotoBlog by now, and can tell that we all looked fucking stupid. The important thing is that we looked stupid together. All we hand to do was try and stay bound together for the rest of the evening, so that we could point to each other as our reason for looking like complete fools.
I also remember Pete throwing together some kind of American Wigger look, complete with bling. It made me laugh every time I looked at him (probably because the vodka was kicking in too), and there's a couple of great photos of him pulling a few faces and poses.
I seem to remember playing a bit of 21, and also YeeHa!, which is the best drinking game ever. Although I seem to remember saying that about Pyramid and probably 27 other drinking games. YeeHa! is definitely one of the most raucous, and can get quite, quite loud. I can't be bothered to describe it here, although I will try to do so at some point.
It was getting a little late by this time, so we necked whatever drinks we had left and set off for the party, a 10 minute walk away. We'd gotten dressed up, so we figured that we'd better actually go to the fancy dress party...
We'd been told that there was a 'Surprise' for anyone who turned up in some sort of national costume, which we were expecting to be free entry or a free drink at the bar. It was a pleasant surprise, then, to be handed a little bottle of schnapps each as we walked into the room. I think mine was a plum flavour, although I'm a little unsure, what with the vodkas beforehand...
The party itself was a really good laugh, and I spoke to loads of people whom I recognised from my language course back in September, from other parties and from God knows where. I thought when I got up the next day that I could remember everything, but evidently not.
I bumped into one of the guys in my corridor on Saturday afternoon, when I eventually hauled my ass out of bed, and had a quick chat with him. He was asking if I was going out that night, and I told him that I was still recovering from the night before. I said that I'd been at an Erasmus party, and where it was held.
I was thus a little shocked when he told me he knew, and that he'd been there, and also that we'd chatted for a good while whilst we were there. Why does this always happen to me? I always have memory gaps when I think I remember everything. It now worries me what else happened that night, because if I can't remember chatting to Eric, a hell of a lot more could have taken place.
Such as being invited to a party on Sunday night by a Swiss girl I know called Sarah. I met her again this Friday night at yet another party (don't worry, I'll eventually write about that one too!), when she asked me where I was Sunday night.
Erm, at home, why?
Because you missed my party!
What party would that be?
My birthday party. I told you about it last Friday.
Ahh, I was so very drunk, I didn't remember. I'm so very sorry.
That last sentence must come out of my mouth at least once or twice a week, something which is starting to worry me. I need to find that happy place where I'm merrily drunk, but will still remember everything the morning after. Too often I go much, much further than that and pretty much drink until I pass out. Stupid boy Pike.
I remember dancing for a good while with a load of people, although I'll be damned if I can pick out the faces of any more than 2 or 3 of them. I do enjoy a good dance when I'm out and about, especially if it's to a bit of cheese and with a load of good friends. As it was on Friday night, on both counts.
As the party was winding down, I ended up with Erik, a Belgian friend of mine. We headed to Bar Drei for some post-party drinks, with the unspoken intention of not getting home until a ridiculously late / early hour (depending from where you judge it). Unfortunately, we couldn't get in because we didn't live in the student village there. The bar was apparently overfull, and entry was restricted to those that lived in the immediate area. Being 15 minutes away was simply too far.
Although we were a little peeved at the time, in hindsight it was probably for the best, since I felt like shit on Saturday anyway. It was already gone 4am by the time we got home, so if we'd got into Bar Drei, I would have been struggling to make it into bed before 6.30, which is never good!
I was still wearing my hotpants at this point, and must have looked a right state. I was pissed as a fart, no doubt talking non-stop and at 1,000 words per minute (my usual drunken habit), and wearing a pair of white hotpants over my jeans. I'm a classy individual, I know.
And that about wraps up Friday night. To be honest, it just about wraps up Saturday too, since I didn't wake up until quite late in the afternoon. Yet again, I missed out on playing a bit of football, because that is arranged for 3pm each Saturday. I need to stop going out on Friday nights!
And what did I do this Friday night? Why, I went out and got home at 6.30am. I'm a quick learner...
