Last Friday Night

It's a blackout blur alright but I know for sure that it didn't rule.

Let me paint a picture for you:
I had a lovely friday, got up late, pottered around with my flatmate, did my laundry and at 2pm,  a couple of our friends who we'll be living with next year came round bringing with them the holy grail (aka Friends Season 2 dvd) and Casino Royale, the remake. After making Dennis the Menace cupcakes and icing yet more cookies (baking is all I think I've done this week!) we settled onto my bed to watch Friends. After an episode another of our friends arrived and we attempted to make space for him. I say attempted because these beds were not designed to have 5 people sit on them. We can squeeze 5 of us girls onto one as we're all relatively slim but 4 girls and a broad guy, not good. I was squashed between him and the corner with the headboard digging into my ribs, joy.

So we watched Casion Royale, the longest, least interesting film since Source Code and Unstoppable (there's something I don't enjoy about train films). I fell asleep at least twice. Nothing was happening! He would gamble, shoot, gamble, chase, gamble, torture, gamble, gamble, gamble. There's a recurring theme somewhere but I just can't put my finger on it. So despite spending half the film curled up, asleep on my friends shoulder, I had a throughly lovely afternoon. Fajitas followed for dinner and we snuggled back on the bed for a little more friends after which we began to get ready for the night.

Blowdry, straighten, makeup, tights, clothes and lots and lots of laughter. 4 girls getting ready in one very small room is immensely entertaining, even if it did take us much longer than usual to get dressed! Pre-drinking began and a couple of our friends joined us for a few vicious games of Irish Shnap. All I'm going to say is that I'm a bitter loser at the best of times but with a fair bit of whiskey in me and constant refills thanks to one kind soul, there were red knuckles all around.

I blink, crack open my eyes. I see a bookshelf, a desk, the wrong orientation. I close my eyes. I'm in bed, cold. Another look and I realise I'm not in my own bed, I'm in my flatmates. The door opens and she enters. "Why am I in your bed?" I ask, noting that I'm still fully dressed from the night before.  The story is explained and it's not one I'm proud of.

After Irish Shnap we continued to drink until past 11 when we made a move to the club. Apparently I was unable to walk without assistance. How that didn't tip my friends off that I was rather gone is beyond me. So I got to the club and, unsurprisingly, was refused entry. My friend started to take me home and after some confusion about my keys, he managed to walk me to my front door. Eventually I got into bed with assistance from various flatmates who then had a lovely evening dealing with a drunk, vomiting girl who fell off her bed and appeared to have stopped breathing. Lovely. I am so apologetic. In the night, my flatmate woke up cold and saw that I had gotten into bed with her and was hogging all the duvet. Whoops.

The other big moment of my night was relayed to me by text, much to the amusement of all who were there when I read the messages. I'm told I kissed the guy who walked me home! I don't like this guy that way. I have no romantic feelings towards him and yet, this. Great. I'll have to face him on Tuesday as he's in one of my societies and thankfully, 2 days later I am still blank but regardless, I do not want to see him.

So the lesson folks, which I must learn myself, is to stay away from the whiskey, its the drink of the devil and also that I must control my lusty nature because, as I was reminded on saturday, drunk kissing isn't new to me.